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It was like he’d known he would die in a tragic accident and the press would clog the road in front of my home. Those gates were really the only barrier between me and the fucking paparazzi. Ghouls, every last one of them.
Those early days were still a blessed blur in my memory. The police had driven me to the morgue to identify my dad’s body. Asher had met me there and then arranged for an SUV with darkly tinted windows for the return trip to my home. Damn press had already gathered like vultures. Once the driver sped past them after opening the gate, he’d stopped at my front door. After I hurried inside, averting my face to hide my tears, Asher had walked back down the tree-lined drive to the gates and pleaded with the press to leave. He’d told them I’d have no comment, and for them to be respectful and let me grieve in peace.
Then he’d hired extra security to patrol the grounds and guard the gates so that no one could intrude. It had taken a couple weeks, but the cops found the son of bitch who’d hit Dad. When they’d arrested him, the press had descended again. Asher had doubled the security for another two weeks when one asshole had waded through the lake at my property line. One particularly burly guard, James Barrington, had stopped the guy before he got off the tiny beach. He’d ejected the memory cards from both of the cameras the photographer had carried, and forced the man to delete a couple pictures he’d taken on his cell phone. Then James escorted him back to the waterline and evicted him from the grounds.
The press had returned during and after the trial. But as soon as some new scandal caught their attention, they’d moved on. After six months, Asher had cancelled most of the security. I’d hired James as my employee because we’d hit it off so well. He still lived on the grounds, but he’d moved to a smaller guest house close to the lake. His role had evolved to Jack of all trades; driver, gardener, security, drinking companion or fishing buddy when I needed one, and sounding board. I liked the dude, and he was the closest thing I had to a best friend. But no one would ever replace my dad in that role.
Thankfully, as I pressed the code into the security keypad, no one jumped from the bushes to snap a picture. I waited for the gate to open. Throttling up, I accelerated through the opening, then balanced the bike with a foot on the ground until the gate latched behind me.
The moon was shining through the trees lining the drive and I rode slowly, appreciating the calm evening. I steered around the side of the two-story house to the garages.
James was just coming out of the bay where my truck was parked. He lifted his hand in a wave as I pulled the Triumph into its designated slot. The minute I shut down the engine, quiet reigned. I unstrapped my helmet, pulled it off, then dismounted the bike as James walked over to greet me.
“Hey, Cal.” He grabbed the helmet from me and parked it on the Tiger’s cushy seat. “You’re home earlier than I figured you would be. Date not work out so great?” The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me.
“Wasn’t a date.” I pulled the key from the ignition, then walked over to hang it on a peg on the wall, next to the other keys kept there.
“You said this chick was a smokeshow. How was it not a date?”
“It was business. And she is gorgeous.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and rocked up on the balls of his feet. “Business. Uh-huh. Shut you down, did she?”
“It wasn’t like that.” I shook my head. What was the best way to describe the interaction I’d had with Catie? “She’s… I… Look, she is a business associate. I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. But we agreed to put ourmutual attractionon hold until our business together is done.”
“She’s the cover artist for your new release, right? I guess I can see not doing anything to fuck that up. She already gave you one cover with a damn Viking on it. What would be next? Lion tamer?” His deep bass laugh echoed off the concrete floors. “Now, that would be freaking awesome.”
I rolled my eyes so hard an ache bloomed in my sockets. “If anyone could do that and pull it off, it would be Catie. But she won’t. She got some awesome shots at the park. I know she’s going to create a great cover.”
James scratched the salt-and-pepper scruff growing on his jawbone. “Can’t wait to see it.” The scritch-scritch noise from his jaw continued. “Been quiet around here tonight. If you don’t need me, I’m going to turn in.”
“I’m going to work in my studio for a couple hours. Inspiration for one more song for the album hit tonight. I want to capture it.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Need company?”
I’d been teaching him how to navigate a soundboard. He did have talent at it. But to be frank, there wasn’t a damn thing that I’d asked of him that he didn’t excel at. Still, I shook my head. “Nah. This one is kind of rough. Not ready to commit to mixing it. But heads up: you are on call tomorrow morning.”
His blue eyes brightened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Get some sleep. One of us should be fresh in the morning. I’m hoping to be ready for a second opinion.” I trusted James’ gut reaction. Since he’d joined me, he’d heard all my new songs before I recorded any of them. He’d been there and seen me at my lowest after the trial, when he’d pour us each a single shot of rye, then cut me off.
“Sounds great. I’ll make coffee. Ready about six?”
“Yep. Oh, by the way… Catie will be coming to listen once it’s close.”
He arched a brow at me.
“Don’t look like that. She was there when the idea hit. Truth be told, she kind of inspired the idea. She knows the conversation that precipitated the work. I want her to hear it. I’ll probably ask her to bring her camera to get some shots while I’m recording. Those are always great additions on my website or an album insert.”
“Whatever you say.” James saluted me with two fingers on his brow. As he walked away, he whistled the refrain to an old George Strait tune,Check Yes or No.
“Asshole,” I called after him good naturedly.
He gave me a salute of an entirely different kind.
After lowering the garage door, I let myself into the house through the door connecting the garage. The house was tomb-silent, a fact I kind of had a love-hate relationship with. I valued silence as a way to regenerate my creative vibes, but hated not having something or someone to greet me. Maybe it was time to get a dog. At least there’d be some barking and lots of tail-wagging when I walked in. I’d have to think on that. It would be tough to own a pet, with my touring schedule. I’d consider letting James take care of the dog, but I was planning on taking James with me on tour.
I walked through the house and up the stairs toward my bedroom, thinking once again about Catie. I bet she’d watch the dog for me if I asked. But what if I wanted to take her on tour with me as well?
