Color Me Crazy (6 page)

Julian did, in fact, look a tad uncomfortable. He was staring at her mouth, and his cheeks were flushed. His tongue darted out and licked his lips, almost as if he were thinking
she
was a delicious
tres leches
cake.

Sophie snapped him out of it. “Where did you receive your education, dear?”

“What?” Julian said.

The woman wouldn’t quit. “Mother, most musicians are self—”

“I have a degree in composition from the Royal Academy of Music,” Julian replied, glancing in the box. He stuck his finger in the frosting and held it up in front of Cleo’s face. “I’m just a few credit hours short of a music performance degree, as well.”

Well, now. Cleo hadn’t expected that. Like her mother, she’d drawn some incorrect conclusions about Julian Wheaton.

Did Julian know the icing wasn’t vegan? Apparently not, because he stuck his finger in his mouth and closed his eyes. “Mmm,” he groaned.

Heat rose in Cleo’s cheeks. Surely she hadn’t looked as orgasmic when she’d done it?
Twice?

“I didn’t know they taught guitar at conservatories,” Sophie said with a slight frown. Clearly, she didn’t like all the finger licking and moaning going on in the suddenly too small kitchen.

“Sure they do. But I studied violin.” Julian had a spot of frosting on his knuckle and licked it clean.

“What in the world is that in your tongue?” Sophie asked.

“A silver barbell,” Julian said. He swallowed and then stuck his tongue back out for Sophie’s inspection. She surprised Cleo by getting right up close and peering curiously into Julian’s mouth.

“Why would you do something like that?” she asked.

Julian pulled his tongue back in. “Women say it enhances certain—”

“Oh God,” Cleo said. She did not care to experience her mother’s reaction to whatever skilled feats of oral heroism Julian thought he could perform with his tongue. “Julian, grab that stack of napkins, would you?”

“You take the napkins, Cleo,” her mother said. “I need Julian to pop this cork.” She handed him a dripping bottle from the silver ice bucket. “It’s too bad you didn’t complete your second degree, dear.”

“You mean the performance degree? It’s not too bad at all,” he said, twisting the wire on the top of the bottle. “I was fourteen and quite done with the fuckers there, anyway.”

Pop!

Her mom’s mouth formed a perfect
O
, and Cleo was grateful the cork didn’t land in it.

“You were only fourteen?” Sophie exclaimed when she’d recovered. “Bless your heart. That’s impressive. Come on, you can pour the bubbly.”

Now it was Cleo’s turn to be stunned. “Your mouth is open, sweetheart,” her mother said as she followed Julian through the door. “It’s unattractive.”

...

Julian demolished a piece of cake, making Cleo’s mum deliriously happy. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she said, cutting another piece. “Have another.”

“I really shouldn’t, Sophie,” he said. “I’m vegan.”

“Goodness, don’t be silly. There’s no meat in it.” She delivered the large chunk onto his plate.

“Mom, it has cream.”

Julian shook his head at Cleo. He wasn’t
that
big of a stickler, and besides, he didn’t want to hurt Sophie’s feelings. Also, the cake gave him something to do with his mouth while the other men talked about things in which he had no interest.

“Are you going to hit the charity golf tournament at the club, Clark?” Josh asked.

“I might take a stab at it,” Cleo’s father responded. Then he looked at Julian. “Do you play?”

“No, sir, I don’t.” Nothing bored him more than sports, in general, and golf, in particular.

“So, what sports do you like?” Josh asked.

Julian wiped his mouth and pretended to ponder an answer. “None,” he said.

“None?” Josh repeated with an air of incredulity. “What about when you were a kid?”

“I suffered from a condition. Made it hard to play sports.” He took a sip of water and then crammed another big piece of cake into his mouth—hoping the conversation would move quickly to another topic.

“Like asthma or something?”

What a dick.
“Or something.”

“I had asthma as a kid,” Cleo’s dad piped in. “That’s why I play golf. Everyone knows it’s not a real sport.” He winked at Julian.

“Now, wait a minute there, Clark,” Josh protested.

Addie cleared her throat, and Julian had the dreadful feeling she was about to defend his lack of athletic prowess. “Julian was in a music conservatory when most kids were kicking balls around,” she said. “He was a musical prodigy.”

