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I’m emotionally untethered. Unhinged.
My head hurts.
I need coffee.
The door opens and I jump, dropping my palms from my eyes to make sure it’s Cash who slides into the seat next to me. I’ve always considered myself a lucky person. I always felt blessed to have the life I had. Until I moved to New York. The day I landed here was the day my luck ran out.
I’ve been in fight or flight since.
It would be just my batch of unlucky luck to be sitting passenger in a freaking Defender when it was hijacked.
Wait—do I smell coffee?
My eyes drop to the cup Cash holds over the center console toward me. “Coffee. Three creams.”
I think I love him.
I take the cup, my voice trembling. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t reply as he shifts the SUV into drive and merges into the wave of early morning traffic.
Cash’s penthouse is out of this world. Did I say penthouse? The guy who plays in a band at Addy’s Ace is living in a New York Citypenthouse. I just can’t. My brain—it’s not working to form sense of this. I mean—how?
“This is where you live?”
“Yep.”
I’m dumbstruck. “But you play at Addy’s Ace.”
He turns to me, dark eyes pinning me in place. “The gig isn’t about the money.”
“What’s it about?”
“Experience. Exposure.” He moves through a large living space that is honestly, so frigging amazing I just want to sit and appreciate it, down a wide hall. I follow, feeling hesitant and a little unnerved.
Okay, okay, I’m a lot unnerved.
He passes the first room on the left and mutters, “Studio. It’s professionally sound proofed so you don’t have to worry about being disturbed when the guyscome to practice.” I wouldn’t have dreamed of complaining, but I don’t say that. I don’t reply at all.
We pass another door. “Bathroom.” He moves into the next room, placing my boxes on the bed. I do the same with my crate. “This is your room.”
I feel a little likeAlice in Wonderlandas I glance around the spacious room. I can see through two open doors that there is a walk-in closet and a private bathroom. This is—heaven.
But at what cost?
I turn to him, steeling myself. “What do you want from me, Cash?”
“Performing is what I do. It’s who I am, who I’ve always been and will always be. The band is close to getting signed, and with that comes a kind of exposure I know to expect. My family is in the entertainment industry. Both my parents are well known movie producers, so this life isn’t new to me. I’ve done a good job of keeping my life somewhat private, still, there are the groupies. The ones who really hang on. The obsessed.” He pauses to study me, so I nod my understanding although I’m not sure I understand where he’s going with this. “When I perform on stage, I give myself to the crowd. All of myself. No holds barred. I’m there. One hundred fucking percent present.” He thumbs his lower lip roughly. “But when I’m off stage, my life is my own. I like my privacy. My space. My freedom. We haven’t been signed, and it’s already bad.”
“What’s bad?”
He holds my gaze unflinchingly. “The women.”
I frown. “Sorry?”
“They’re everywhere, pawing and clawing at me. Writing sick fucking letters trying to—” His lip curls. “Entice me. I don’t fucking know.”
He’s getting angry, I can sense it. And, clearly, when Cash is angry, he swears. A lot.
