“No, that sounds fine. I would like to shower first though.” We approached his Range Rover.
“Okay, we’ll stop at the apartment. Maybe we should grab some lunch?” He pulled open the passenger door for me and held my elbow as I tentatively placed my weight on my wrist by gripping the inside door handle. I stopped, wincing at the stiffness, and then I bore down on the seat with my good hand and slid into the car. Killian smirked at my furrowed brow. “Give it time.”
“Say that to me again and I’m going to find violent ways to work out the stiffness in my wrist.”
The bastard hesitated and I saw the flicker of the devil in his eyes. He’d had a dirty thought and was stifling a retort. It didn’t take a genius to guess what kind of dirty retort he’d wanted to make. “Ugh.”
He chuckled as he shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side.
We stopped at a sandwich place and grabbed food to take back to the apartment. Killian ate while I showered. The doctor had been in to see me before the nurse removed the cast and had prescribed painkillers for when my wrist inevitably began to feel uncomfortable. But he’d also told me that I needed to work out the stiffness, using my wrist as much as possible for light tasks. He’d told me the guitar was out of the question for a couple of weeks, which was not the news I wanted to hear. I was determined to get my wrist strong again, fast.
I washed my hair, wincing in discomfort as I forced my wrist to help out with the task.
By the time I blow-dried my hair, styled it, did my makeup, and got dressed, my damn wrist had swelled and was throbbing.
Killian eyed me from a stool at the island as I strode out my bedroom with a face like thunder. “Problem?”
I waved my wrist at him in agitation. “Look at it. A couple of menial tasks and it’s gone from an underfed Dr. Banner to the Incredible Hulk.”
His lips curled at the corners and he pushed my sandwich along the countertop toward me. “Eat. Then you can take a couple of painkillers.”
I did as he suggested and while I ate, he talked about what I was to expect at the label.
“It’s merely an introduction. I want you to meet the staff who are going to be working on the album with us, let you go into the booth, get a feel for it. We’re not doing anything official today. I’d like to wait until we can get you in the booth with your guitar. I want this album to be authentic.”
“Okay,” I agreed, ignoring the angry butterflies waking up in my belly.
It had felt like I’d been living in this apartment for longer than five weeks. It felt like Killian and I had been writing the album together for longer than five weeks. It had been a suspended moment in time for me, living in a bubble where I was safe, healing, and bonding with Autumn and Killian in a way I hadn’t let myself connect with people in so long.
Now reality wanted to burst that bubble.
When we pulled up to the building that housed Skyscraper Records, I felt stuck. Physically stuck in Killian’s car. He walked around the hood to the passenger side to open the door for me.
I had no choice but to get out.
“Is your wrist still sore?” Killian frowned as he held the glass door to the building open for me.
I nodded, taking in the large reception area. Marble floors, contemporary furniture, all white leather and steel. It was cold. I shivered.
“Skylar?”
“Let’s do this, O’Dea.” I was so locked up in my own thoughts, my voice sounded far away even to my ears.
“O’Dea?” I thought I heard him mumble but I was too busy making eye contact with the big guy with the scar across his cheek who stood by the bank of elevators. He wore a smart black suit that strained across his epic biceps.
“Sir.” He nodded at Killian, stepping aside to let us pass.
The blood rushed in my ears as soon as we stepped into the open elevator.
“Skylar?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m only going to ask this once more. Are you okay?”
I glanced up at him without really looking at him. “I’m fine.”
“If you’re worried about my staff recognizing you, they already know about you. They signed a confidentiality agreement. No one from my office will leak your whereabouts to the press.”
That was something, at least.
The elevator doors opened before I could respond and then I jolted a little at the feel of his hand on my lower back as he led me out into a huge open-plan office filled with people. This room wasn’t cold. There were music posters and artwork decorating every available space on the walls. The reception desk was directly across from the elevator.
“Mr. O’Dea,” the young man behind the reception desk greeted us without a smile. I reckoned it was because Killian wasn’t a smiley guy and the receptionist knew it.
“Justin, this is Skylar. Skylar, Justin is our receptionist.”
“Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand across the desk and I shook it, still feeling dazed. “May I offer you a drink? Water? Tea, coffee? We have hot chocolate.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Is Oliver in the recording studio?” Killian asked. “I want to start the tour there.”
“Let me check.” Justin picked up the phone and pressed a button. After a second he said, “Ollie, Mr. O’Dea is here with Miss Finch and would like to know if you’re happy for them to come see you first? . . . Great, I’ll let him know.” He hung up and nodded. “Booth Two is free.”
“Good. Tell Eve she’s needed.”
“Mr. O’Dea, I’m here!” A young woman of Asian descent scooted around the reception desk from our right. She grinned as she skidded to a stop in front of us. Her dark hair was piled high into a messy bun and she wore thick-framed, green cat-eye glasses that sparkled with a few strategically placed crystals. Her Killers T-shirt hung off one shoulder and was short at the hem on the opposite side, showing a glimmer of her pale waist. She’d matched the casual tee with skinny jeans with turn-ups and a pair of battered green Converse.
She looked about sixteen but had to be older.
“I heard you’d arrived,” she said a little breathlessly, like she’d run from one end of the floor to the other. I suspected she might have.
Killian gestured to her. “Skylar, this is Eve, my assistant. She’ll be happy to help you with anything you need.”
“Hi.” I stuck out my hand and her eyes lit up as she shook it, holding it in both of hers. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” She refused to let go of my hand. “I promised myself I wouldn’t fangirl but your music was the soundtrack of my life for a while there.”
A complicated flush of delight and agitation traveled through me. It was the greatest compliment in the world but also a horrible reminder that I was no longer just Skylar: Busker Girl. I was definitely, one hundred percent, Skylar Finch again.
I gave her what I hoped was a warm smile. “That means a lot. Thanks.”
“Eve,” Killian warned, and the smile fell off her face as she dropped my hand.
“I didn’t mean to be forward. I’m sorry.”
I shot Killian a quelling look and fell into step beside Eve as her boss led us down a hallway on the left side of reception, taking us past a bunch of closed doors. “You’re fine,” I promised her.
She gave me a grateful smile.
The silence among the three of us felt awkward, and I needed to distract myself so I wouldn’t faint from my overwhelming emotions. “How old are you, Eve?”
“Twenty-one. I graduated from Glasgow Uni this summer and was lucky enough to get this job.”
“What’s the goal?” I hoped I didn’t sound interrogative. I just needed her to keep talking, keep distracting me.
“Goal?”