Cover Me: A Rock Star Romance (20 page)

I love you.

Derek

I read it fifteen times at least, trying to decipher what it meant. He wanted more. He and I. Home.

My office phone bleeped and Karen’s voice came through on speaker. “Bess, I just got a press release on behalf of Bast. It says he has stepped off of the stage and out from behind the microphone to take on clients as a producer under the production company he’s founded. True North Productions based out of Santa Cruz.”

I gripped the edge of my desk and dove forward toward the phone.
“What?”

“You heard me. He’s having a press conference tomorrow—on your street. In Santa Cruz.”

“What?”
My brain zoomed in circles like a haywire Ferris wheel. When had he come to this conclusion? Not like he didn’t act on every idea that sprung to life in his mind—firing his manager and breaking the contract with Unholy Union. Of course, his gut reactions were typically correct. But it was an enormous, life-altering decision and he’d done it without talking to me. If he was serious about wanting us—home—together, I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t have reached out to me to discuss this.

“Hang on,” Bess said. “Adrian’s on the other line.”

“Ask him what he knows about this,” I said, pushing my chair away from my desk.

“Great idea. Wish I would’ve thought of it.” She hung up. Smartass.

What did this mean? He was moving back to Santa Cruz?

I paced my office with my hand pressed to my stomach before it lurched up out of my mouth. Thankfully, I hadn’t eaten lunch. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being left behind even though he was going home. What did he expect of me? Anything?

My phone vibrated with a text. I grabbed it off of my desk. It was my mom.

We’ll be home late tonight. Come home first thing tomorrow morning. Very important.

Why did I feel like I was the last person to be let in on a joke? I knew my parents were getting home sometime this week, but I didn’t think it was tonight. I should’ve written it down when she told me they were going to Europe for two weeks, but it wasn’t like I would’ve seen them anyway. I usually only talk to her on the phone or through texts. If I needed to know when she was getting back, Emmy would know. She kept track of everything family related.

I texted back:

Wasn’t planning on coming. You need me there?

It was too coincidental that she’d want me home the day Derek was having a press release there. How was he going to work out of his parents’ house with stars coming and going all the time and the paparazzi lurking night and day?

Her text came back right away:

Yes. Very important. Be home early. xoxo

There was no way out of it. I was going home to Santa Cruz in the morning. It was a good thing my car was so fuel efficient with the miles I’d been putting on it.

I wandered out into the reception area where Karen was busy on her laptop. “Adrian know anything?”

She shook her head, but didn’t look up from her screen. “Nope.”

“Want to ride to Santa Cruz with me in the morning?” I leaned my elbows on the purple Formica, u-shaped counter above her desk.

“I’m not going. You’ll be there to cover it.”

She was even more obstinate than usual since putting in her notice. There was no point in demanding she go. She’d just quit and not wait until I replaced her.

“Some friend you are.” I sulked back into my office.

The day dragged by. I had an afternoon meeting with a potential advertising client and met him in the conference room off of our lobby. My graphics design manager, advertising manager and sales rep did most of the talking while my mind looped again and again to Derek’s email and the press release.

Maybe his sudden change in career paths wasn’t so sudden after all. He’d been struggling to get to a place where he was comfortable again and it hadn’t been behind the microphone where he kept trying to reinvent himself for his fans. Maybe producing was his calling and he finally figured it out.

The advertising client stood up along with my two managers and the sales rep. I fumbled to my feet while they shook hands and tried to clue back in to what had gone on. I didn’t even know if we’d made the sale. “Thank you for coming in today,” I said, shaking the client’s hand.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said, looking at me with something like dismay on his face.

The sales rep walked him out. “Are you okay, Bess?” the ads manager asked.

I put a hand on her forearm and tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind and zoned out. I shouldn’t have even tried to attend this meeting today.”

“I know,” she said, collecting her notepad and planner. “I heard about Bast practically assaulting you at your parents’ house. I can’t imagine trying to work after that.”

“What? No! He didn’t do anything. He was pounding on the door trying to get me to listen and let him in. It wasn’t—is that what the media’s reporting? I haven’t been paying attention.”

“That’s what’s being printed. The paparazzi who were there have been making statements that you locked yourself inside the house so he couldn’t get to you.”

“Oh my God. That’s not true at all. I mean, I didn’t want to talk to him, that’s all.”

No wonder he wanted out. It was all too much to take. He couldn’t even have an argument with his girlfriend without it being blown up and made into more than it was.

“Maybe you should give your story in the next issue?”

I picked up my laptop and tucked it against my chest. “Maybe.” Or maybe I’d let it go and the world would go on without batting an eye. Derek said he didn’t give a shit anymore and it was becoming clear why.

Out in the lobby, I puttered behind, wanting to put some distance between myself and the managers. They headed to the elevator and I hung back, squinting in the sun streaming in through the glass front of the building. There was a tinkling, a piano tune, playing faintly outside. I shaded my eyes and looked out. An ice cream truck sat at the curb.

It had been forever since I’d seen an ice cream truck outside of the beach areas. Even there it was rare. With permanent vendors set up there was no reason for a truck to come by. A scruffy, older gentleman saw me watching and got out of the truck. He carried a wrapped ice cream treat in one hand and a small, rectangular box in the other. I stepped back a pace when he opened the door.

“Bess?”

I recognized him from the afternoon Derek came to The Scene to confront me about my review. He was the man who opened Derek’s car door for me.

“I have a delivery for you,” he said, and held out the wrapped popsicle and the rectangular, creamy satin box before whipping a photo out of his pocket.

“Thank you,” I said, knowing this had to be Derek’s doing, but lost as to its context.

