You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (32 page)

But wasn’t this distance what she wanted? Needed? If he thought she understood him, if he sought the intimacy they’d once craved, she’d be naked on the couch with him in two seconds flat.

Distance was better. “Irwin doesn’t care about marketing stunts. He’s got people who take care of that. But the publicists, the marketing staff? That’s their job. Every day they’ve got a list of bands they have to make famous in an oversaturated marketplace. They were just trying to give Snatch a jump start. You can’t blame them for working any angle they can.”

“Right. And what an angle it was. Just blow up the lead singer’s life, force him into a fake romance with a manipulative bitch, and make him give up the girl of his heart.” He shook his head bitterly. “Yeah, not for me.”

The girl of his heart? Did he really believe that—still? A bud of longing unfurled in her belly. She loved him. She did.

But she couldn’t have him. He didn’t get it—he couldn’t, since he hadn’t lived it yet—but she knew what his life was about to become. Touring three hundred days a year, endless hours in the studio, promotional trips. His every second would be consumed with work. And he wouldn’t achieve the kind of success he needed if he didn’t give it 100 percent.

And neither would she. She loved him, yes. But she couldn’t have him. She shifted, took a mug down from the cabinet, and poured herself come coffee. “That’s why Irwin’s such a good fit for you. He doesn’t care about all that noise, either. He’d make sure he surrounded you with the right people so you could focus all your energy on what you do best—writing songs and performing.” She busied herself with pulling the milk from the refrigerator, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. Her body tensed, waiting for his response. When none came, she glanced at him.

“You’re like a stranger to me right now.”

Hurt streaked through her. “Well, I’m not on vacation anymore. This is me, Slater. Me in business mode.”

“Bullshit. This is you in hiding. Instead of dealing with it, instead of
fighting
, you become efficient.”

“Screw you. I’m
unemployed
, Slater. I have no income. In two months, I won’t be able to pay my
rent
. This is life or death. I
have
to get a job. And you know what terrifies me? If I don’t get a job, then I’m going to have to go back to Irwin. And if I do, God, what does that mean? That’s all I’ll ever be? A personal assistant?”

“Stop defining yourself by your job title.”

“Are you kidding me? I needed that damn promotion to prove to myself Irwin valued me as more than just the woman who could talk his most temperamental artist off the ledge, and you of all people should understand that.” Her voice turned bitchy at that last bit, throwing his words back in his face. She immediately regretted it. She was a stranger to
herself
.

“You don’t need Irwin’s stamp of approval. He’s just a guy, Emmie. He just happens to be good at what he does. He’s not better than you. You’re brilliant. You can do anything you want.” He leaned toward her. “So
do it
. Do what you want and forget about what anyone else thinks. Because that’s all the promotion means to you—his confirmation that you’re good enough. You don’t need him or your goddamn father to tell you anything. Because you’re fucking amazing, Emmie. In every way.”

“And what did the record contract mean to you?”

His features stilled. He had no response.

“That you made it. Just like the promotion would’ve meant to me.” She waved her hands as if clearing the air of all the misunderstanding. “But even still. When I
do
get another job, I’m going to be working in New York City while you’re on the road with Snatch, in the studio with them, touring the world. So where does that leave us?”

“Why are you making up these excuses? It leaves us together, working it out. Just like any other couple. Only we’re not any other couple. We’re us. And it’s fucking killing me to have you standing there like some record executive I once worked with.”

“I’m sorry if you don’t like that I’m back in work mode right now, but I’m fighting for my life.”

“I want you to fight for
us
.”

Her hands jerked, the mug lurching, sending coffee sloshing everywhere. “Why can’t you just let this go?” Oh, dammit. Damn him. She snatched paper towels off the holder and dropped to her knees to clean up the mess. Perspiration glued her tank top to her back. “You don’t need me anymore, Slater. Just let it go.”

