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Archer blamed alcohol and drugs at the behest of his manager and that caused another shitstorm from sponsors and the band’s label. The tabloids are having a field day. BBS got involved for both image cleanup and security. The gossip around the office is that Archer Bremen has been a headache to deal with and has been giving Brooks a hard time.
“I’m not talking about the Bremen case. The man is a pain in my ass.”
Finn’s cheek twitches like he wants to laugh, and it makes me want to ask so many questions. Brooks looks at me, and it has that go ahead, open your fucking mouth and I’ll do the same look to it. I just lean back against the couch and close my eyes again.
“I take it you didn’t find Ms. Redmond,” Finn asks when it’s clear that Brooks isn’t going to share about Archer Bremen.
“She went back to New York,” I mutter. “Deacon is going to be pissed.”
Three grunts of agreement echo around the room.
“You could always go there and try to convince her to come back,” Kit offers.
My cock jerks with the prospect, but I doubt showing up at her place would yield the results I want.
“Something you need to tell us?”
Finn flicks my hand, and it makes me lift my ten-ton head, my eyes darting down to my left hand.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“I thought maybe you did the whole fuck and run on her. Please tell me you didn’t elope with that woman.”
“Jesus, fuck, Gaige. Really?” Brooks mutters. “I thought I was in the middle of some bullshit.”
“I didn’t fucking marry her,” I snap, pulling the stupid band from my finger and stuffing it back into my pocket.
“You sure? You’re pretty drunk,” Kit argues. “I’ll call Wren and have him trace your steps.”
I smack the phone out of his hands before he can pull up the contact.
“I didn’t marry the woman. I use it as a ruse when I can’t scrape a chick off.”
“That’s kind of fucking ingenious,” Brooks says.
“And a really dick move,” Finn mutters.
“Super shitty,” Kit agrees.
“Leave me alone. I’m too drunk for this.”
I don’t know if they actually listen to me, or if I just pass out, but I don’t hear another word from them.
Chapter 8
Leighton
I angle my head so I can get a better look at the house. The GPS on my phone had no problem finding the place, but the man I met yesterday in the well-fitting suit didn’t look like he belongs on a damn ranch. The huge porch is welcoming, the barn I’m certain housing beautiful horses and other farm life even more so.
Fresh air welcomes me as I open the rental car’s door, and it makes me miss the city I left behind even less. I couldn’t live in the country but spending a little more time away from the hustle and bustle doesn’t seem like such a bad idea either. Things seem slower out here, as if taking a deep breath and just angling my head up to the sun is the only thing that really matters. I know I can’t do that. There’s a good chance the man I embarrassed myself in front of yesterday is watching me from the window, and since I made a horrible first impression, I have to do better today.
I straighten my spine, swipe my sweaty palms down the front of my dress, and walk with all the confidence I can muster to the front door. My first knock goes unanswered, and although there is an old looking dinner bell attached to the wall near the door, I’m not going to ring it. I rap my knuckles against the heavy wood once again, taking a step back when I hear footsteps inside.
Deacon Black answers the door, and the put-together man I met yesterday is nowhere to be seen. Gone is the nice suit, and in its place a wrinkled t-shirt and lounge pants. His hair, thankfully, is cut short because if it wasn’t, I get the feeling it would be sticking up all over the place. He has a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, eyes tired and rimmed in red.
“Mr. Black?”
“Shit,” he says when his eyes focus on me. “Ms. Redmond.”
It’s evident that he forgot I was coming as he looks over his shoulder.
“Please, come in.”
He pulls the door open further, but no sooner do I step inside, he darts up the stairs, leaving me standing in the entryway alone. I don’t close the front door. Meeting him here was strange enough. If he didn’t have such an upstanding reputation, I wouldn’t have accepted, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to close myself alone inside his house with him looking like there’s a chance he’s been up all night torturing people.
Minutes tick by, and I let my eyes wander, taking in the cozy home, memorizing details just in case I need to relay them to the police at a later time. A sound makes my ears perk up, but then more silence. Another sound, a soft whimper. Silence. A whimper. Silence. A louder whimper. A masculine grumble.
