Damn, I missed them.
Was pretty sure these withdrawals I was feeling were more brutal than any drug I’d ever had to kick. Every night I crawled into my bed alone and questioned that decision, wondering again just how much longer I could go on living this life when I was just as equally being called to live another.
I slipped down the hall and passed by the den currently playing host to depravity.
Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, baby.
I cringed, doing my best to ignore the spectacle, and entered through the very last door.
Karl Fitzgerald sat behind my desk with his shiny dress shoe propped up on it like he owned it.
He angled himself to stand when I entered, extending that greedy palm my way. “Well, Mr. Stone, I hear congratulations are in order.”
Reluctantly, I shook it. “I suppose they are.”
“You did well to get Martin Jennings out of your life.”
I curbed a sarcastic snort. Right. As if Jennings wouldn’t just keep coming back. Making Shea’s life hell any way he could. It was like I could smell it. Feel it coming in the distance. A tremor of malice rippling through uneven air.
Considering Fitzgerald was in my chair, I plopped into one of the plush chairs facing the desk and hooked an ankle over my knee, going for casual while I ignored the unease his presence sent sliding over me.
Obviously, this meeting wasn’t anywhere near over.
I rocked back.
Waiting.
Challenging him with my stare.
Because I could feel he had just a little more bullshit to throw my way. You’d think I’d had enough of it today.
“Is Sunder prepared for this tour and prepared to go into the studio as scheduled in four weeks?” The man minced no words.
“Yeah, of course,” I said with a casual lift of my shoulder.
“Good…good.” He nodded, straightened his tie before he sat forward. “You know we need you guys at your best.”
I lifted one hand like I was asking him to continue.
And your point is, asshole?
My expression pretty much felt like a dare.
“And are you sure you’re ready?” he prodded with a telling lift of his brow. “We don’t need to be concerned about this woman you’ve been making a scene with over the last couple of months?”
A scene?
Contention oozed through the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you seem to be easily distracted of late.”
“What I do with my personal life is none of your concern.”
“I think you know that’s not the truth.”
I jerked forward in the chair. Anger that continually boiled just beneath the surface threatened to erupt, and after the confrontation I’d had with Jennings this afternoon, I had little reserve left. I swallowed some of it back and tried to make sense of what he was suggesting.
My eyes narrowed, just as tight as my voice. “First you want me to clean up my act and now you don’t want me to settle down. Just what the hell is it you want from me?”
Bitterness fueled the question, because there wasn’t a place inside me that wanted the answer.
He shrugged like he had the right to utter what came next from his greedy mouth. “We want a brand. The troubled rocker we signed without the jail time. And we sure as hell don’t want a daddy.”
I flew out of my seat, palms flat on the desk as I glared across at him.
“I’m not a fucking brand.”
The chuckle rolling from him pissed me off more.
His eyes gleamed. “Ah, there he is. The one who can’t help find a little trouble. That’s who we’re looking for.”
I gritted my teeth. The words I bit out were hard. “What I’ve got going with Shea is none of your business and it’s not ever gonna be. You want Sunder? Fine. You have us. But when I walk off that stage, you don’t have anything to say about it.”
I pushed off and stormed toward the door. His next statement had my steps faltering at the threshold, but I refused to give him the courtesy of looking back.