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My cheeks burst into flames.
A sexy brain?
“To answer your question.” Rhys gets my attention. “I was in and out of rehab as my career slid into an abyss. I was surprised Beckett Christensen talked to me, let alone hung out with me. He wouldn’t stop complaining about the headphones. He had his brother buy him new ones with each visit, but none of them measured up. Jokingly, I told him my dad created the perfect headphones. In fact, a few of his prototypes were kicking around at the house, collecting dust. That got his attention.”
“So, your dad is the creative genius?” I ask.
“Was,” Rhys says. “He died of a sudden heart attack. I couldn’t cope without drugs. Heck, I couldn’t cope with the drugs. Mom implored me to go back to rehab. That’s when I met Beckett.”
Great. I just put my foot in it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be,” Rhys says. “You didn’t know.”
“To your comment”—Beckett forces my attention to him—“Rhys’s dad was a talented sound engineer with a knack for tinkering with any piece of equipment until he could bring out the bottom end, aka the perfect deep, low-pitch range in a song. Before he died, he came up with the technology that’s become the foundation of our business. He secured the patent and the trademark, but the investment required to bring the product to market was equivalent to the GDP of a less developed country.”
“My dad was risk averse,” Rhys says. “But he was willing to dish out money for a few prototypes—with an element of pride. I got my mom to bring me a pair of his headphones when she came to visit me in rehab. I still remember Beckett’s shocked expression when he listened to one of his songs.”
“I told him it was wrong for this kind of technology to sit dormant in a closet,” Beckett says. “It wasn’t my first time in rehab either. Random Misconception had decided as a group to step out of the limelight while we were still on top. I didn’t handle retirement very well. In the first few weeks of the program, I wondered what the hell I was going to do with myself once I was done. It’s never a good thing when my mind is idle—”
“Same here,” I say.
“I can’t believe we have something in common, Miss Buchanan,” Beckett says.
“I suspect we don’t find joy in the same things, Mr. Christensen.”
He squints his ocean-blue eyes, staring at me through a sliver of determination as his nostrils flare. “I’m sure, in time, we’ll find more things we share in common… perhaps things that bring us mutual joy.”
Oh, shit, the temperature in the room rises again.
“I can step out of the room if you two need a moment.” Rhys repeats his offer.
“You were saying, Beckett?” I’m grateful Rhys’s question breaks the spell I’m under.
“When I listened to music with Rhys’s headphones, I knew without a shadow of a doubt what the next phase of my life was going to look like. I just had to convince this guy to join forces with me.” He pats his business partner’s shoulder.
“I was clueless about my own future,” Rhys says. “I was happy to jump on board.”
“That’s an amazing story,” I tell them. “And you were able to figure out the ins and outs of the business side on your own?”
They both laugh.
“Hell, no,” Rhys says. “We’re musicians. We’re not like you. We stopped learning after high school. One plus one equals two, I think—”
“No!” Beckett shakes his head. I’m confused. This is pretty basic math. “It’s three. You have to account for inflation.”
I laugh.
“See what I mean?” Rhys says. “We can’t handle big numbers.”
They chuckle.
I look around the room, extending my arms open. “You’re exaggerating, gentlemen.”
“Careful, Hartford, we can’t pull the wool over her eyes,” Beckett says.
“You understand that means she won’t fall for your bullshit, Christensen?”
