As Dust Dances (Play On 2)

I managed a weak little laugh, even though an unexpected and painful wound had been inflicted. “I’m not going to repeat that. But—and I don’t mean this to be a bitch, this is friendly advice—I wouldn’t gossip about your boss to any of his artists anymore. It might get back to him, and you seem pretty enthusiastic about wanting to work here.”

“I am.” Eve’s eyes rounded with intensity. “But I have this filter problem and I talk too much.”

“You’ll learn with experience.”

But would I? Or was I fated to continually put my feelings somewhere they didn’t belong? Like in a man I thought was my friend, despite all the shit between us, only to discover that I knew very little about him. And most of what I’d learned had come from his sister.

Not telling me about a girlfriend . . . What must she have thought he was doing those late nights at my apartment? Why didn’t he ever mention her? Was it because she mattered so little, or because I mattered so little?

Fuck.

How the hell did everything get so twisted up? I wrapped my arms around my waist, ignoring the throb in my wrist. I wanted to go. I needed to be alone to process this new information.

However, I had to stand there as Killian emerged from his uncle’s office wearing that damn blank mask I hated so much. His uncle followed him out and they drew to a stop in front of us.

James flicked a look at Eve. “I need a coffee, girl.”

No please, no thank you. No use of her name. It’s not like I hadn’t been around people in powerful jobs who thought it was okay to treat others like their servants. It annoyed me then and it annoyed me now. I bristled as Eve scurried off to do his bidding.

“So you’re the ex-pop-rock princess my company is spending all the money on.”

Wow.

Nice.

The thought of the apartment, the clothes on my back, all the food that had helped me get healthy again, suddenly made me feel vulnerable. Like I was stripped naked in front of this guy. Because it was his money that had helped me. Not Killian’s. I hadn’t minded it when I’d thought otherwise, but being faced with the truth made me feel small. I’d been taking this man’s money and he didn’t look happy about it. Why should he?

“I’m going to pay you back,” I said. Riotous butterflies flurried to life at the thought of accessing my money, but in that moment, I thought being beholden to him instead of Killian was worse than my band finding out where I was.

“If your album does well, you will.” He dragged his gaze down my body and back up again. “You’ll need to dress better.”

Screw you, ass—

“There was a coffee spillage,” Killian explained. “We had to find something for Skylar to change into.”

James flicked his nephew a look before turning back to me. “This boy,” he gestured to his nephew and I swear my fingers almost sprouted claws at him calling Killian boy, “thinks you’ll be an impressive addition to the label. I see the merit in it, considering the free publicity, but since he won’t let me hear any of your music yet, I’m a bit skeptical.”

Choking on my annoyance, I couldn’t speak for fear of what I’d say.

He raised an eyebrow and shot Killian an amused look. “You better make sure her music is more interesting than she is.”

Annoyance flickered over Killian’s face and James appeared surprised by it. “Something I said?”

“No. It’s been a big morning for Skylar. A lot going on. She’s done this before, James. She’ll be fine.”

James harrumphed and then turned his attention back to me. “Nothing to say?”

I felt like I was in front of my school principal. God, this man was the most condescending prick I’d met in a long time. “Do you always greet your artists this way?” It slipped out before I could stop it.

“In what way?”

“Interrogative. Condescending.” I couldn’t be stopped. It was that word boy.

He pressed his lips together in displeasure. “I’m your boss. Not the other way around.”

“But surely it’s your policy to keep your artists happy? Not make them feel like they’re about to get detention.”

“Only when my artists are making me money and not bleeding me dry.” He cocked his head, narrowing his nasty gaze on me. “Has it always been your policy to be rude to your label head, Miss Finch?”

“Actually, my current policy is to give zero fucks.”

Killian exhaled a shuddering sigh, rubbing a hand over his head like he couldn’t believe I’d said that.

James gave his nephew a look filled with such disdain, a lesser man would have buckled under it. “I hope you know what you’re doing, boy.”

Oh, if he called him boy in that snotty tone one more time!

He marched away before I could say anything, hopefully to exit the building and relieve us of his toxic personality. How did someone like him make a business out of music? Janet Wheeler, the head of Tellurian’s label, was unbelievably passionate about music. Yes, she had a business degree, but her passion was ultimately what drove her.

But James . . . that guy was all coldhearted, soulless business. And you did not make a label successful by talking to your artists like they were crap on your shoe!

“Can you believe that guy?” I gestured toward the empty hall.

“That guy,” Killian bit out between clenched teeth, “is my boss and your label head. What the hell were you thinking?”

Surprised by his anger, it took me a second to respond. I sputtered out, “You’re mad at me? God, if that guy called you boy one more time, I was going to push him out of a window.”

Killian blinked as if he wasn’t expecting that response at all.

“He’s an asshole.”

His face darkened. “Right now, he’s not the asshole. This is my job, Skylar, and you made me look incompetent in front of my boss. Was it deliberate? Are you trying to sabotage this and get out of our deal?”

That he would even ask that floored me. Hurt on top of the hurt I’d already been experiencing over the news that there was a Yasmin made me feel even smaller than his uncle had. I hated feeling small. “No. I just . . . I didn’t like him.”

“Well, sometimes we have to work with people we don’t like,” he said pointedly.

That sucker punch knocked the breath out of me. Hurt didn’t cover how I felt. It obliterated my sarcasm shields, leaving me entirely defenseless. The only option left was to retreat until I could reboot them.

“You know, I think we should finish the tour another time.” I turned away, unable to look at him. “My wrist is making me irritable.”

“You think?” he snapped. He disappeared into his office, returning a couple seconds later with my sweater. I took it from him, careful not to touch him, and hugged it into my chest as I marched ahead down the hallway toward reception.

Before we turned the corner, a door burst open on my left and I nearly collided with the young woman who came out of it.

“Oh, sorry.” She smiled apologetically up at me and then froze as our eyes met.

Confusion and shock drew me to a halt.

It was Shelley, the police sketch artist.

What the . . .

She threw Killian a look over my shoulder and whatever she saw sent her scurrying away from us.

Shelley worked for him, not for the police?

I stumbled forward, my mind whirring. What did that mean? That Killian found those boys before the police—

Oh my God.

I was vaguely aware of someone calling goodbye to us as we stepped into the elevator, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than my current realization. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind us, I whirled on him.

“Did you have those boys beaten up before you turned them over to the police?”

Killian stared ahead, refusing to look at me.

“Killian?”

He glanced down at me out of the corner of his eyes, apparently bored. “Well, I’m a dick, right? Dicks do those kinds of things.”

I ignored his jab and pressed, “How? How did you get to them first?”

Shrugging like our conversation didn’t matter, he replied, “We found them through Shelley’s drawings. My birth father has connections. He owed me one, so he had them interrogated. They were a bit more thorough than the police and they fessed up.”