He crouched beside her, a wad of paper towels in his hand. A frown creased his forehead. “I can’t. Because you’re in here.” He tapped his heart. “I love you—not because you turned Pete’s pubes into dreads, but because I
love you
. Because we have this bond, this connection, that I can’t fucking explain, but it’s there and it’s perfect and I want it, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without it.” He stood up, leaning against the counter. “Because it’s not going to come around again. This thing we have? It’s irreplaceable.”

She stood, caught in this whirlwind of emotion. Fear, anger, but also . . . hope.

His gaze searched hers, looking for an answer she couldn’t give. “But you’re too scared to see it right now. And that makes me so fucked.”

She wanted to believe him, of course she did. But love wasn’t all they needed. She could see his side, but he didn’t know how crazy his life would become once the band got signed. If a two-and-a-half-month tour felled them . . . come on, they didn’t stand a chance.

“Em, I’m here.” He shrugged. “You know I love you. I’m all in. I’d give all of this up to be with you. Truth is, I was doing this for my dad. Because he worked so damn hard to turn me into a rock star. But I can’t live my life for him. Yeah, I’m a musician, a songwriter, but I have to figure out my place in this business. And I want to do it with you.”

“Slater—”

“But it’s not about me. It’s about you. Thanks to your asshole father, you think the minute you’re not useful to me I’m going to dump you and not look back. Emmie, Jesus, I don’t need your help with my career. I need you to just be you. I need you to love me. I need you to
be with me
. Because no one in my life has ever loved me just for me. Except you. I’ve never felt as good about myself as I do when I’m with you. I like you. I like being with you. And without you? It’s just going through the motions.”

He scratched his head absentmindedly. “Thing is, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve told you. I’ve shown you . . . There’s nothing more I can do. It’s you. You don’t trust that I won’t dump you like your dad did to your mom. Like Alex did to you. I think you know if I could do anything—anything at all—I’d do it. I’d do anything to win your love.”

“You have my love. All of it. That’s never been in doubt.”

“Your trust.” He said it casually, like he was dismissing her love. “Emmie, I’ll wait for you forever because there’s no one else for me, but you have to trust yourself. You have to believe that you’re enough just as you are. I don’t know what it will take for you to trust yourself, but . . . Christ, Em, how
do
people trust?” He waited for her answer, and she had the feeling he expected something meaningful, something profound, something that would fix them right then and there. But she just didn’t know.

“I guess we take a leap of faith.” Emotion gripped his features. “I’m not your dad. I’m not Alex. I
will
catch you.” But then he wiped it away and took his mug to the sink.

Stowing it in the dishwasher, he reached for a kitchen towel, dried his hands. Finally, finally, he approached her, hands reaching again . . . but then settling at his sides. “I should go.”

“
Slater
 
. . . ?
” How could he leave her like this? Wait, wait, wait. She couldn’t think straight. They couldn’t be together. She knew she had to let him go, so why did she feel destroyed all over again hearing it from his mouth?

He’d always fought for her. He’d never wavered. Not once.

“See, I don’t know what I did to become Slater in your eyes again.”

She sucked in a breath, not even realizing she’d called him that. And then she remembered the blog.
Jonny and I.
“Piper. In the
Beatz
article she said, ‘Jonny and I are just in sync.’ She called you Jonny.”

He looked alarmed, holding her gaze as he seemed to think it through. But then all the energy drained out of him, and he just looked resigned. “She once asked me why you called me Jonny, and I told her. I guess she used it against you. And won.”

She felt the horror of those two simple words all the way down to her bones.

He sighed, shook his head. “I can’t help what other people do. I can be true to you, and that’s all I can do.”

Heading out of the kitchen, he stopped at the threshold, tapped his fist against the doorway, and said, “If you can do it, if you can take that leap of faith—and I sure as hell hope you do—I’ll be waiting.”

“What do I like?” Irwin asked. He’d brought the wrong glasses, the distance ones, so he’d shoved them down to the tip of his nose and peered at the menu with a ridiculous expression.

Of course they’d been to Basil a hundred times before. Tucked into the side of a rock outcropping under the Highline, Basil was a cool, tiny bistro that catered to wealthy artsy types in the city. The menu listed possibilities, not actual entrees.