He nodded his head, turned and left, pulling the truck away from the curb. I sat on one of the plush, purple, high back chairs in the lobby and set my laptop aside. The popsicle was freezing and the wrapper was frosty. I balanced it on the arm of the chair and turned the photo over to see what it was.

Derek and I looked up at me in aged, glossy photo ink. We had to be about six, our toothless grins ringed in chocolate ice cream around our mouths. A rush of emotion blurred my eyes with tears. I made a little humming noise in the back of my throat, holding them back.

I set the picture on my lap and held the box across my left palm. I couldn’t imagine what might be inside.

Carefully, I opened it. On a cushion of black velvet sat a bracelet made of platinum links. Attached to the center link was a small charm—an ice cream cone. It had red stones scattered across the two ice cream scoops. They looked like rubies.

I plucked the bracelet out of the box and a tiny, folded piece of paper fell out onto my lap. I picked it up and opened it.

Because you love ice cream.

I held it to my chest and chuckled, a choked, almost regretful sound.

He knew me. Knew everything about me. Even after all this time.

The recent memory of the night we went to the wharf when he said we’d go for ice cream and I said I loved ice cream—he answered, “I know you do.” Of course he knew. Just like he’d been there for every major event in my life growing up, I’d been there for his. We’d lost each other for a while, but that didn’t negate everything that came before, or what was yet to come.

I closed the note in the box and secured the bracelet around my wrist.

He hadn’t given up on me. He was still fighting for us and I prayed he won the fight—for both of us.

I stashed the information from the meeting in my office and grabbed my bag to head out. Karen met me in front of her desk. “You’re coming with me. We’re getting dinner.”

“Don’t you have plans with Adrian?”

She smirked. “We don’t really date.” She put date in air quotes. “If you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” She jumped right into the end zone while I was loitering about on the fifty yard line waiting to score. Making sure my team really had the ball.

Jealousy burbled inside me. I wanted to score. I wanted Derek. He and I were both amazed at how my body responded to him. I could only imagine what it would be like to make love with him, but I didn’t want to
only
imagine it.

I needed it.

I needed him.

“He knows what he’s doing for a twenty-year-old,” Karen said, as we went down the elevator. She mindlessly nibbled on her finger, probably replaying their finer moments from the night before. “Of course I taught him a thing or two.”

“Of course.”

The elevator doors opened, freeing me from having to listen to the dirty details. Not that I would’ve minded, but the last thing I wanted was to hear what I was missing out on in my own non-existent sex life.

“Did you and Derek…?” She eyed me warily, somehow sensing my envy.

“Not exactly. We were getting to it.” I dug around in my purse for my keys, hoping to detour the conversation.

“I have a feeling it won’t be long.” She grinned and pushed the front door open for us, leaving me with that familiar feeling of being the last person let in on an inside joke.

Derek

I
checked my
watch. Karen was supposed to have her here ten minutes ago. She’d better show. I had everything set with the server.

From my spot at the bar, I could see the table where Bess and Karen would sit. I hoped my plan was enough. The charms should prove to her that I still knew her and loved her. People changed, but Bess, at her core, was the same as always. So was I, and she was one of the only people in the world who really knew me. Tomorrow, I’d show her I figured out where I’d gone wrong. I’d prove to her that she could trust me today and every day from here on out.

There was no future for me without Bess in it.

“Another one?” the bartender asked.

I slid my empty glass of Jameson toward him and nodded. “Please.”

I watched him pour the amber liquid over ice, willing my nerves to calm down. She wouldn’t see me tonight, but her reaction would tell me everything I needed to know.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the sight of her walking in the door with Karen. The bartender sat my drink down and I took a big gulp. The hostess led them to their table where a dozen red roses waited for Bess. I opted for having them boxed rather than in a vase so they’d be easier for her to carry home.

She picked the box up off of her chair, wide-eyed and flushing. She wore the bracelet. Seeing it sent a wave of relief through me. Before she sat, she draped her bag on the back of the chair and peeled the card off of the flower box. I sat on the edge of my stool watching her open it and knew each word her eyes ran over.

Because you never got that burger I promised.

She bit her lip, smiling.

Right on cue, the server delivered a bottle of chilled champagne and two covered platters. With a flourish, he removed the lids and Bess clapped her hands together looking down at the giant double bacon cheeseburger and mound of fries on her plate. Karen insisted on a grilled chicken salad.

I sat back and sipped my drink, enjoying the view. I loved the way Bess ate with abandon, not like some girly girl worried about the size of her jeans. Bess had soft curves that made my blood run hot. I knew she wouldn’t break in half when I made love to her. And I
would
make love to her. Very soon.

She licked her lips and the ketchup from her thumb. Her eyes gleamed behind her glasses. I was tempted to walk over to her and plant my lips on hers, taste the grease and cheese on her mouth. Scoop her up into my arms and carry her out to my car and taste the rest of her.

Their server cleared the table and Bess sat back holding her stomach. They sipped their champagne and laughed. I wished I could hear what they were talking about, but I figured it would be rude to mic the table.

When the server returned with the black leather bill folder, I stood to get an even better view. He sat it down in front of Bess like I’d instructed. She turned to reach for her bag, but Karen said something and pushed the folder closer to her. Bess opened it and immediately closed her eyes while a shaky smile formed across her lips. She put a hand over her mouth and opened her eyes, then picked up the photo and studied it. It was her dad about fifteen years ago standing on their back deck grilling burgers. He had on an apron that said ‘Kiss my buns’ and was wielding a grill spatula like a sword at the camera. She and I—at thirteen—stood in the background laughing. It was one of the many, many weekend nights that our families got together to have a cookout. I knew exactly which photos I wanted and Emmy and my mom were more than willing to help me out in my quest to win Bess’s trust and overnighted the photos to me.