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“No,” I interrupted.
Levi’s eyes went round, and his lips parted with his stricken, agonized expression.
I barreled through the ache in my chest.
“No, we’re not together. We might work together, and we might have fucked, but we are nothing.”
Levi shook with the strain of holding himself back when the desire to grab me was written all over him.
“You said you were mine, Diana,” he rasped.
“Fuck that and fuck you!” I spat. In my blind rage, I grabbed my belongings, ignoring his darkening aura as best as I could. “Work with Scarlett again. Fuck her again. I don’t care. But don’t ask me to sing again. Ever.”
“Diana, wait!” he urgently pleaded, leaping after me.
I slammed the door on Levi’s face and prayed that he didn’t follow me out.
Twenty-Three
Every innate part of who I was burned to chase after Diana. When the studio door slammed in my face, I saw my future slipping through my fingers.
My desire to have her sing the songs, to sing for me, didn’t matter when the years of trauma, depression, and loneliness she’d endured after her father’s death should have been the first thing on my mind when the idea popped into my head.
I’d known it was a selfish request, and I’d asked regardless. Now I’d suffer the consequences of losing Diana’s trust after triggering her anxiety in such a major way.
Each tear on her cheek impaled my chest like those glistening droplets were crystal daggers. One by one, they’d fallen from her dark lashes and punctured my heart.
Like a fool, I stood by the door knowing she was getting further away. Guilt glued my shoes to the floor and held me in place. The rest of my body reawakened when I slammed my balled-up fist into the door, and pain vibrated through my knuckles.
By the time I’d rushed out of the studio in search of her, the street was empty.
I could get in my car and go after her. She was likely going back to her place, and now I knew the way—
No. That wasn’t what she needed right now.
Diana was smart, but I’d caught her off guard and hurt her trust. She needed time to experience the full extent of her emotions and then ride the wave down. I couldn’t rush in and invalidate how she felt with apologies she wasn’t ready to hear.
A chance to calm down would benefit us both.
Music always cleared my head, but now it only made me think of Diana. Her natural perfume clung to the recording studio. As I glanced around the space, I saw her everywhere; sitting at the soundboard, writing lyrics on the couch, staring at the guitar wall, or spread out over the piano.
Her essence lingered on everything, and she was so well entangled in my mind that nothing brought relief from my agony. Absence made the heart grow fonder, and I was already so goddamn besotted with her.
What power did Diana Winslow hold over me?
That singular thought spiraled through my brain. Ideas spurred by that notion sparked and fizzled against the confines of my skull, needing to break free—I needed an outlet.
The arrow of inspiration struck true, spiking carefully through my heart, and seizing my ability to do anything else except create.
Without another second of hesitation, I shook my head, ridding myself of Diana’s phantoms haunting my studio. I flung myself into a notebook, scribbling with a pen as words and feelings flowed through me with the force of a roaring waterfall that poured onto paper.
Outside, the sun disappeared below the horizon. The lights of Los Angeles flared brighter than the sun, and the bustling city glittered with nightlife.
Time ceased moving in my studio as I holed myself up and melted into hyper-focus, putting my feelings into a song. Everything I felt about Diana and the hold she had over me became words, became a beat, became a song unlike anything I’d ever written before.
Hunger and the need for sleep escaped me with the energy of passion and creation, carrying me through the endless hours of the night. The thought of Diana carved into my mind and found a home.
I’d risk everything to keep her there, in my mind and by my side.
