Brody had vowed to do whatever he could to help, but she doubted he’d meant lying to his family when he’d made the promise.
A light disturbance in the air brushed over her cheeks, carrying a faint hint of leather, testosterone, and frustrated man. Brody rounded the desk and nudged Muttley aside. It was a big nudge, followed by an even bigger bark, because Muttley fancied himself a watchdog in a guide dog’s vest.
But Brody wasn’t having any of it.
“Back off, Cujo,” he said, then squatted down in front of Mackenzie, resting his hands on the chair’s arm. “I’m not suggesting you rekindle the relationship, but Hunter has a right to know you’re okay.”
The exact reason she needed more time. Shewasn’tokay. She would be, she’d make sure of it, but that day wasn’t today.
She was pretty sure tomorrow wasn’t either, but she knew it would come. It had to.
Mackenzie might be a runner, but she wasn’t a coward.
“I have a right to my privacy,” she said, smoothing her palms over her thighs. “I am sure he understands a person’s right to privacy.”
“And as your paid adviser, it’s my job to tell you when something isn’t working anymore.”
He captured her hands between his, stilling her nervous habit and gently brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a familiar and brotherly manner. “Hunter wants to collaborate with you. And I think it’s a great idea.”
“It’s a horrible idea.” Fear clogged her throat, and she jerked her hands back. Before she could break contact completely, Brody tightened his grip.
“It’s a great opportunity to put the past where it belongs and move forward. For everyone,” he said gently. “Imagine what you two could produce.”
She knew exactly what they were capable of together. Just like she knew exactly what she was capable of handling at the moment. And it wasn’t being confined in a small space with the one man who could remind her of all that she’d lost.
Hell, the thought of writing with him again sent her heart into a free fall. That he wanted to work with her, had specifically asked, terrified her as much as it pleased her. That alone was enough to say no.
Over the years, she’d fought hard to forget the way his arms felt around her while they’d strummed the same guitar. The passion and emotion that had come out of their music but never translated intotheir relationship. She’d never let it, because she’d known since she was eighteen that she carried the mutated gene and that there was a solid chance she’d end up like her mom.
And she knew, no matter how desperately she wanted to go back, to see him, those moments could never be relived. Not without sacrificing some of the headway she’d worked so hard to claim.
Hunter was a force of nature, picking up everything in his path and taking it on the journey with him. It was what made him so successful—in business and in life.
Mackenzie had a different life now. One that didn’t involve being carried anywhere. She needed to create her own path. He needed to live out his. Neither of them could do that if they refused to let go.
“It isn’t going to happen.”
“Savannah told me you’d say that. She also said to pass along that either you get a life that extends beyond occasional Sunday supper at our house and going to the dog park, or she was going to put you up on one of those dating sites.”
“I would just move,” she said, even though the thought of packing up and starting over again sounded daunting. She’d done it before—several times with her mom, then again after she was released from rehab—and hoped she’d never have to again. The last thing she needed was to let her past find her.
Or define her.
“Savannah would hunt you down and bring you home.” With a quick squeeze, Brody released her hands and sat in the chair next to her. Muttley took up residence on her feet, sprawling across them. “I know the past few years have been difficult—”
“Difficult?” She laughed, because one word could never describe what she’d been through. The changes and the struggle she’d been forced to endure. And she’d done it, survived even. Then she’d written a portfolio of songs about it.
More important, she’d made steady progress. Then three months ago, she’d hit a wall. One she didn’t know how to climb over without confronting her past.
“Okay, they’ve been hell,” Brody amended. “But Jesus, Mackenzie, you’ve had more than a dozen Billboard hits. I get calls every day from artists wanting to work with you. And while I appreciate the spike my cool-dad factor has taken from accepting awards on your behalf, not to mention seeing Savannah in a slinky dress, this needs to stop.”
“I know.”
“The only time you get out is when I have papers for you to sign. And you only agree to come after-hours, when my staff has gone home.”
She forced herself to breathe, then channeled her inner badass. “Only because you refuse to come to my house for our appointments. That was our deal. Read the contract if you’ve forgotten. You get thirty-five percent, which is virtually unheard of, by the way, and I get my anonymity.”
Taking another deep breath, she called for the courage to deliver the ultimatum that, if he took it seriously, could successfully destroy what little human connection she had left. “If the arrangement is no longer working for you, and you decide you would rather terminate our agreement, then I understand.”