He groaned, and Clark smiled at him. It was hard not to like Cleo’s dad. He was cheerful and sharp, and even though his hair was thinning and gray, he was a ginger through and through, ruddy complexion and all. Luckily, Cleo got her ivory skin and delicate features from her mum.

Sophie reached over and patted Julian’s hand. “He’s a violinist,” she said.

“Well, I play guitar now.”

“No kidding,” Clark said. Julian narrowed his eyes—maybe the old guy was being sarcastic.

Clark wiped his mouth and pushed his chair back. “Come with me, son.”

“Oh God. Here we go,” Cleo said.

Julian followed Cleo’s old man into his den, where he pulled down a battered case from a closet. Inside was an old Martin beauty. Julian ached to touch it, and he let out a low whistle. “What is that? A 1910? Or maybe ’08?”

Clark’s eyes lit up as he recognized a fellow enthusiast. “It’s a 1910. I’d offer to let you play it, but it needs to be restrung.” He held up his hands. They displayed the classic signs of advanced arthritis. “I don’t have the strength to string it anymore, much less play it.”

Josh came into the room. “Hey,” he said. “That looks old. What’s it worth?”

The two guitarists gawked at him. “You mean in
money
?” Julian said.

“Well, yeah.”

Julian shook his head and peered into the case. There was a pick and a pack of strings. “How about I put some new strings on for you, Clark? It won’t take me long.”

Clark rubbed his hands together in glee. “Only if you promise to play her when you’re done.”

Just what Julian was hoping to hear. “You’ve got a deal.” He ran his hands up and down the instrument’s neck, caressing it like a lover, then rested it on his lap and opened the pack of strings.

“Come on,” Clark said to Josh. “Let’s go have a cup of coffee and leave the two of them alone.” Cleo had a cool old man.

A few minutes later, the new strings were on. Julian sat in front of Clark with the guitar resting comfortably in his lap. “What did you like to play?”

“I doubt you’re familiar with my kind of music,” Clark said.

“Try me.”

“Okay. You ever hear of a fellow named Doc Watson?”

Julian smiled. “I might have.” In fact, he’d been lucky enough to play with Doc once. But he didn’t want to brag about it. Instead, he flat-picked “Beaumont Rag,” relishing the stunned expression on Clark’s face. Clark began tapping his foot and slapping his hand against his knee. Before Julian knew it, a sweet tenor voice rang out, blue and clear, like a lake sparkling in the sun.

This day hadn’t been so terrible, after all. Julian was actually enjoying himself when the door to the study flew open.

“Clark,” Sophie shrieked, interrupting their jam session. “Talk some sense into your daughter.”

The women filed into the room in various states of distress. “What the heck’s the matter?” Clark asked.

“For one thing, she’s been evicted from her apartment.”

The lawyer boyfriend slipped in quietly—a bit shell-shocked, if Julian had to guess. Addie wrung her hands together. Her eyes met Julian’s and then quickly flitted away. Hmm. His sister looked guilty as hell. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had let the eviction bomb slip. She was at his side in an instant. “Just go along,” she pleaded. “And don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?” he whispered.

“Cleo,” Sophie said. “Julian’s a nice young man. And I’m sure he has a fine recording studio.” She paused and looked at Julian with a pained smile. “But it makes no sense whatsoever for you to work there, much less move in.”

What?
Julian vigorously shook his head. Surely he’d heard wrong.

“It makes perfect sense. He needs a manager, and I need a job,” Cleo said. “He has a manager’s flat at the studio, and I need a place to stay.”

Julian glared at Addie. “Manager’s flat?”

“You know,” she whispered. “Where I stayed while my place was being renovated?”

“You mean the spare room in my loft? Are you daft?”

“Wait a minute,” Clark said. “What about the college?”

“I didn’t get my job back,” Cleo said. She crossed her arms defiantly and tapped her foot.

Clark rubbed a gnarly hand over his face. “Well…”

“What did you think was going to happen when you uprooted and followed that man to New York like some sort of stalker?” Sophie asked.

“Mother.”

“You invited a stalker to move in with me?” Julian whispered to Addie.

Things disintegrated quickly. Julian only understood every other word as Cleo and her mum stood face-to-face with their hands on their hips, gums flapping and heads bouncing like pecking chickens.

