CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The walk back from the café to my hotel remains mostly a blur, but the part where Ty comes up in the elevator with me to my room and then stands outside my door . . . that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
He’s playing it cool, so I’m going to try to do the same. “I’m not sure. I have to talk to Lister and see what he says about all this stuff.”
“All of what stuff?”
I don’t know how much the band has shared with Ty about this job they proposed to me; it can’t be much because he hasn’t mentioned it, and now he’s wondering why I need to talk to Lister. Outside my hotel room doesn’t really seem like the place to talk about it either. Best to be vague.
“Just some things I discussed with Red this morning.”
“Oh. So . . . are you going back home today?”
“Maybe. It depends on what happens with Lister.”
“Cool.” He looks over his shoulder down the hall and then at the floor between us. “If you’re going to be around, maybe . . . you want to come over to my place for dinner?”
“Maybe. I mean . . . sure. Will you be the chef?”
“Nah, I’ll get takeout. I’m not much of a cook.”
My heart is beating rapidly. This sounds like a date. And I shouldn’t be surprised he’s asking me out or over to his house, because we’ve been holding hands for hours it seems and we’ve done nothing but share goofy grins. I’m nearly twenty-five years old and this should be a no-big-deal kinda thing, but try to tell that to my heart, cuz it ain’t buying it.
“How about if I call you and let you know after I meet with Lister?” I reach into my bag and find my phone, pulling it out and opening it up. “I think I have your number in here.”
“Sure. Give me a ring. Let me know.”
“What will you do if I can’t make it?” I’d hate for him to be waiting around all day for my call.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Order in. Drown my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey.”
I push on his shoulder. “Stop. Don’t try to make me feel guilty.”
He grabs my hand and holds it between us. “I’m just kidding. But I would like to see you again before you leave.” He steps toward me, closing the space between us.
I’ve never been this near to him before. My pulse is racing. His face is messed up from his smeared makeup and earlier sadness, but he’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He moves closer still, and his breath puffs across my lips as he whispers, “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Oh, what the hell . . . why not? “Go ahead and do it then,” I whisper back.
Suddenly, our lips are touching. And then his hand is on the side of my face and the kisses get deeper. Our tongues slide against each other, hot and wet. My hands go up to rest on his shoulders as my body catches fire. His free hand slides down to my waist, sending chills all up and down my spine. That bed is so close . . .
There’s a ding! and the elevator doors slide open. It takes a few moments for the sound to penetrate my brain and connect, telling me what’s going on. I quickly pull away, just in time to see a man turn left out of the elevators and walk down the hallway rapidly. He’s hunched over and I can’t see anything but his rear view, but he looks . . . so familiar. He turns a corner and I lose sight of him. Trying to place his form and body language is an exercise in frustration.
Ty looks over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know . . . There was some guy. He looked familiar, but I don’t know why.”
“Was he wearing a uniform?”
“No, he wasn’t. He was wearing a leather jacket.”
Ty looks at me and grins teasingly. “Like nine out of ten people in New York City right now.”
I smile too, realizing how silly I sound. “Yeah, pretty much.” He must think I’m so naïve.
That kiss was really amazing, but now that my blood pressure has calmed down and my brain is back to working at full capacity, I don’t think we should repeat the experience. I’m standing too close to a hotel bed that could easily fit the two of us, even if we were rolling around having crazy sex. Now is not the time to enter into that kind of relationship with Ty, especially if I’m going to be working as a consultant for the band for two whole weeks. A lot can happen in that period of time, which could seriously overcomplicate things that are already crazy.
“I’ll wait for your call, then?” he asks, pulling back.
“Yep. Maybe if Lister can meet me soon, I’ll be able to call in the next couple of hours.”
“Great.” He walks backward all the way to the elevator, giving me a thumbs-up after he presses the call button.
I don’t want to act like I’m mooning and fawning over him—even though I have the very strong urge to be that desperate, nutty person—so I take out my key card and use it in the door before he gets onto the elevator. Once inside, I pause a moment to take a couple breaths.
Damn, damn, damn-damn-damn. He is so hot. Even just imagining Ty in my hotel bedroom makes my face and other more intimate parts of my body grow warm. Leaving him out there was a great decision; I just wish it didn’t bring so much regret with it. Trying to be good when I want to be bad is so hard!
Once I’m more or less under control, I use the bathroom really quickly and then wash my face. My cheeks are flushed and overly warm. I’m pretty sure I’m not sick, though . . . unless falling in lust with somebody is an illness. It kind of feels like it is. I’m embarrassed over how easy it would have been for me to fall into bed with Ty. All he would’ve had to do was ask. I should be grateful that he was gentleman enough not to do that, but part of me is disappointed. I am one confused and sexually frustrated woman, that’s for sure.
