Mister Dick

She shrugged. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s that exactly?”

“Spending the night with you.”

I stared at her, momentarily without words. “You haven’t changed at all. You’re still the spoiled little bitch who would rather do what’s wrong to prove some ridiculous point than do the adult thing.”

“Sticks and stones, Boyd.” She looked insolent. “How’re the new songs coming along? A little birdy told me your record company was thinking of dropping you.”

That was bull, but I’d play along. “The fact that you know that warms my heart,” I replied. “Didn’t know you still kept tabs on me.”

“Oh, I don’t keep tabs. I just listen in when I’m around industry folks. Toss in a bottle of tequila, and they sure like to talk. Kind of brightens my day.” She offered a wicked smile. “Is it exhausting? Being a fuckup? I mean, really. That Vegas thing was a little over-the-top, don’t you think?”

A burn erupted in my gut, and a smoldering fire became a full-on blaze. It turned me into a cold bastard. The kind of bastard who could walk out on a girl and leave her in a situation that wasn’t ideal.

Not my finest moment, but there you have it. Echo Mansfield had just pulled my trigger.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

I strode pa

st her and left before she could reply. The door didn’t close properly and rattled behind me, but I didn’t give a shit. I walked into my cabin and grabbed a bottle of JD off the counter, then sank into the overstuffed chair directly in front of the fireplace. I took a good long pull and felt the kiss of the fire on my skin. The wind rattled and hummed outside, shaking the windowpanes and buffeting the door something fierce.

I was warm after a couple of swigs of Jack did their job, and unlike Echo, I’d sleep like a baby. I settled back and smiled.

I had not one single regret.

3

Echo

I stared at the door for at least five minutes. Shivering. Miserable. My wine and champagne buzz long gone. I waited for that sense of satisfaction to wash over me. The one that gave a “hell yeah” for telling off Boyd Appleton. Because, trust me, I’d thought about it a lot over the last seven years, and my run-in with him a few years back didn’t count.

But it wasn’t satisfaction I felt. Nope. I felt…ashamed. Sort of. Which got me thinking. How was that possible? How could I feel bad for throwing darts at Boyd? He’d thought nothing of stomping on my heart and throwing it away when I was sixteen. Hell, I was still waiting to find it.

Maybe he still has it.

Okay. That thought freaked me out. It got my blood pumping and my body moving. My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I grabbed my bag off the counter in the kitchen. Warm clothes would go a long way in making this better. I opened the large Louis Vuitton satchel and pulled out…

My gym clothes. Oh. My. God.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned, rifling through the bag. Looking for some secret compartment that would magically produce the warm flannel leggings, the oversized hoodie, the hat and mittens I’d tossed on my bed back in NYC.

Shit. I left in such a hurry, I’d forgotten to unpack the satchel and fill it with the clothes I needed. I blinked away more tears and stared down at the bag for a long time. So long, my legs cramped and my vision blurred. I was well and truly screwed.

After a few moments, I decided my gym clothes would be better than my club outfit and quickly changed into a black sports bra, matching three-quarter-length tights, and a bright pink tank top. My shoes were in my locker at the gym, which meant all I had for footwear were sparkly silver come-fuck-me heels. Awesome. With disgust, I pulled on a pair of sport socks and tossed the satchel aside.

Grabbing a blanket off the end of the bed, I hurried back to the main room and hopped onto the sofa. It was so cold, I could see my breath, and it took a good five minutes or so before the blanket gave me any kind of comfort. I wasn’t toasty warm or anything, but at least I didn’t think my toes would end up with frostbite.

I relaxed, or at least I tried to, and closed my eyes. If I could just fall asleep, then maybe when I woke up, things would be different. Maybe when I woke up, my sister wouldn’t hate me and a car would magically appear in the driveway. Maybe the fabulous life everyone thought I lived would actually belong to me. Maybe I would be happy.

Maybe Boyd would be gone.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

The only thing to do was forget about it. Like, all of it. My sister Harmony. Her nasty boyfriend, Drake. Boyd. That was what I needed to do. I knew that. But it was easier said than done. I’d really fucked up tonight, and if Harmony didn’t speak to me again, I’d never forgive myself. She was my rock. My cheerleader. The girl who always had my back. She understood me better than anyone. Even when I was at my worst, she was the one who would kick me in the ass and tell me to get on with it.

But the look in her eyes when she’d walked in on me and Drake? That was a look I’d never forget. I’d crossed a line that should never be crossed. I had no one, and it was my own fault. My other sister, Lyric, was never around. She was at Berklee College of Music trying to blend in and doing a pretty good job of it. Not many people knew she was there, and the ones who did had no idea she was Axel Mansfield’s daughter.