Under the Surface (36 page)
Authors: Anne Calhoun
“Yeah, but you had something,” Eve said. “We all knew it.”
“Thanks,” Cady said again. She was too tired to think of something more creative to say, but with Eve she didn't have to. “I really need to get going. Emily has school tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Eve said. “Get some rest, then come see me. I'd love to have you at Eye Candy when you're ready.”
“Ms. Ward won't be taking any engagements for the next few weeks,” Chris said smoothly.
“It's not an engagement,” Cady said. “It's a favor for a friend. A very dear friend.”
He gave her a look reminding her that she needed to rest her voice. Only a few people knew about the upcoming album for which the label planned a surprise Beyonce-style drop around Valentine's Day, less than three months away. The thought made her stomach turn a slow loop. Chris chalked it up to nerves, to exhaustion, to creative fatigue, to anything but Cady's growing uncertainty that the album was the right thing to release now.
Chris broke the silence. “We can talk about it tomorrow, when you've had a chance to rest up. I've booked a car for you.”
“Hello, remember me? I'm taking her home,” Emily said.
“I remembered,” Cady said. “Let's grab my suitcases and we can head out.”
Cady, Eve, Matt, and Chris scuffled over who would carry the two enormous suitcases she'd lugged on tour buses and the occasional plane for the last eight months. Matt and Chris finally won, and followed Emily's runway catwalk stride through the backstage area to the arena door. Eve and Cady trailed behind them.
The cold air instantly froze the sweat still drying in her clothes. Cady shivered, and Chris immediately pulled her back inside. “No way are you going out there without a coat and a scarf,” he said. “Emily, pull the car around for her.”
He unzipped one suitcase and flung the lid back. The thick, spiral-bound notebook she used as a diary and scratch pad for songwriting slid out of the unzipped mesh pocket, onto the floor. Cady crouched down and gathered it up, tucking it back into the pocket along with an assortment of cocktail napkins and scraps of paper.
“Working on anything new?” Eve asked, helping her gather the loose paper. She'd been around Cady long enough to know that her process was firmly twentieth century.
“I am,” she said, shooting a defiant glare at Chris across her suitcase. With a total disregard for her privacy he rummaged through a stack of underwear and her nightie, shifting heels and Converse, two of her favorite T-shirts, in search of her scarf and coat.
“She's always writing,” Chris said, extracting the thick green scarf and her down jacket from the bottom of the bag. “Put these on. Hot water with honey. Bed.”
“I know the routine,” she said. She shoved her arms into the coat sleeves and wound the scarf around her face and throat.
“Part of the routine is me reminding you,” Chris said.
Properly mummified, Eve opened the door again. Em's Corolla was idling by the arena's loading dock. Matt and Chris stored the suitcases in the trunk while Cady slid into the passenger seat. Heat blasted from the vents, almost making up for the cold air billowing in the open door.
“I'll call you,” Chris said, leaning over the frame. “We need to talk about your security.”
“No we don't,” Cady replied.
“My flight's at four,” he said implacably. “I'll call around ten.”
“Fine,” she said absently. She wanted to ask Eve's Matt about Shoulders, but couldn't think of a way to do it that wouldn't set a bad example for Emily, so she called, “I'll see you soon!” to Eve and Matt, and closed the door on Chris's yelp about not raising her voice.
Emily zipped out of the parking lot and turned onto Tenth Street, then braked hard at the red light. Cady's shoulder harness jerked. She shot Emily a glance, but her sister stared straight ahead. In the streetlight her eye makeup was starting to smear. Cady couldn't even imagine what her face and hair looked like. After a show her face could resemble melting plastic as the lights and sweat worked away at enough makeup to animate her facial features.
“What's wrong?”
“You didn't introduce me.”
“You know Chris,” Cady said, bewildered. “You've met him a dozen times. And Eve.”
“To the hot cop. Eve introduced you to him, but you didn't introduce me.”
