“What?” It came out sounding like a defense.
We already had the offer.
I already knew what it meant.
I didn’t need someone here trying to convince me to sign something when I wasn’t ready.
Not when I didn’t know if I could work in the same world as Cory Douglas. Just the thought nearly sent me into a panic attack.
The doorbell to Richard’s suite rang. That feeling amplified by ten, anxiety chasing all the air out of my lungs.
“Richard,” I begged.
He took a step back. “Just, hear him out. Please. For the sake of this band.”
What was this guy going to say that hadn’t already been said? What would it change? They represented everything I was running from.
Literally.
Richard swung open the door and stepped out into the bright, shimmering light, turning his attention to the door that Mel was opening.
Tentatively, I stepped out behind him, then I nearly dropped to my knees as all the blood drained from my head.
“Just remember in the morning that I warned you the only thing I do is make mistakes.”
Only I was the one who had made the biggest mistake.
Was the biggest fool of them all.
Because my beautiful stranger was standing in the room.
As dark and deadly and dangerous as last night.
Royce.SixRoyceThey say there are seven deadly sins.
Bullshit.
Emily Ramsey was number eight.
Although this sin?
This sin came with immediate condemnation. I could feel the consequence of it quivering through the air, quakes of a warning trembling underfoot.
I knew I’d regret it. Knew it with all of me. But sometimes you wanted something so damned bad that any other reason ceased to matter.
Now she stood across the room in all that perfect, delicate flesh. Her expression one of horror, etched in bold, glaring lines; her face so ashen I was pretty sure she was trying not to spew her guts out onto the floor.
Repulsed.
Disgusted.
I was a bastard. I knew it. But there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about that now.
Like they say, it was time to face the music.
Refusing to back down, I kept my attention pinned on her, watching the way her face twisted and contorted and pulled through a thousand different emotions.
Shock.
Hatred.
Attraction, every bit as strong as it had been last night.
Only growing when I took another step farther into the room.
No one said anything.
I wondered if they could feel it, too.
I reached up and adjusted the tie cinched too tight around my neck.
Finally, Richard Ramsey cleared his throat and approached me, appreciation and hidden understanding in his eye. “Royce Reilly, in the flesh. It’s good to finally meet you face-to-face.”
He offered his hand, and I shook it, words rough when they scraped up my throat. “Glad to be here. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
Only, he’d been well aware that I was coming. He’d jumped at the idea when I’d suggested it, though I’d prefaced it like a requirement. A little gift to let him off the hook. To take the pressure off his shoulders.
Thing was, I got his frustration. It was plenty warranted, and the care he had for his band was clear.
He was a cool guy. A good guy. On top of that? He was fucking off-the-charts talented. And it was my job to sort the talent from the hacks. The exceptional from the expected.
The only thing you could expect from him was greatness.
No mediocre songs or riffs or lyrics or shows.
“Hey man, not a problem at all. We had nothing going on this morning, and we don’t have to be on the road for a couple more hours.” Rich’s words rushed from him, the guy clearly anxious, not sure which way this meeting was going to go. Swiveling on his bare feet, he gestured for me to move deeper into his suite where the rest of Carolina George waited. “Come on in and have a seat.”
I wondered if he’d be so earnest if he knew what the full extent of my intentions were.
“Everyone . . . this is Royce Reilly, head of A & R at Mylton Records. I asked you all to come here because he wanted to meet with us this morning.”
A ripple of raw energy blasted from the tight-knit group.
Rhys and Leif, who were easy to recognize, shared a glance of speculation, unsure what to make of my appearance.
Trying to deduce if I was a benefit or a threat.
Let’s just say I didn’t exactly come across as a friendly guy.
“Good morning,” I said curtly, moving deeper into the room, doing my best to ignore the way the air crackled the closer I got to Emily. My footsteps coming heavy, in sync with the breaths punching from my lungs.
Fuck.
This was going to be a problem.
“Well, well, well . . . If it isn’t a new face from Mylton Records. Can’t say I’m surprised. Looks like they’re pulling out the big guns,” Rhys said with one of his signature grins, eyeing me with a gleam, clearly hoping I was coming with a more enticing offer than the one my stepfather had presented them with three months ago.