The waitress, a woman Emmie didn’t recognize—she’d been away that long—gazed out the window at the pedestrian traffic in the funky Greenwich Village neighborhood. She didn’t seem bothered in the least by Irwin’s inability to order.

Emmie took the menu out of his hand. “I’ll have the number two with avocado, Monterey Jack, and please ask him to throw in some jalapeno peppers for me.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any peppers.”

“He keeps some for me.” Even as the words came out of her mouth, she realized how long it had been since this had been her life. “Well, he used to. If he doesn’t have them, that’s fine. Maybe he can put some salsa or something in it to give it a little umph.”

“Sure.” The waitress turned to Irwin, who was now squinting at his iPad.

“He’ll have the number seven. Please make it with just fresh vegetables, no meat whatsoever, and ask Chef if he wouldn’t mind stuffing a bunch of fresh spinach in there.”

“I hate spinach.” Irwin peered up at her.

“Cleansing,” was all she had to say to make him flinch and go back to his iPad. “Also, instead of the sweet potato fries, can he please have a bowl of fresh fruit?”

“That’ll cost extra.”

Emmie gave him a private smile. “He’s worth it.”

“Yes,” Irwin said. “And, of course, I’m paying, so you could throw in gold doubloons and she wouldn’t care.”

“Okay.” The waitress gave them an awkward smile. “Be right back with your drinks.”

“If you ordered me wheat grass, I’m not going to touch it. I don’t eat grass. It’s not a vegetable, no matter how hard you try to convince me of it. Besides, I think you’re just trying to make fun of me. You think I don’t pay attention to you. But I do. And I want you back. I can’t live without you.”

She had to admit, she appreciated his persistence. “It’s not a good idea.”

He set his iPad down. “What exactly are your job prospects?”

“I’m exploring some options.”

“Do tell.”

The second interview with BellCap Records hadn’t gone well, so she wouldn’t mention it. The place was chaotic, and the A&R staff seemed more interested in partying with the talent than actually developing it. Maybe Irwin had spoiled her, but she’d rather keep looking than take a job with an unstable label.

“I’m working with Zuzu’s Petals. I’ve just sent out their press kit. I’m also writing a series for
Rolling Stone
, taking a band from the garage to the amphitheater.”

“Wonderful. Excellent. I sense win. So, currently, the choice is between working for me in the music industry, flying around the world, and eating in famous restaurants, or wandering around your apartment in your pajamas trying to keep busy?”

“No, no. I’ve gone on interviews. I’m looking to—”

“Be an A&R rep. Yes, I know.”

The waitress set down their drinks. Fresh-squeezed lemonade for her, a wheat grass shot for him. He gave her a comically dull look.

“Thank you,” Emmie said to the waitress, lifting her glass to Irwin and offering their usual Zulu cheer. “Oogy wawa.”

He raised his shot glass. “Oogy wawa.” His features squinched up, and he knocked back the shot. His eyelids flew open, and he looked like he’d been Tasered.

“Now that you’ve cleared the toxins from my body, can I order a real beverage? Preferably one with a high alcohol content?”

“When was the last time you ate healthy food?”

“Since the night you had that rather deceptive meal delivered to my office. Candles, chocolate lava cake . . . I thought you were going to propose to me. Not tell me you’d replaced yourself with the Masticator. I haven’t quite recovered. But you could come back to me, and all will be forgiven.”

“I could possibly come back temporarily, it’s just I . . .”

“What’s grossly disturbing to me is your wishy-washiness. This is not my Emmie. Why do you take such command of my life and yet squander your own?”

“What?” Stunned, she felt like he’d tossed a glass of ice water at her.

“Look, you’re a sharp girl. I wouldn’t have been able to find my own socks each morning if you hadn’t laid them out for me the night before. And I mean that completely metaphorically.” He rolled his eyes with great exaggeration. “How can someone so clever be so lost in her own life?”

“I’m not lost.” She was totally, helplessly lost.

“You’re simply not the type of person to
not
know what she wants. To not make happen exactly what she wants.”

“I can’t have what I want, Irwin.”

