Catch Me (11 page)

“Shea,” Hendrix warns, not looking up from his phone.

“What do you think, BK?” Shea asks, ignoring my brother’s warning and grabbing my chin to look at him. I’m wearing heels so he doesn’t have to tilt my face; we’re almost the same height. He may have an inch on me, if anything.

My eyes flick from Shea to Nick, who hasn’t stopped looking at me. I’ve felt the weight of his stare on me the same way I felt it since the day I met him at the airport. It’s a hot
I’ll take what I want, and I want you
stare that he gives me and it makes me shiver every single time. I swallow loudly when my eyes meet his serious blue eyes and I wonder what he could be thinking. I can’t tell what could be going on inside his head, and it kills me.

“I think that you need to focus on your album and keep your
member
in your pants,” I respond with a smile.

Shea laughs, as does Hendrix, but Nick just continues to look at me. His lips quirk up slightly at my joke, but his eyes continue to trail slowly down my body. The fire in his gaze while he does it makes me hold my breath as I wait for those beautiful blue eyes to land on my face again. And when they do, I can’t even let go of my breath because of the smoldering look he’s giving me. My heart starts ricocheting in my ribs, making me bite down on my lip and shift beside Shea so that he can’t see my face. I don’t take my eyes off of Nick’s though. He’s daring me to. I know he is, so I don’t. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. I just want to get lost in those eyes and never be found.

After what seems like an eternity and stopping on every single floor, the elevator finally reaches the forty-fourth floor.

“See you later,” Shea says, bumping Hendrix’s fist before looking back at me. “I’ll go up there when I get a break. Or come down, we’ll be in ten.”

I smile. “Sure.”

“Hendrix, man. I didn’t ask you if-”

Hendrix interrupts him by stepping out of the elevator for him to follow and signals me to get out with them, so I do.

“What’s up?” Hendrix asks, tucking his phone in his pocket.

“I didn’t introduce you to my producer, Nick,” Shea says, signaling from Nick to Hendrix. “Nick, Hendrix Harmon. Hendrix, Nick Wilde.”

Hendrix watches Nick for a moment and then nods slowly, a smile creeping up on his face. “Wilde. Nick Wilde. Holy shit. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you,” he says, extending his hand out for Nick to shake.

They shake hands and exchange words while I stand there watching them, not knowing what to do. Shea finally steps in and re-introduces Nick and me.

“Oh that’s right, you guys met in the airport,” Shea says.

Nick and I nod and smile, looking at each other until Hendrix clears his throat and tells them he’ll join them in the studio at some point today.

“Yeah, come down whenever,” Shea says, bumping Hendrix’s fist, bumping my fist and walking away. “Number ten,” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Catch you later,” Hendrix says to Nick before he walks to the elevator again.

“Sure,” Nick replies. He looks at me for a moment and opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and closes it again. “See you later,” he says.

I smile. “Yep. Guess you’ll have to.”

I turn and begin to walk toward my brother, who’s on the phone again.

“You look sinful in that dress,” Nick murmurs in my ear, making me jump at his unexpected nearness.

Before I can even formulate words to thank him, he walks away, leaving me to stare at his broad shoulders and the way his arms swing when he walks. I come to the conclusion that he must have been an athlete before. What kind, I have no idea. The kind that was tall with perfectly structured muscles that melded around their perfectly built bones.

“Bee?” Hendrix says.

Blinking away my thoughts, I follow him into the elevator.

The rest of the day is similar to the previous week: I listen to endless demos, bang my head against the desk three times—purposely, and pray that I will stumble upon one artist that will blow my mind. I’ve come to the conclusion that work is only fun when it’s not mandatory. I guess in a sense it’s kind of like cooking. Everybody loves to cook until they actually have to cook every day. I don’t know how to cook and I’ve never had to do it, but I would imagine it’s as tedious as what I’m doing.

My phone rings around one o’clock when I’m just about to doze off, and I jump from my seat and pick it up.

“Hello?” I answer on the second ring, feeling anxious even though I know it’s probably Hendrix.

“Hey,” Hendrix says. “You wanna go down with me to the studio? The guys are going to get lunch. I know you’re hungry.”

“Sure.”

I hang up and stretch my arms over my head just as Hendrix is barging into my office.

“You could knock,” I say.

“Sure, next time. Let’s go. I only have thirty minutes to spare and I need to make sure Shea is actually working down there.”

“When is the CD due?” I ask.

Hendrix raises his eyebrows. “Two months.”

My mouth drops just as the elevator chime sounds. “What!” I try to process what that means. Two months to complete an entire album is insane, and I know for a fact Shea hasn’t even started recording anything. “He’s going on tour in like a week.”

“Yeah. Why do you think he brought in Wilde?” Hendrix asks, pushing down the button to the forty-fourth.

I shrug. “I dunno. I’ve never heard of him before.”

Hendrix frowns and turns to me as the doors open back up and we step out. “You’ve never heard of him? You? How can you never have heard of him?”

I roll my eyes. “If you’re trying to make me feel like I’ve been living under a rock, you’re succeeding. Who has he worked with?”

He chuckles and stands outside of studio ten looking in. “Everyone, Bee. You won’t see his name on CDs though … he goes by the name
Shadow
.” Hendrix tilts his head to look at me.

My mouth forms an “O” when realization sinks in. Of course I’ve heard of Shadow. He seems to be the go-to producer right now. My sister-in-law has gone on and on about what a genius he is. She obviously failed to mention how freaking hot he is.

“Sarah loves him,” I comment.

He nods. “She does. Everyone does. He’s the crème de la crème.”

I watch Shea’s head bobbing slowly inside the recording booth and Nick sitting in front of the soundboards with his back facing us. His hands move over the board, touching the knobs, turning here, tweaking there, and my mind wanders to places I wish wouldn’t be in the realm of my imagination.

