“I’m fine. I’m going to get online and see what else I can do for Liam. Go do what you need to do,” she answers without looking at me.
“Bluebird . . .” This fucking sucks. Liam can’t be over here because I’m here. I don’t want to leave her alone in case Carl shows up here or next door. But I do need to get my kit ready and take it to the rehearsal space soon and return my boss’s truck before he puts out an APB on it and me. And I need to call Ashley about payment arrangements, which is damn sure not something I want to do in front of Dixie. I meant what I said, though, and since being with her in Austin, I haven’t looked twice at another woman, nor do I ever intend to.
“Go, Gav. I’m good. Promise.”
She is and I know she is, but I hate not being able to be there for her when she’s upset—even when she does look ready to take on Carl Andrews herself. Leaning down, I kiss her lightly on the temple. Her eyes open and flash quickly to mine and I see so many conflicted urges in them, but mostly I see a girl who needs more sleep.
“I’ll stop back by later if you want me to.”
“ ’Kay,” she mumbles while pulling her computer into her lap.
I slip out the door quietly, making triple sure my girl is locked in safe before I go.
25 | Dixie
WHEN GAVIN LEFT this morning after the social worker visited with Liam before returning him to Mrs. Lawson, there was so much I wanted to say. All I actually said was thanks for staying and then I took a very necessary nap.
But as I start getting ready for rehearsal, I realize a few things. Some of what I have to say isn’t actually for him.
So I decide to find the person I actually want to say it to.
Once I’m dressed in jeans and a tank top donning the words JOHNNY AND JUNE, I give my hair the usual college try and slip on my boots. Palming my keys, I add my cheap gas station aviator sunglasses to the top of my head and call it good.
My cell phone screen lights up as I lift it off the counter. Dallas is texting reminding me not to be late.
I swear, you oversleep one time at Austin MusicFest and your brother will never let you live it down.
I ignore his message and pull up my Web browser in search of an address. Once I find it, I type it into my navigation app.
Okay, so I might be late.
But only just a little.
Downtown Amarillo isn’t huge but it can be confusing when driving. There are several one-ways going in the opposite direction and the navigation lady on my phone reroutes me more than once. Somehow I finally find the building I’m looking for and park at a meter across the street.
As I ride the elevator up to the ninth floor, where the sign in the lobby said her office was, my nerves start to play tricks on me. I can’t tell if I’m angry or nervous or both but I’m something.
A potent cocktail of adrenaline and estrogen floods my system and I’m a few floors away from a full-blown anxiety attack.
The lobby on her floor is all white from floor to ceiling, with a few colorful works of art on the walls. It looks, feels, and smells too expensive to touch. Feels kind of like I might dirty up the pristine furnishings just by looking at them.
A blonde with her hair in a bun sits at the large desk with the name of the firm on the front. “Can I help you?”
I feel like Julia Roberts’s friend visiting her at the penthouse in Pretty Woman but I suck up my feeling of inadequacy and state the name of the person I’m looking for.
“Is she expecting you?” Blonde Bun asks.
I arch an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
The woman glares at me and picks up the phone on her desk. I hear her telling someone that Dixie Lark is there to see her and asking if she should let me go on back.
“Miss Weisman is currently with a client but said she can see you in a few minutes,” the receptionist tells me, her tone cold enough to give me frostbite.