His head snapped back, eyes widened.

“What?” She was getting exasperated.

“You are not the Emmie Valencia who walked out of my life four months, two weeks, and two days ago.”

The waitress set a platter of vegetable dumplings down in front of them. “Compliments of the chef.” She flashed a smile at Emmie. “He says to say, ‘Hell yeah, I’ve got her jalapenos.’ He wondered where you’d gone.”

“Thank you. Tell him, thank you so much.” The waitress left, and Emmie sat uncomfortably, not sure what to make of Irwin’s words. “I’m not the same person. I know that. I can’t even stand to be in my own skin. You know what? I will take my job back.”
Yes
. Finally, she’d made a decision. And it felt so . . . so . . . Well, it was the right choice for now.

“You can’t have it.”

“What?” Her head spun.

“It’s no longer available.”

“Irwin.” She stabbed a dumpling, dunked it in the soy sauce, and brought it to her mouth.

“What happened to discovering a band?”

She shrugged. “I did discover one.”

He held her gaze, and the world narrowed to just the two of them. The room grew insufferably warm, and her heart thundered.

Finally, her shoulders gave, and she practically hunched over. “I suck at it. I don’t like living in clubs and schmoozing with bands. I’m not cut out for A&R.”

“So we agree.”

It actually felt good to admit it. “We agree. But where does that leave me? I don’t want to do publicity or marketing, and I’m not—”

“The only jobs on God’s earth are at a record company?”

“Well, if I want a promotion . . .” She didn’t want to go into the whole explanation about starting over somewhere else from the bottom again.

“So the only job of value comes from me? My promoting you?”

“Well, it would have made the most sense. Anything other than A&R will be entry level.”

“You’ve no other talents? Interests? Because I might point out what you did with . . .” He made a sour face.

She waited, but he didn’t go on. “Snatch?”

His hand made a quick flicking motion, as if to bat the horrible name away from the table. “You knew exactly what to do to turn them into a real band. You got them the tour with that viper of a woman. So, while you may not be cut out for A&R, you may be cut out for something else. Manager, perhaps?”

He stabbed his fork into a dumpling and stuffed it in his mouth. Chewing, he grimaced. “It has carrot bits in it.”

“Yes, it’s a
vegetable
dumpling.”

“You know, there are other food groups. I’m allowed to partake of the others.”

“Vodka is not a food group.”

“Alcohol is a cleanser.” He exhaled, looking frustrated. “Emmie, you are invaluable to me. I trust you.”

She knew exactly the weight of that sentiment. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“And you know how important it is to me to have as few annoyances as possible, which is why I pine for you?”

She nodded.

“And one of the biggest annoyances is dealing with pratt managers. You, as a manager, would not annoy me.”

Her pulse quickened as the waitress set their plates down.

“Thank you,” Emmie said as Irwin stared in horror at his meal.

“They forgot the food. Excuse me, miss?”

The waitress spun around, looking concerned.

“I think someone vomited on my plate.”

Emmie waved the waitress off, “Nothing, he’s fine. Thank you.”

“I do have teeth. I’m able to chew actual food.”

“You always complain until you take the first bite. You love Chef Orlando.”

“Should I use a straw?” He stabbed his fork into the steaming mass of steamed vegetables on a bed of quinoa and bulgur wheat. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend I’m eating Chef Charlie’s confit chicken leg with morel mushrooms and a curry-scented crust.” He brought the forkful of food to his mouth, inhaled, winced, and shoved it in. He chewed briskly three or four times, then swallowed, making a childish face of disgust. “Maybe if I pinch my nose?”

“You know you like it. Now eat it all, and if you’re good, I’ll buy you a perfect little canelé from Balthazar’s.”

His head popped up like a dog that had just scented raw hamburger meat. “Now you’ve done it. I can taste the delicate custard on my tongue. Ah, that first crunch of the crystallized caramel. For the love of God, woman, don’t tease me. Is that a promise?”

She smiled, and again he closed his eyes and breathed in the steam from his meal. “Mm. Smells better already.” He went quiet, keeping his eyes closed. “Emmie. Do as I’m doing right now.”

