CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m used to doing a lot of hard work at the farm, but for some reason, simply walking to and from the hot dog place has exhausted me. I think New York is draining the energy directly out of my body and feeding it to the surrounding environment. I don’t like this nearly as much as the city giving me its energy like it was earlier. For this reason, I decide a nap should be my next big adventure, but I’m not fifteen minutes into it when there’s a sound from the other room waking me up.
I sit up straight as a board and look around, momentarily confused as to where I am. I take in the tasteful wallpaper, the paintings, the expensive furniture around me, and the brightly lit New York City skyline at the foot of my bed, and I realize . . . I’m on a mission. But instead of enjoying my one and only trip to Manhattan, I am sleeping off a hot dog stupor like a senior citizen.
A knock at the door reminds me of what woke me up in the first place. I get up and wipe the drool off the side of my mouth, straightening my hair as best I can as I walk over to look through the peephole.
“What are you doing here?” I say at the messy-haired fool standing out in the hallway.
“I have a message for you from Lister.”
“What are you, his errand boy?” I’m finding it really hard to believe that a high-powered lawyer like Lister and a highly paid famous musician like Ty Stanz can’t find a more convenient way to contact me . . . like using a telephone maybe? Obviously, there’s something going on here. Lister’s probably trying to get some inside information by using Ty as his spy. Too bad Ty sucks at it with his bad attitude and that chip on his shoulder.
“No, not an errand boy, just a good Samaritan.”
I pull open the door and stare at Ty Stanz, the dummy who thinks he’s going to get a warm welcome after what he said when he left here last time.
“What’s the message?”
“Can I come in?” He doesn’t look apologetic but he also doesn’t look angry or mean either. More than anything, he looks tired. I guess we have that in common.
I back out of the way and open the door, because I’m curious enough about his motives for being here that I’m willing to chance another unpleasant encounter. “Fine, I’ll let you in . . . but if you’re here to insult me again, you’re wasting your time. I’m not interested in your garbage, and all it’ll do is earn you a one-way ticket out into the hallway.”
“Noted.” He walks into the living room and takes the same spot on the couch that he was in before.
I follow him into the room and stand in front of him with my arms folded over my chest. “What’s the message?”
He looks everywhere but at me. His eyes roam the room, glancing up at the windows and down at the rug before he answers. He speaks directly to the coffee table. “The message is that you are cordially invited to attend an event this evening that’s being hosted by one of the band’s sponsors.”
“What kind of event?” I wasn’t expecting this at all. An event?
“It’s a publicity thing.” He sounds less than enthusiastic about the idea.
“Publicity for the band? Why on earth would I be invited to that?”
He finally looks up at me. “I thought you said that you were related to someone in the band.”
“I did say that, but it doesn’t mean I’m somehow involved with their publicity issues.”
“Well, you’re invited. I’m not the one making decisions around here. I told Lister that I would discuss it with you, and that’s what I’m doing.” He slaps his hands on his jeans as he looks around. His body language is telling me that I’m not getting the whole story.
“There’s something else going on here.” I start tapping my toe. “Are you going to tell me what it is, or am I going to call Lister and get it out of him?”
Ty leans forward and starts punching one hand into his other palm. He’s not doing it in an angry way; I think he’s just trying to figure out how to say what he’s got on his mind.
I stop tapping my toe and wait for his mouth to catch up to his brain.
“He wants me to get you to go. I’m not supposed to just tell you about it, I’m supposed to convince you.” He hisses out a sigh of annoyance and throws himself against the couch cushions, lifting his arms up behind his head again.
“Why you? Why not Lister himself or someone else who works for him?”
“Because,” Ty says, “it’s a sensitive situation that he doesn’t want spread around his office, and I volunteered to help out, since I didn’t go with the band to Toronto.” He tips his head back and closes his eyes. He actually looks like he’s sleeping, so I just watch him for a while. Then one of his eyes opens. “You’re staring at me.”
“I’m staring at you because I wasn’t sure if you were asleep or not, and if you were sleeping, I didn’t want to bother you.”
He sits up and shakes his head. “No, I’m wide-awake. Wide-awake in this nightmare that is my life.”
I sit down on the chair as I try to figure him out. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more confusing person. He definitely could use some time down on the farm, preferably when I’m not there because I’d be too tempted to throw manure at him or something equally disgusting. He is so very annoying.
I already have enough complications in my life right now; the last thing I need is to be involved in his issues . . . but I find myself being dragged down into the rabbit hole anyway. It has something to do with that sad face of his and that hair sticking out all over the place. He’s freaking adorable is what he is.
“You told me that you’re the new lead guitarist for Red Hot. Why are you calling your life a nightmare? You said that you’re their biggest fan. It seems to me like you’ve got a dream come true on your hands. And why didn’t they have you go to Toronto?”
“Sometimes things that look like dreams can turn into nightmares before you know it.” He’s staring at me intensely. I have to look away when my emotions start to run a little too warm for comfort. Is he talking about himself? Does he know I find him attractive? Is he warning me away?
