Incite (Sphere of Irony 1)

What can I say? That everything will be okay? That no one is going to be hurt by this?

“El,” Adam demands, “tell me. I’m starting to freak out here Sweetheart.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing Adam. I just wish we didn’t lose all those years,” I lie, too afraid to give him the whole truth. That I have no idea what I’m doing, that I’m scared to death to leave everything I know to be with him, but equally scared to let him go.

He gives me his brilliant smile and leans in to rub his nose against mine. “Well, we’ll just have to make up for lost time.” He grins playfully, using that charming way he has to turn the somber moment around.

I decide to leave the serious discussion for another day and enjoy what I’ve been given… another chance at happiness.

I sigh and sit up on the edge of my bed.

Why can’t I have that chance? My life hasn’t gone the way I imagined, but whose does? I should have fought for what I wanted, not let him get away.

I’m so tired of leading the pity party parade. I wipe the stupid bloody tears from my eyes and get ready for sleep, determined to live the life that I want, go after the things that make me happy. Even my mum is getting on with life, finding happiness after all of the dreadful things she’s been through, losing her home, her job, surviving cancer, losing my dad.

When I climb into bed and turn out the lights, I’ve got a plan and a smile on my face for the first time years. I just have to get up the courage to go through with it.

chapter 35

Adam

The biting wind cuts right through my wool cap, turning my ears into shards of ice the second I step out of the car. Dodging half-frozen puddles from last night’s storm, I hurry into the famous Ritz-Carlton at Central Park. I’m supposed to meet a reporter from GQ here. I check my phone, whoops, ten minutes ago.

I whip off my hat on my way to the massive front desk, running my fingers through my hair to sort out the mess. When I get there, I ask a visibly stunned clerk where the club lounge is located.

“Ummmm,” her cheeks redden and she nervously tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

Really? Isn’t this the Ritz? Don’t they get loads of famous people in here? My patience for crap like this is wearing thin. Used to be I’d have her out of her knickers in less than fifteen minutes. Now it’s irritating. Maybe I’m getting old.

“Mr. Reynolds…” An older man steps over to help out his mute coworker, “it’s right this way.” He directs me to the lifts and tells me how to get to the club.

“Thank you, I’m running a bit late.”

“Well, sorry about Lacy, she’s new here.” He sighs as if embarrassed by her. “I’ll speak with her about proper decorum.”

“No problem, apologize to her for me, maybe I surprised her or something.” He nods and I hop into the lift to head upstairs.

“Mr. Reynolds, right this way. Your party is waiting for you.” An elegant host at the club entrance leads me over to a table framed by a large bank of windows overlooking the park. The beautiful fall colors of last month are gone, replaced by barren trees that give the landscape a harsh, cold feel.

“Mr. Reynolds, so nice to meet you.” The young man at the table jumps up from his chair and eagerly shakes my hand.

“Please, call me Adam. I feel about ninety years old with all of this Mr. Reynolds nonsense and I’m not even thirty for two more months.” The reporter smiles nervously and sits back down. I take the chair across from him.

“That’s right, February 29th, right?” I nod. “Not an easy one to forget,” Leo says smiling. “Coffee?” he asks, reaching for the carafe on the table.

“Tea, actually, PG Tips if they have it.” He raises an eyebrow and gives me a cheeky grin. “Stop,” I laugh, “I know what you’re thinking and yes, I’m English and do love tea, but I also enjoy coffee and have some almost every morning. Since it’s no longer morning, I thought tea might be a better option.”

He chuckles and signals the waiter, ordering up my tea. “I’m Leo Grey from GQ magazine. I spoke to your relations manager and she said I have permission to discuss,” he checks his notes, “the solo album, your work with Sphere of Irony, and any other topics you chose to bring up. Also that we are not to speak about your relationship with Kiera Radcliff or any other personal subjects except for those regarding your music, is that correct?”

Christ, I hate this crap. What can and can’t be discussed in interviews, but if you don’t spell it out ahead of time, they pounce all over you like a piece of fresh meat in a lion’s den.

“Yes, that sounds right.” I casually stir creamer into my tea, trying not to let my irritation show. Being with Kiera, now that she’s on the rise in Hollywood, has become a bit of a nuisance when it comes to interviews. Everyone wants the gossip, the inside scoop on our relationship. Apparently it’s much more interesting to readers than my music.

The waiter takes our lunch order and as soon as he leaves, Leo pulls out his phone, setting it on the table between us. “Do you mind?” he asks, setting it to record.

“Not at all.” I wave my hand at him, letting him know it’s fine.

Leo begins by asking me about the band, the usual questions that I’ve learned to expect. “How did you meet?” “Where did you get your start?” Then he moves into more recent events. I tell him that I’ll be leaving New York City at some point to tour and finish up the album with the band. We discuss the Grammy Awards, how Sphere of Irony won album, record, and song of the year.