“I guess the name suits him if he doesn’t wanna be seen, right?” I muse quietly.

“Guess so. Or maybe he plays on it since he lives under his father’s shadow,” Hendrix states as he opens the door, shutting out any further questions I may have about Nick.

“Good?” Hendrix asks Shea as he steps out of the booth.

“Yeah,” Shea says, taking a swig of his water bottle. “We’ll get it done.”

I walk toward Shea and stand in front of him, tugging his arm to step away from Nick and Hendrix.

“He says you have to have this done in two months,” I say, concerned. I really wish they wouldn’t put this kind of pressure on artists. It kills me that they do.

“I know,” Shea says, his green eyes dim. He falls back to the couch behind him and pulls me down with him, holding me to his chest. “I can do it.”

“I can see if we can get an extension,” I suggest quietly, hoping Hendrix doesn’t hear me, even though I doubt he can since he’s speaking to Nick.

“Nah, BK, I’m good. Just tired. Let’s go to sleep together like old times,” he murmurs as his eyes flutter shut.

I take a deep breath and adjust myself so that my weight doesn’t crush him.

“He’s gonna take a nap?” Hendrix asks, amused.

I shrug with my free shoulder. “He’s exhausted, Hen. Leave him alone,” I plead.

Hendrix shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter to me, it’s lunch time anyway. I’ll be right back.” He walks out of the studio and heads toward the elevators, leaving me sitting on the couch with Shea’s arm draped around me and Nick sitting a couple of feet away by the soundboard. He still has his headphones on and I assume he’s going over whatever they recorded today. I disentangle myself from Shea and walk over to where Nick is sitting, sinking into the seat beside him.

“How many tracks did you record today?” I ask, nodding at the recording booth.

“One so far. We’re aiming for two,” Nick says, not looking at me. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that he hasn’t looked at me since I walked in the room. It really shouldn’t bother me since he did a whole lot of looking earlier.

“How many do you think you can record in a week?” I ask, swiveling my chair side to side and hitting his thighs with my knees. “Sorry.”

Nick takes off the headphones and places them on the board, turning his seat to face me. “I’m not sure. It depends on him, really. We’ve been working on them—we just need to get them recorded. We should be fine by the end of the month. He has a lot of hits on here.”

I smile, feeling a sense of pride in knowing I had something to do with Shea’s success. Leaning forward, I run the tips of my finger over the knobs, careful not to move any of them. I can feel Nick looking at me and see his body move forward from the corner of my eye. His hands soon appear beside mine on the knobs and he slides one of the buttons down.

“You can touch now. You won’t mess anything up. Put these on if you want,” he suggests, sliding his earphones to me.

I pick them up and look at them for a moment. They’re big, and I know they’re comfortable and the sound is amazing because I have a similar pair of Beats of my own. Nick’s are bigger, though, and they’re more cushioned than the standard ones we have in our studios here in Harmon. I get a thrill placing them over my head, as if I’m uncovering another tiny little puzzle to who Nick Wilde is. I tilt my head to look at him and find his eyes searching my face. He looks from my hair to my eyes to my covered ears and finally back to my eyes and smiles. It’s not the panty dropping smile I’m used to getting from him, it’s a boyish-boy next door-I can’t believe the hottest girl in high school is talking to me-kind of smile. And I fucking love it.

When I smile back, he leans into the microphone in front of him and clicks a button.

“Why don’t you wear a ring?” His whisper is loud in my ears and I’m so surprised by it that I turn my head to look around the room, eyes wide. I see him chuckle, but don’t hear it, so I assume anything he says into the microphone is only heard by me.

I frown, not understanding his question, but I’m scared to ask because I don’t know how loud I’ll sound. I don’t want to wake up Shea.

Nick clicks the button again and runs the tips of his pointer down my hand slowly, making my breath hitch as he slides it up and down my ring finger.

“A ring, why don’t you wear one?” he repeats, his eyes losing their playfulness the longer he looks into mine.

I open my mouth and close it, suddenly understanding why he would think that I would be married. I move my hands from under his and take the earphones off, untangling the cord from my hair.

“I’m not married,” I respond, still trying to rid myself of the earphones.

He leans in and holds them, helping me take it out of my hair. “I thought you were … I heard somebody call you Mrs. Harmon this morning. And then yesterday in the street …”

I smile at the memory. “So what? You actively pursue married women?”

Nick presses his lips together to contain a smile. “Only the really beautiful ones that I can’t stop thinking about.”

I shake my head, still smiling. “How’s Stephanie?”

Boom.
Okay, so that’s probably not exactly what I should’ve said, but damn him if he thinks he’s going to use me the same way guys apparently want to use me. I’m so sick of being second to everybody.

Then he does something I don’t expect: he erupts in laughter. His laugh is low and husky and has the most beautiful ring to it that I’ve ever heard. And the way his aqua eyes light up and he dips his head and throws it back, showing his straight white teeth makes me smile, despite the fact that he’s laughing at something I don’t understand.

“Damn. You’re good,” he says when he comes down from his laughing high.

I shake my head and exhale, looking back at Shea who’s still lying on the couch looking like a rag doll.

“Maybe I should wake him up,” I suggest, placing both hands on either side of my chair to stand. Nick covers the hand closest to his, stopping me. His face is serious; his light brown eyebrows drawn together when I look at him.

“You never answered me about Hendrix.”

“You never answered me about Stephanie.”

He exhales. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Are you?” I counter with a raised eyebrow.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Stephanie … she’s … I don’t know. We’re not really in a relationship.”

I roll my eyes and groan, wondering if that’s how Shea used to describe me to the girls he used to screw along the way.