“It sounds very complicated,” I say, forcing myself to stay engaged in the conversation rather than let my libido run away with me. Using Ty’s perspective to examine my own life, I’d have to say I agree with him. Some girls would be thrilled about the idea of inheriting millions of dollars from a famous relative, but for me, it seems more like I’ve been invited into a nightmare where I have to face people who never gave me a chance to love them or to be loved, who didn’t love my moms enough to ask them why they walked away without a word. It makes my heart ache too much to bear. I’m definitely not thrilled at the idea of standing in front of the band tomorrow morning and telling them how my sisters and I feel about their payoff attempt.
“It is complicated,” he says, sounding very tired. “Are you going or not?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling more exhausted now than before. “I don’t know why I should.”
“Neither do I.”
We stare at each other, a challenge in the air. “You don’t want me to go, do you?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It matters what the band wants, and it matters what Lister wants.”
“You don’t want to be there either, do you? At the event, I mean.”
He shakes his head very slowly. “No, I do not. I don’t like being a monkey who has to dance on command, being told one minute I should do one thing and the next that I need to do the opposite, but right now, that’s where I’m at.”
I don’t need to know exactly what he’s talking about to understand the sentiment or the concept. “I don’t like that either. I don’t blame you for being upset about it. Why don’t you just quit and walk away?”
“Would you walk away from the one thing you’ve wanted your entire life? Even if it meant paying dues and sucking it up when things got tough or unpleasant?”
His words make my heart feel sick. “I don’t know. I guess I never wanted anything that bad.” I walked away from the one thing I ever wanted—a life off the farm—and up until this very moment I never seriously questioned whether that was the right thing to do or not. I convinced myself it was the best thing for everyone concerned, and my family was so happy with my choice. But maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do. Maybe I should have fought harder for myself instead of settling for what was right for the family.
“Maybe one day you will want something that bad, and then you’ll know what I’m up against.”
I know there’s a darker side to fame. Our mothers talked about it a lot when we were growing up, but we always assumed they were talking in a generic sense and not speaking from experience. So many things they said about selling one’s soul to the devil are floating in my mind. Did Ty do this? Did he trade fortune and fame for his soul?
I’m more convinced than ever that turning down these inheritances or whatever they are is the right thing to do. Just being in the room with someone who’s only remotely involved in the whole scenario—a band member, no less—has me questioning my decisions about my life path. My life and my sisters’ lives are perfect exactly the way they are, and the evidence to back that up is sitting right in front of me. Here’s a man who got his dream job with the band and he couldn’t be more miserable about it. I made the right decision to go back home and settle down there, to walk away from something I considered “bigger.” The only thing I’m missing out on is pain.
Pity softens my heart. Ty and I really aren’t that different. We’re both frustrated with the band, and we both want something from these men of Red Hot. Of course, he wants to live in peace with them and I want to tell them to get bent, but still . . . it’s a common interest. What would be the harm in spending a little more time together until the band is available to meet with me?
“How about this . . . , ” I say, a germ of an idea taking root. “How about if we both go to the event together, two monkeys in somebody else’s zoo. Maybe it won’t be so bad if you’re not the only chimp in the room.” This way I’ll also have something to tell my sisters besides the fact that I got a stomachache from eating processed meat and had to sleep it off.
His jaw twitches and his lips press together. He rubs the palm of his hand with his opposite thumb. Then he picks at his nails. “Maybe that could be cool.”
“I promise I will leave my Mace in my room.”
He starts to grin but still doesn’t look at me. “It’s a relief to know I’m not going to be sprayed with a can of water.”
I huff out a sigh. “Rude.” All that time I thought I was being a badass and he was laughing at me.
“What’s so rude about that?” He’s finally looking at me again.
“You could’ve just played along.”
“I’m not really good at playing along.”
“Neither am I.” I feel an inexplicably strong connection to Ty right now. He’s sitting there looking tragic and messed up, the exact model of a man my mothers have been warning me against all my life—apparently in an effort to stop another generation from making the same mistakes they did—and yet I could no more deny him than I could say yes to another hot dog. The last thing I want to do tonight is sit in this hotel room and fret over my meeting with the band tomorrow morning. I could use a distraction.
“Good.” He stands. “I’ll pick you up at six. Make sure you have your ID with you.”
“All I have is a passport. Is that okay?”
“Yep. Perfect.”
“Okay.” I stand up too, suddenly feeling energized again. Nap? Who needs a nap?
He starts heading out of the room but hesitates at the door, looking over his shoulder at me. “It’s kind of a formal thing.” He looks me up and down.
I look down at my skirt and blouse. “So, what you’re saying is . . . my current outfit isn’t going to cut it?”
He lifts a shoulder. “It’s fine with me, but I have a feeling you’ll be more comfortable if you upgrade a little bit.”
“And by upgrade, you mean sell out?”
He nods and lifts his hand, shooting me with an imaginary finger-gun as he winks. “You got it, sister.”
“Are you going to upgrade?” As the door is swinging shut behind him, I hear his answer faintly.
“We’ll see.”
I run to the hotel room telephone and pick it up, hitting zero. When the person answers I blabber into the phone, speaking so quickly I hardly understand myself. “I need to talk to James right away. In your concierge department.”