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He had me there.
“You gonna invite Catie to go?”
“The thought has occurred. But, as I told you last night, we’re keeping it strictly professional until her graphics contract is completed.”
Something that sounded curiously like a snort erupted in the soft, evening light. “Aw, brother. You do like to set yourself a steep challenge.”
I couldn’t disagree. It was damn near impossible to keep my lips away from her sweet mouth, or my arms from hugging her close. “Maybe. But she has her reasons. This is her livelihood. I can wait.”
“Holy shit!” James bolted upright, knocking his beer to the dock. He swiftly rescued the bottle, then turned surprised eyes to me. “That new song. She was the inspiration?”
A grin crept across my face.
“And we sat there next to her the whole time you were recording. You were singing directly to her. No wonder you got it right so fast.”
“She’s a muse.” She was my muse, and I was going to hold on to her for a long, long time.
“Wait until I tell Aspen. She’s gonna crap that I know this before her.”
I halted my reach for another bottle. “Don’t.”
“Come again?’
“I just… This is so new I just want to hold it close a while.” I twisted the cap off the IPA.
James reached for a new one of his own. “Uh, got it. Secret in the vault.”
That’s what I liked about James. He understood about keeping developments like this on the down-low. The last thing I needed was for the press to get wind of a potential relationship. They’d make Catie’s life hell. God knew enough people in the limelight had to deal with paparazzi and worse, stalkers. I shuddered as I recalled the blood-sucking photographer who’d waded through the lake to get candid snaps of me grieving. No way did I want Catie exposed to that kind of treatment.
“Just let me know when and if I need to arrange security for her. I have thoughts.” James tipped the open mouth of his bottle toward me.
“I hope the need doesn’t arise, but I’ll let you know.”
14
CATIE
“That’s great news,” I told Carrie when she called to rave about the cover design and supporting graphics for Callan’s release. Frank was curled up in my lap, purring melodically as I ran my fingers along his spine. “I’m glad you liked it. What does Callan think?”
“He hasn’t seen it yet. But I predict he will be over the moon about it. How did you get that shot so perfect? And that back cover. It’s poetic.”
The design I’d sent had Callan leaning on his motorcycle, looking over his shoulder, brows together, but a kind of Mona Lisa smile lurking on his lips. I’d known when I snapped that frame it was perfect for the front cover. I’d used one of the shots from the recording studio that morning on the back. Callan sitting at the keyboard, eyes closed, fingers poised on the keys, a far-off, almost sultry, look on his face.
I laughed at her phrasing, and then answered. “I think I took about two hundred photos between last night and this morning. But the second I took the cover shot…when you know you know.”
“This morning?” There was speculation in her voice. “Does this have anything to do with the last-minute addition to the release?”
“Maybe? Callan invited me to watch him record. I’ve never witnessed that part of the process. It was enlightening to see what all goes into producing a song. It kind of opened up a better understanding, and I was able to translate that to the artwork.”
“Yeah, but this morning?” Her voice rose on the question.
“Carrie, what are you suggesting? My relationship with Callan Wilder is strictly professional.”
“That’s too darn bad. That man is easy to look at. Easier to be around. I’ve never seen a man so considerate of employees who are typically invisible to most of Bad Dog’s recording artists.”
“Are you talking about how he was in the office with Sheila?”
“That, too. But also, he recently sent a pricey pair of boots to one of the college interns in the Contracts department. Made that kid’s year, I tell you.”
