Page 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jade

I wake to a crackling sound.

The fireplace.

I’m warm and comfy and— wait .

There’s no fireplace in my room.

My eyes pop open, and the first thing I see is Royal, bent over, stoking the fire. And his ass—covered by loose gray sweats—looks good enough to take a bite out of.

I blink and rub my eyes.

“What time is it?” I ask in a voice still raspy from sleep.

“Just after nine in the morning.”

“When did…” I look down and note that I’m covered in a warm fleece blanket, a pillow tucked under my head.

“You fell asleep while we were talking,” he said, finally standing up straight and turning around. “You looked so comfortable, I grabbed a blanket and just let you sleep.”

Why does he have to be so sweet when he wants to be?

If he would just be a jerk all the time, it would be easier.

“I need to freshen up,” I murmur, swinging my legs over the edge and sitting up.

“I brewed a pot of coffee, so we can have breakfast whenever you’re ready. And I want to show you something I’ve been working on.”

“Okay.” My phone is still on the coffee table and as I stand up, my ringtone plays the theme to “Hawaii Five-0,” Farrah’s name flashing on the screen.

Firing her has turned into a whole situation that I’m sick of.

I press the button to send the call to voicemail, scowling at the screen.

“Someone can’t take no for an answer,” I mutter.

“What’s going on?” Royal asks quietly since he’s probably close enough to see who was calling.

“I fired my publicist, but my management company uses her for all of their artists so they’re pushing back.”

“Why did you fire her?”

I hesitate. “Well…because of you, I guess.”

“Because of me?” He looks confused.

“When Liza Bancroft blindsided me during that interview, talking about how you were seen leaving my hotel room, asking whether or not we were sleeping together, all that stuff—Farrah just sat there playing on her phone. Then, when I confronted her in the car afterward, she basically blew me off and downplayed it.” I hesitate, not wanting to let him know how much I think about him, but I also feel like it's important to be honest. About this anyway. “I remembered what you told me about making sure I surround myself with people I trust. And I don't trust her anymore. So I fired her.”

He’s quiet for a moment, watching me intently. “You did the right thing. But now you have to man up, so to speak, and stick to your guns. Don’t let them tell you who you have to work with. You have the power now, Jade.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.” I stare into the fireplace, watching the flames dance and swirl. “Sometimes I feel like a puppet being pulled in so many directions I get dizzy.”

“I remember that feeling well. But at some point, you have to put yourself first.”

“How expensive do you think it’ll be for me to break all ties?” I ask softly. It’s almost rhetorical because I don't think there’s any way for him to know. I didn’t even realize that was in the back of my mind until the words slipped out.

“It shouldn’t cost you anything,” he says. “If they care about public perception, they’ll let you go. But you should get a good lawyer and say that there are creative differences now that you’ve gotten to this point in your career. It depends on the specifics of your contract, but honestly, you should be able to get out of it. They could fight you, and they probably will, but I can recommend a badass entertainment attorney who can help you with this. If you want to talk to her, I’ll send you her info.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Any time.” He nods for the hall. “You were going to go freshen up?”

“Oh, right.” I hurry into my room.

I look a little tired, and my hair’s in a messy ponytail, but that’s okay. The less attractive I am, the less chance there will be that we almost kiss again. Last night, he was on his best behavior—so much so it’s almost insulting considering that my body is in a constant state of arousal. Just being in the same room as him makes it hard to think.

The good news is that he’s a masterful songwriter and we genuinely work well together. We feed off each other’s ideas, and though I’m nowhere near the guitar player he was, he does it all by ear. He can tell me what chords to play—and he’s right on. Every. Single. Time. It’s unnerving how instinctive it is for him.

“What’s for breakfast?” I ask when I find him in the kitchen.

“There’s a quiche and the instructions look pretty simple. I preheated the oven, so we should be good to go in about twenty-five minutes.”

“Perfect. Let me get some coffee, and you can show me what you were talking about.”

“Great.” He leaves the kitchen as I pour myself a cup of coffee.