Cady blinked. “To Matt? He's Eve's boyfriend, and he barely noticed me. Eve's in a league of her own. No one notices me when she's in the room.”
“Oh, he noticed you, Queen Maud of the Maud Squad,” Emily said. “You could have introduced me to him.”
“Things were happening so fast,” she said. “Next time, I promise. Thanks for getting the house ready for me. I'm so excited to see it. How about we plan on having you sleep over this weekend? You can help me decorate.”
Emily's face lit up. “Ugh, I have to work both days and I've got homework, stupid finals coming up, papers due, but we can hang out when I'm off.”
“I remember what December's like when you're in high school,” Cady said with a laugh. “It'll be fun. Like old times.”
The drive through the backstreets into one of Lancaster's older neighborhoods took Cady back in time. Her mother still lived in the house she'd bought after their dad left. It was small, but refurbished inside and out. The house was from the fifties but recently renovated top to bottom, three bedrooms, a full bathroom she'd shared with Emily, a three-quarters bath off her mom's bedroom, a kitchen with an eating area that overlooked the backyard and a den. Lights burned brightly over the front and side doors, but her mother's bedroom window was dark. “The other cop wasn't bad-looking. The really, really big one,” Emily clarified.
“Emily, he's at least ten years older than you are,” Cady said as Emily parked the car in front of the house. Her mother had the garage and left for work by seven, which meant Emily parked on the street if she didn't want to have to move her car at the crack of dawn.
“So? I'm legal,” Emily said
Cady had spent too much time on the road with male musicians to be shocked by teenage girls lusting after an older man exuding power and confidence. “There's legal and then there's smart. Sometimes you have to be smart, for your own sake.”
“And sometimes I hate being the youngest,” Emily said. “You've done everything first. I can't even make my own mistakes.”
“Sure you can,” Cady said over the roof of the car. “You just can't complain when I say I told you so.”
Her sister grabbed the bigger, heavier suitcase and started lugging it toward the door. “Boys my age are stupid.”
“Grown men aren't always smart,” Cady said as they hauled the bags through the front door.
“I'll make you some hot water,” Emily said and strode into the kitchen.
Cady got her bags into what had been her room until Emily converted it into a studio after she left. Cady's single bed was pushed against the wall and covered with a big piece of plywood to turn it into a cutting board. Emily had moved the fabric scraps to the sewing station that took up most of the floor space. Cady stared at the tiny, crowded space and thought that there was no way she could fit herself and Shoulders, aka McCormick, into that bed.
That was depressing enough to make her leave the bags where they were and walk back down the hall to the kitchen, where Emily was drizzling honey into steaming water. A cup of cocoa steamed on the counter.
“Does that happen often?” Em asked.
“Does what?” she asked, still distracted by the memory of Shoulders' muscles flexing.
“Crazy drunk guys coming out of the shadows.” Emily held out the mug.
“They're always out there,” Cady said with a shrug. She clinked cups with Emily, then sipped the drink that was as much honey as water, and let out a sigh. She'd shed Chris, her stylist, her bodyguard, the band, and was finally alone and home. “It's so good to be home.”
“Only if you leave,” Emily muttered.
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Anne Calhoun
is the author of a number of romance novels and novellas, including the acclaimed novel
Liberating Lacey
, which won the EPIC Award for Best Contemporary Erotic Romance and was chosen as one of NPR's 100 Swoon-worthy Romances. Anne holds a BA in History and English, and an MA in American Studies from Columbia University. When she's not writing, her hobbies include reading, yoga, and horseback riding. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, son, and rescue dog, and has recently overcome her Starbucks addiction.
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CONTENTS
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
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UNDER THE SURFACE
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Copyright © 2016 by Anne Calhoun.
Excerpt from
Going Deep
copyright © 2016 by Anne Calhoun.
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All rights reserved.
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For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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eISBN: 9781250084613
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St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / June 2016
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St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.