“Act like a baby?”

“One of us has to be the adult. It’s always been you, let’s not change things now. Close your eyes.”

“Then I won’t be able to enjoy watching you eat your quinoa.”

“Close them.”

Reluctantly, she did.

“What does your perfect future look like?”

Her lids flashed open to find him smirking at her.

“You can’t see your future while looking at me.”

Fine. She closed then again. “How far into the future?”

“Now who’s being churlish?”

“I see me in my pajama shorts and tank top in my office with the sun streaming in through the windows as I write articles for
Rolling Stone
.”

“I didn’t need to know the wardrobe choice. That’s not fair. Go on.”

“I can have more?”

“You silly girl, you can have anything you want. Don’t you know that about yourself by now?”

“My boyfriend—okay, my husband, the love of my life, is in the other room working on a song.” Her heart clutched at the vision of Slater in the other room. Jonny. Her love.

Her
heart
.

“And what’s
he
wearing?”

“Nothing but black boxer briefs.” And, oh, the sight of Slater’s bare chest, the hard, defined muscles, had her hands itching to reach out and touch him.

Oh, my God.
Surely a piece of her soul was missing. Surely that explained this constant pain, this throbbing ache that lived inside her.

That
wouldn’t go away
.

“I’d hoped to keep this PG, but apparently that’s not possible.”

She burst out laughing. “Okay, fine. I just put him in pajama pants. But nothing else. What’s your point?”

“Tell me what’s stopping you from having that life?”

“Oh, well, I mean, come on. I have to have a job. I have to work for somebody.” Even as the words came out of her mouth, she felt her cheeks burn.

“I can see we’re getting somewhere on the job front. And the fellow in boxers in the next room? Why can’t we have him?”

“Because he’s a singer, Irwin. He’s a gorgeous, hot singer in a rock band. Once he gets signed, he’s going to be on the road . . .” Her chest hurt, and she didn’t have the energy to go on and on with the same crap. “He doesn’t need me anymore.”

He shoved a forkful of steaming food into his mouth and swallowed it whole. “I didn’t go to university, but I’m fairly sure one’s usefulness is not in direct proportion to one’s lovability. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you’re Emmie Valencia. Who wouldn’t fall madly and wildly in love with you? And not because you offer turndown service, but because you’re you. You’re delightful. I can count on you, and that, my love, is a rarity. A gift. You are indispensable to me not because you’re efficient—the Masticator was certainly efficient. But because I
like
you. I like your company, your humor, your spirit, and your integrity. You’re honest and true. And lovely. And dear God, how many people on this earth possess those qualities? Not enough. I wanted you back for those qualities. Not for your ability to book a tour bus. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. You need to do something. I don’t believe you’ll make a good A&R coordinator because I don’t believe you’re all about the music. You, my love, are all about the people. Your gift is in knowing people, reading them, and that combined with your extensive knowledge of the music industry equals managerial success. That’s an equation I made up all on my own, no degree required.” He set down his fork, lifted his napkin off his lap, and dabbed the corners of his mouth. “Now, have I eaten enough to earn my canelé?”

“Sure.” Still a little dazed by his good opinion of her, she motioned to the waitress, who came over right away. “Can we please get the check?”

“You got it. How was everything?”

“Astonishingly delicious.” Irwin wowed her with a dazzling smile.

The woman’s cheeks turned pink, and she backed away with their plates.

“So, my love. If you had no fear, you’d be writing your articles, possibly managing bands, which, let’s be honest, is your calling in life, and living happily ever after with your rock god in a little valley by a stream on a ranch in the heart of Texas.”

Her calling in life? Had Irwin just said managing bands was her
calling in life
? He thought she was great at something. She let that knowledge sink deep, warming her to her bones. “It’s not fear that holds me back. I’m just being realistic.”

“And are you enjoying this realism? Is it quite fulfilling?”

A smile spread slowly and surely across her entire body, opening her. It was like uncurling a fist after clenching it too long. “It sucks.”