I’m tempted to call my sisters and talk to them about it, but I don’t want them to know how easily I’m falling for this guy. They’ll remind me of how little action we get out at the farm and how it’s obviously me being desperate. I don’t want to hear that right now. I want to believe there’s a spark between Ty and me and that he senses it too.
I walk over to the chair that’s facing the windows and sit down, contemplating my day. It started out with a bang, having tea with Red, and then just got better and better from there. And now here I am ready to commit to two weeks of working with the band, something I would never have imagined I’d do. Surreal. My life is officially crazy. But there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so I grab my phone from my bag and call Lister’s office. Surprisingly, he comes on the line within minutes instead of making me wait or having his gatekeeper tell me he’s not available.
“Amber. What can I do for you?”
“I had a conversation with Red this morning, and he said I should contact you after I made a decision about what I wanted to do.”
“Yes. He mentioned something to me about it this morning. Apparently, he’s made you some kind of offer? Some sort of paid position?”
I can’t tell from his tone whether he approves. I really shouldn’t care whether he does or not, but his lack of readable emotion is making me nervous and cranky. How is this man always able to make me feel less than adequate? “Yes,” I say, soldiering on. “It’s a two-week thing. Nothing permanent.”
“Okay.”
He’s not going to help me out in this conversation at all. Jerk. “So, if I’m going to accept his offer, what do I need to do?”
“We can start by you coming to my office to sign a contract, or I can send a courier over to where you are—at the hotel I assume—and you can sign there and send it back with the courier when you’re done.”
I wasn’t expecting this answer. “A contract? You want me to sign a contract?”
“Yes. It’s standard procedure. Anyone who works with the band signs one.”
This sounds a lot more serious than what Red and I were discussing. But after I think about it for a few seconds, I realize I don’t want to interfere in Red’s business any more than I already will be by telling him and the rest of the band what I think they should do to update their look. If this is their standard practice, I’d better just wrap my head around it and get it done.
“Okay. I don’t have anything better to do, so maybe I’ll just come there to your office now?”
“I’ll have it ready for you. Would you like me to send you a car?”
I hate saying yes to that, because it seems like I should be able to walk from here, but my feet are killing me from all of the wandering around I’ve already done with Ty. “That would be nice. My feet are sore. I went all over Central Park today.”
“The hotel receptionist will call you when the car is there.”
“Okay. Thank you. I guess I’ll see you soon.”
“It won’t be me you’ll be seeing. It’ll probably be an associate.”
“Okay. Thanks. Bye.” I close my phone and think about what he said. A contract. It sounds very official. I guess I can understand why a band would need to have one. There’s probably something in there saying that I’m not allowed to tell any of their secrets. That makes sense. I can sign something like that, no problem. I have no interest in sharing anything I know about those men with anyone but my sisters and maybe my mothers.
I pace back and forth in front of the windows of my room until I get the phone call telling me that Lister’s car is downstairs. I check my watch—thirty minutes from the time I hung up with him. Not bad, considering the traffic out there.
I head downstairs, walking past people sitting at various tables set up in the lobby. Some of them look like businessmen having impromptu meetings and others could be groups of friends, celebrating and laughing. There’s a man sitting all alone in the farthest corner with a newspaper open and his one leg crossed over the other, just like Red was doing this morning.
I pause for a moment and stare at him, but when I see his fingers more clearly, I realize it’s not Red; this man doesn’t have any rings on. He is wearing leather pants, but he has different boots—like the kind a person wears if he’s riding a motorcycle. Is it the guy from the elevator? Maybe he’s staying on the same floor as I am. Maybe it’s just chance that has me seeing him all over.
As I walk to the car, I shake off the paranoia that suggests I’m being watched. Red is not stalking me and neither is his evil twin. The man is not that desperate. When he wanted to see me, he left me a message and let me decide whether we met or not. And he sent a lawyer to make contact the first time, right out in the open. There was no sneaking around or weirdness to it. Red strikes me as a very respectful person, so I know he wouldn’t spy on me. I’m almost positive. I shake off the chill that comes over me. Does everyone walk around this city seeing ghosts?
The car ride to the lawyer’s office is uneventful. This time when I reach the lobby, there’s a young woman waiting for me, and she smiles and approaches with her hand out. “You must be Amber. I’m Jennifer. I’m here to help you with your contract.”
I shake her hand. “Okay, that sounds good.”
“Please follow me.” She’s walking on her three-inch heels like she was born in them. I have to move fast to keep up with her long strides. Her platinum-blond hair hangs straight down her back, not a strand out of place. All the women in this office are really well put together. It must take them forever to get ready in the morning. I have to imagine they’re busy in the bathroom ten times a day, too, checking to make sure everything is still perfect. Lister probably sleeps in a suit and polished leather shoes. No wonder he always seems uncomfortable around me. He’s probably worried I have cooties. I smile at the thought of chasing him around this office maze with my finger out, threatening to infect him with hippie-itis.