It’s been snowing since last night and everything is coated in white. Even though it’s somewhat dark and gloomy, it’s also mystical and beautiful and inspiring. I want to write a song about it. But not just the snow. I want to capture the whole feeling, the essence of the snow. Or the essence of being snowed in with a gorgeous stranger.

“Midnight snow,” I murmur, immediately pulling my phone out of my pocket.

“Midnight snow?” Royal asks, startling me.

“Song title,” I say, holding up my cell. “I make notes in my phone.”

“Jesus, you’re like a fucking mind reader,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask absently as I type in my thoughts.

“Last night, after you fell asleep, I was thinking the same thing. Not midnight snow, specifically—I kind of hate the word midnight, if you know what I mean—but just snow that falls at night. How it looks as it’s coming down and the feelings it inspires.”

“Oh.” I look up, finding his strong gaze zeroed in on mine. “I’m sorry about the word midnight, but it works for me. For this.”

“It does.” He scratches his head. “Anyway, I brought your guitar. I worked on some lyrics while I was watching the snow fall, and I have some melodies in my head. If you can play this series of chords…” He hands me a piece of paper.

It looks simple enough, so I nod and perch on the end of one of the stools. The music comes almost naturally, as if I already know the melody.

Because he’s singing it.

And though it’s not exactly what I had in mind, it’s in the same vein.

As if we really can read each other’s minds.

“ Midnight ,” he sings, his voice deep and rich. “ When there’s no one but you and me, girl. Snowfall, like an avalanche of pearls. Come and show me…la-di-da-midnight… ”

“Oh, yes. Yes!” I immediately pick it up. “ ...it feels like morning but it’s barely midnight, you and me, boy, not lettin’ you out of my sight… ” I cut off abruptly, glance over at him. “A duet.”

He frowns. “I don’t sing. I mean, not like that. I’m not a lead singer.”

“But you could do part of this one. I can carry us, and you have no problem harmonizing…Look.” I hand him the guitar and run into the living room where we left the notebooks we’d been doodling in all day yesterday.

He follows me, thoughtfully carrying both my guitar and the mug of coffee I’d already forgotten about.

I’m writing furiously on one of the pads, rough lyrics practically pouring out of me.

There’s no time like midnight when it’s snowing

I look in your eyes, baby, you’re glowing

Show me the moon and I’ll give you the stars

Baby, you know me, and this night is ours.

He nods, humming along.

“ Baby, you’re glowing… ” he sings. “That would be my verse.”

Then he’s beside me, watching as I write. “No, what about ‘this time is ours’ instead of ‘this night’?”

That could work. I scribble the new lyrics, decide I don’t like them, and go back to the original.

The oven timer goes off, alerting us that breakfast is ready, and I reluctantly put down the guitar.

“Let’s pick this up after we eat,” I suggest.

“Sure.” He follows me into the kitchen.

My phone goes off again, and I roll my eyes before sending it to voicemail and setting it on the counter.

“Farrah again?” he asks.

“No, my manager. They want to schedule a video conference call to discuss what happened. Farrah is apparently quite contrite, apologizing all over the place—she even sent me flowers. I’m just not interested.”

“Tell them that. And this is truly your way out.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, taking the quiche out of the oven.

“You get a good lawyer to say they aren’t representing your best interests. Document everything. Sit down right now, while we’re having breakfast, and make notes. Exactly what happened with Farrah, the date, as close to the time as you remember…you’re ‘in the studio’ this weekend working on new music and they’re bombarding you with annoying calls. Use anything and everything, Jade.” He sounds so sincere, I’m momentarily emotional.

“I will. Thank you.” I go get my notebook and bring it back to the kitchen, jotting down the dates and times I can remember Farrah not doing her job, and digging through my email for the approved list of questions for that interview with Liza Bancroft.

Royal eats quietly while I make notes, letting me get it all down.

This is good stuff, things I wouldn’t have thought to do on my own.

He’s a royal pain-in-the-butt, but I’m starting to see the man beneath the rough facade.

And despite my best efforts not to, I’m starting to like him even more.