“Now, now, girls,” Clark said, his voice soothing. They stopped talking momentarily. “Cleo, I think it makes sense to stay with us while you get back on your feet. You haven’t even looked into that job I heard about at the prep school. I know you’re overqualified, but it’s a start in the right direction.”

Relief washed over Julian like a cleansing turquoise shower. Clark was clearly the voice of reason. But then Sophie had to open her mouth again.

“I mean, really, dear. You made one huge mistake already. Do you want to make another?” She glanced at Julian apologetically.

That might have been okay, but then the jock weighed in. “There’s an obvious choice here, Cleo. You can either get a professional position at a prep school with a benefits package and a future, or you can work for this guy.” He jerked his thumb in Julian’s direction and did not sound at all apologetic.

Cleo, the little darling, puffed out her perfect chest and had the heart to look offended on his behalf. Before he knew it, he was talking. “The studio pays well, and she’s perfect for the job. And,” he added with a sneer at Josh, “I’ve been told I have a nice
benefits package
.”

He was immediately covered in redhead. “Oh, Julian! Thank you.”

The icy panic over what he’d just done thawed beneath the gratifying heat of Josh’s glare and Cleo’s soft tits pushing into his chest. He looked at Addie, who did everything she could to look elsewhere and awkwardly patted Cleo on the back. What the bloody hell had just happened?

Chapter Four

Cleo pulled into the gated lot as Julian had instructed. She squinted through her dirty windshield at the redbrick building. Was this it? She quickly checked the address again—hoping she had it right—because this place was freaking adorable.

It was the right place—201 Gonzalez Street! Oh, and there was Julian’s El Camino, parked beneath the branches of a pecan tree overhanging the fence.

Cleo climbed out of her little Honda and gazed up at the three-story structure Julian called his studio and loft. Clearly a historic building, it could have been lifted right off a western movie set. A wraparound balcony hugged the second story, and a suspiciously nonfunctioning fire escape snaked up one side. Cleo shielded her eyes against the sun with her hand and looked at the windows. Which one belonged to the manager’s flat?

A horn honked, and she jumped two feet in the air. It was Sherry pulling into the lot in the rented U-Haul. Her eyes widened as she took in the building, then she gave Cleo a thumbs-up and parked. Cleo yanked the big door open and reached in to help Sherry out. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“Our boy’s got some dough. The rent is astronomical in this tourist district.”

“Oh, he’s not paying rent,” Cleo said, as Sherry hopped out of the truck. “Addie says he owns this building.”

Sherry’s eyebrows went up, and she slammed the door closed with her hip. “He’s a hot, rich musician? And you’re moving in with him? Cleo, we’d been making such progress. And now you’re right back where you started.”

That wasn’t true. “No, I’m not. This thing with me and Guitar Boy, it’s strictly business. I’ve got Josh, remember? And the job won’t last long, anyway. I have no idea what to do in a recording studio.”

Sherry rolled her eyes and waved her off. “It better last long enough to find another job. Let’s get your stuff inside.”

They opened the back of the truck and gazed upon Cleo’s life in boxes. “God, I hope all this fits.”

She’d already downsized significantly when she’d moved to New York. Surely the manager’s flat in this decent-sized building wasn’t any smaller than her New York efficiency, no matter what Addie said. Just in case, Cleo had already looked into a storage unit rental.

The sound of tires on gravel drew their attention. Addie pulled in next to the moving truck. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, climbing out of her car.

Cleo held out her arms, and Addie gave her a quick hug. “We haven’t seen much of you since my birthday.”

“Yeah,” added Sherry. “And that was two weeks ago. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, just lots of work,” Addie said. She brushed invisible lint off her shirt and glanced around the parking lot—eyes flitting about but never landing directly on Cleo’s. She and Sherry exchanged a brief glance. They’d have to dig up the dirt later. Addie obviously wasn’t offering anything up at present.

“Well,” said Sherry, tossing a curtain of shiny dark hair over her shoulder, “what are we all standing around out here for? I want to see this joint.”

“He’s done a lot of work to it,” Addie said, locking her door with a chirp. “It really is a beautiful building.”

Cleo and Sherry followed Addie down the sidewalk.
Conjunto
music from Sunset Station across the street floated festively on the air, but Cleo checked her enthusiasm. This was a short-term gig. She was only sticking around until she could find a real job. Because this was not a real job. And Julian was not a real boy.