Jennifer leads me into a conference room with a long table. It seems silly for me to be in here just using up one chair; the place is big enough for a board meeting of a Fortune 500 company. There’s a folder on the table and it’s open with a stack of papers inside.
Jennifer stands next to me and moves the papers around, pointing to them as she explains. “This is our standard NDA . . . a nondisclosure agreement. In this, you’re agreeing not to discuss any personal details of the band members or their business with anyone outside of the band. That includes the press but also any of your friends or relatives.”
Poo. I had serious plans to tell my sisters every single tiny little microscopic detail. I guess that’s not going to happen. At least not until I have their blood oath that they won’t tell other people.
She slides another paper out. “This is a contract for services. This is where you agree to provide certain services to the band over the specified period of time indicated here, and to accept the compensation that’s being offered here.” She points to the number and I nearly choke.
“They’re going to give me twenty thousand dollars?” I look up at her to see if she’s laughing.
“Did you want to negotiate for more?”
I shake my head. “No, twenty is fine.” Negotiate? Hell, I would have accepted a tiny fraction of that.
“Good,” she says, turning the page. “And here is where the band agrees to give you an advance. Once you sign this, I can cut you a check because we have all the money here in our trust account.”
According to this paper, they’re going to give me half of the money up front. I look up at her. “Does this mean I need to pick up my hotel tab now?” Not that I don’t want to, but I’m pretty sure even with this big paycheck, affording the digs I’m in will be pushing it. I’ll have to move to another place in a less ritzy area.
“No.” She turns a page and points to another paragraph. “Here is where it says that your accommodation and meals are included as part of the deal. And your accommodation is the Four Seasons. I believe you’re already staying there?”
I nod, part of my brain going numb at the extravagance. “Uh-huh.”
“Fine. You can stay in the same room or you can move to another; it’s your choice. Just keep all your receipts for anything you pay for on your own so we can reimburse you. The hotel room and hotel restaurant bills will be paid for directly by the firm.”
She turns another page. “Here is the paragraph that provides for you to have transportation.”
My eyes skim the page. Apparently, I’m going to have a car and driver. I feel so important.
“And here’s the last part where you agree that this is the entire agreement between all of you and that you are not going to seek other compensation from the band or anything else.” She hands me a pen.
I take it from her and then flip through the pages so I can get back to the front. This thing is ten sheets of extra-long pager in length. I should probably read it more thoroughly, but I don’t want to be rude. I look up to meet her eyes. “Is there anything else I should know about this contract?”
She tilts her head. “Like what?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m not a lawyer. Is there anything in here that’s going to bite me in the butt later?”
Her smile slides away. “If you’d rather pay another attorney to review it for you, that’s within your rights. In fact, we encourage you to do that.” She presses her hands together, one on top of the other.
“No, I don’t need to lawyer up or anything like that. I just want to know if you’ve told me everything that’s in here.”
“Yes. There are . . . you know, some legalese-type terms that probably won’t mean much to you—they’re just standard contract provisions—and you can see inside the other paragraphs I pointed out, more detailed explanations of what I’ve already told you, but it’s all there. Why don’t you take a moment to read through it? And when you’re ready to sign, pick up the telephone there and dial 8-4-1-9.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She leaves me alone in the room and I stare at the papers. I try reading the first few paragraphs but I keep zoning out and have to reread the same sentences over and over. The only books I like reading are novels—books that have a story that keeps my brain humming along. Nothing could possibly be duller than this document in front of me. My brain isn’t humming, it’s going blank. I don’t think I’ve had enough sleep to absorb the information.
I turn to the last page and find the line where I need to put my signature. With a flick of my wrist, it’s done. I sign the nondisclosure agreement too and look at the other items inside. They’re asking me for my Social Security number and other personal information. I guess since they’ve already found me, it’s not like I need to hide my address or anything like that. I fill in all the necessary details and close the folder. Then I wait.
I can’t remember the number of the extension she gave me, but surely she’ll come check on me any minute. After ten minutes go by, I realize she’s probably going to be happy to leave me here all day. I walk out into the hallway, glancing right and left. Everything looks exactly the same and there’s nobody around. Ghost town.
I head left, assuming this is the way I should go in order to get back to the reception desk, since it’s the direction I came from. Unfortunately, my sense of north, south, east, and west proves to be very consistent, and I end up once again in the copy room. The familiar scent of warm paper and chemicals hits me.
“Hi, Linny Lister.” I smile at the girl whose back is to me.
She mumbles something under her breath.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I said I’ll be out in a minute.”
I should probably walk away because she doesn’t sound happy, but she’s just a kid. And she’s stuck in this stupid copy room when I’m sure there are a thousand other places she’d rather be. I walk in farther and stop when I’m standing next to her. When I glance sideways at her profile I can see that she’s been crying.
