Best Friend's Ex Box Set

He reached over and touched my arm. “Of course not, Nalia. You're meant to be a star, and you will make it in this business. I promise you that. You just have to believe in yourself. You're so talented, and you work so hard at it; it's just a matter of time before the right person notices you. Don't give up now.”

I looked at him, giving him a soft smile. “You should have been a motivational speaker. Or maybe a therapist.”

“Well, if I was,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “I would have told you to stay far away from that d-bag rocker. Oh wait...I did tell you that. Hmm. You, however, chose not to listen. This would be where I give you the dreaded I told you so speech. But, he already broke your heart, so I’ll spare you. This time.”

My heart ached at the mention of Owen, and all the feelings of what he meant to me came rushing back. Sitting there, staring at the studio I dreaded entering, I found myself wishing things would have worked out between us just so I could prove everyone who had doubted us wrong. But, in the end, it seemed they had all been right.

Grace’s words, however, continued to haunt me. What if I had been wrong? What if I had jumped to conclusions and never gave him a chance to explain? What if Owen hadn’t been the ass I assumed he was, and, instead, was actually the exception to the rule?

“Hey. Earth to Nalia,” Jackson broke me from my trance. “How about you go get that check so we can get the hell out of here,” he suggested, his voice jolting me from my inner thoughts and self-questioning.

I nodded, pulled in a deep breath to steady myself, and opened the car door. Seconds later, I walked into the building and took the elevator up to the floor where the studios were. When the elevator doors opened, the place was eerily quiet. The lights were off, but there was still a good deal of light entering through the windows, so it wasn’t dark, but it did feel a bit like a ghost town.

The secretary wasn’t at the front desk, so I stood there for a moment, looking around and trying to decide what to do. That’s when a familiar sound floated through the air—music. It faintly sounded like a piano playing.

I took one more look around before following the sound, realizing with a start that it was my song playing. This was my song! What the hell was going on?

Turning the corner, I peered down the hall and noticed a light on in a room ahead. Naturally, I walked toward it, hoping that someone could explain how my music was playing in the studio. If someone had recorded me unknowingly, I would fight tooth and nail to get it back. Nobody was going to be ripping off my songs. Nobody. That was my music, my talent, and I’d be damned if I was going to let anyone steal it.

I stepped in front of the doorway and gasped at the sight of rose petals scattered on the floor. The equipment in the studio had been pushed back to allow for dozens and dozens of candles to be lit along the wall, the light giving the room a soft, romantic glow. Wave after wave of surprise and wonder crashed over me.

I suddenly felt as though I should turn and leave. It seemed I had just stumbled into a proposal in the making. But, my curiosity moved me forward into the next room. I stopped and turned around in a slow circle.

Some lucky fool was going to enjoy this, even cry over the romantic gesture. Why couldn’t I be lucky like that? I hoped that they understood how precious this was and how amazing they should feel that someone cared for them enough to go all out in such a way. Still though, the thought that someone had stolen my music to do this kept the anger flickering like a fire inside me.

“Hello, Nalia.”

I spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. He stood at the door, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest, dressed casually in a polo shirt and khaki shorts, with his typical converse standing out in bright red. There was no denying the man was gorgeous. And at the moment, he looked tanned, rested, and totally unlike the hot mess that I had felt like lately.

“O-Owen,” I managed to stammer. “What on earth are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Florida?”

He pushed off the jamb and walked into the room. “Well, I was, but there was something I had to take care of on this side of the country.”

I swallowed hard, anticipation building. “What was that?”

He smirked and dropped his arms. “You know, you’re insanely talented, Nalia.”

“I, um, thank you,” I said honestly, glad that someone like him thought I had talent. “That means a lot.”

“It’s not flattery—it's the truth. There’s only one problem, though.”

“A problem? What might that be?”

He smiled. “You need a chance. Everyone deserves a shot at making their dreams a reality, and I want to give you that shot. Please, Nalia, let me help you grow your talent and spread it all across the country and beyond. I just want this chance to help you make your dream come true.”

I stared at him, unable to believe what was happening. He wanted to help me become famous? That in and of itself was a dream come true. “I-I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand? I want to help you, Nalia,” he stated. “And all I ask for in return is that you come back on tour and help me finish it. Come to Florida with me and see this thing through. I swear, I won’t ask for anything else, and then when we're done, we can start on your album. I'll cover all the costs, of course, and give you a very handsome signing sum if you'll allow me to have the honor of adding you to the list of artists signed to my label.”

My heart hammered wildly in my chest, and I thought about the possibilities he was offering me: a recording contract, a chance to do what I loved best in the world, and a chance to live out my dreams. It was too much.

“I will even offer my vocals, if you think any tracks would benefit from them,” Owen continued, the tone in his voice becoming eager. Like he felt he needed to do or say more to convince me.

That’s when it all clicked—the roses, the candles, the bonus. This was about more than Owen offering to sign me to his record label. I knew that I should stop him, that I should tell him I was excited about the opportunity, but knowing he had done all of this just to get to talk to me, for him to need me so badly was a feeling I couldn’t describe, so I drew it out a little longer. Just the thought of what could happen had my head spinning.

“Please say yes, Nalia,” he said softly.

I walked slowly across the room, closing the gap between us and trying hard not to cry. This man was giving me a chance to live my dreams, something that, just a few minutes earlier, I had thought would never happen in my lifetime. And he was looking at me like I meant something to him. More than just a recording contract. More than just an assistant on his tour.