I know kids are sensitive about their emotional lives, so I try to make a joke out of it. “Did you get busted for making a copy of your butt?”
She slowly turns her head to look at me. “What did you just say?” She doesn’t believe she heard me right. I doubt Uncle Lister would ever ask her a question like that.
I try not to smile. “Are you crying because you got busted for making a photocopy of your butt?”
She looks confused at first. “No?”
I frown. “You didn’t do your boobs, did you?”
She starts to smile. “No. I’ve never done anything like that in here.”
I shrug. “I don’t think I’d be able to work here without trying it at least once.”
She looks back down at the copier and wipes her face. “I’m just having a bad day.”
“Yeah. I hear you.” I rub her back a little. “I get those from time to time.” I tap my finger on the top of the machine. “You know, though . . . Fun with copiers could go a long way toward cheering you up. Regardless of what’s getting you down, nothing is more cheerful than a nice photocopy of a set of bare buns.” I know this because I saw one once in college and swore to myself if I ever had the chance, I’d make a copy of mine one day. I think today might be that day! I’m ridiculously excited.
She chews her lip. “I did used to make photocopies of my hands at Thanksgiving and turn them into turkeys.”
“Into turkeys?” Now it’s my turn to smile.
“Yeah. You know . . . how you make the fingers look like feathers and the thumb look like the head and you color it in?”
“Ah, yes. I did those at home when I was little.” Sadly, our mothers still have them hanging on the fridge every November.
She loses her smile. “Yeah, well, after you do about twenty of them, it gets boring.”
“It’s time to up your game.” I don’t know what wild hair gets up my butt in that moment, but making Linny happy becomes tops on my priority list. And although I’m about to walk away from this place with ten grand in my pocket and another ten grand two weeks from now for what I’m sure will prove to be a shit-ton of work—I mean, why else would they pay me so much?—I still feel like I can afford to be generous with my time.
I elbow her gently. “Okay, step aside. Show me how to work this thing. I’m going to show you how to make a really cool photocopy. Better than hand turkeys by a mile.”
She stares at me with her jaw open, excitement dancing in her eyes. She points. “Just press the green button, and it’ll make one copy of whatever you put on the glass.”
I search the machine. “Show me where the glass is. Is it here?” I lift part of the lid on the machine but I don’t see anything but more plastic.
“No, you have to grab this part here.” She lifts a big section of the machine up to reveal the glass. I’m not quite tall enough to make this happen, so I race over and grab a footstool that I saw in the corner of the room and bring it back. I step up on it and pause to look down at her. “Are you ready for this?”
She nods vigorously, making her ponytail swing around. Her tears are forgotten. “I am totally ready.”
I lift my top and take my bra along with it, exposing my breasts. “You’ll have to excuse me; I grew up on a hippie commune. We’re kind of free with nakedness.”
She starts giggling. “Don’t worry. I have a pair of my own.”
I lean over and place my boobs on the glass, my head to the side. “Whoop! Whoa, that’s cold.”
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, you are so crazy.” She’s laughing so hard, she starts to fold in half.
“Where’s the green button?” I look to my right but I’m bent too far over to see it.
Linny runs around the other side of me, still laughing and gasping for air. “I got it, I got it. Are you ready?”
“I am ready! Five—four—three—two—one! Hit it, sister!”
She presses the button and a bright light flares up in my face and then slowly scans across my chest.
“Oh my god, you are so crazy,” she says between giggles. She runs back to the other side of the machine.
As soon as it’s done, I stand up and pull my shirt down. “Behold. The awesome boob shot.” I step down from the stool and lean my arm inside the copier over the glass, using the sleeve of my shirt to rub any prints off the surface. Lord knows this firm doesn’t need the ghost of Amber’s boobs haunting their precious legal documents.
Linny pulls the paper from the tray. She holds it up and giggles, dangling it in front of her. Her eyes are sparkling. “Oh my big butt, look at your boobs. They look huge.”
I take it from her and look down at them, smiling. “They do. Like two giant headlights.” I snag a pen from a nearby counter and quickly sketch the grille of a car around the headlights before handing it back to her. “There. Now that’s something you can hang on your fridge at Thanksgiving instead of the turkey hands.”
“Are you done?” says a voice from the doorway.
My heart drops into my shoes. Linny’s smile disappears and her complexion goes stark white. We both turn at the same time to face the man in the doorway.
Lister’s face looks as though it’s been carved out of granite.
Holy hell . . . how long has he been standing there?
“I think so,” I say with false cheer. I give Linny a quick hug and whisper in her ear before I let go, “Burn that. And no more crying today.”
She hugs me back stronger than I expected her to as she whispers her response. “Thank you for cheering me up.”
I walk out of the copy room with my head held high, following Lister down the hallway. Mission accomplished.