Chapter Sixteen
Nalia
I was frustrated and irritated as I left the studio. I wanted to go home with Owen more than anything. Hell, I’d been thinking about him for the last two weeks, ever since the passionate night we had spent together.
But with the two of us about to be stuck for nearly four months on a tour bus working together, trying to make everything come together on this insane schedule and doing my best to keep all of the other guys in line, and insuring that everything ran as perfectly as clockwork, it was simply a disaster waiting to happen. Surely he had to understand that? There was no way we could be professional about this and carry on any kind of illicit physical affair at the same time. It just wouldn't work.
Sure, he was interested at the moment, but I was totally convinced that it wasn’t going to last, especially once we were on tour. Owen Young was one of L.A.’s most eligible billionaire bachelors—a strikingly handsome man who oozed sex appeal. He could very likely have any woman he wanted, and I was just a poor girl from the less-than-middle-class Midwest.
I mean, let’s face it, the man was a rock star. He was accustomed to women like lingerie models, glamorous film celebrities, or sexy pop stars. Those were the types of women a man like him wanted, not just an ordinary girl like me. It was silly of me to get my hopes up and imagine anything else. Real life just wasn't like that.
He’d remember that just as soon as he went on tour and groupies were throwing themselves at him. Then where would that put me? I couldn’t afford to get attached. Not even a little.
And I sure as hell didn’t want to just be used by him, either. Maybe he really was lonely, but using me to fill a gap wasn’t something I wanted. That was something I definitely was not prepared to do.
But, damn, I had to admit that the sex really had been amazing. A little shiver shook through me just at the thought of it, and I had to snap myself out of it, remembering to put the keys in my car door. I looked back at the building, hesitating, but forced myself to get into the car. I was leaving. I was not going back inside. I headed toward my apartment, calling Grace on the way to see if she was home yet.
“Hey, I need a drink. Want to go to the bar with me?” I asked when she picked up.
“What kind of question is that? Absolutely! Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a long day at work, is all,” I told her. I didn’t feel like getting into it. At least, not before I had a couple of drinks in me.
“All right. How far away are you? I’ll meet you outside.”
“Twenty minutes. See you then,” I chimed then hung up, blasting the radio and trying to clear my head of all things Owen Young.
Grace was already waiting outside when I pulled up. She got in, and we headed straight for the bar. She didn’t bother trying to pry further, at least not yet, knowing me better than anyone else. We got to the bar and went in, ordering two drafts. I sighed, taking a sip of mine and relaxing some now that I was far from work.
“Hey, look, they have open mic tonight! You should sign up,” Grace pointed to a poster. I shrugged.
“Sure, why not.” Playing always cheered me up. I downed my first beer and immediately started to feel better. The buzz of the alcohol relaxed me and made me feel a bit more carefree. A drink made it easier to get my mind off of Owen and work.
Feeling a bit more on the cheery side, I headed over to sign up for the open mic. They had it set up to one open mic performance followed by one song by the DJ, and then repeat. I checked the list and noticed that there were still a few people signed up before me, so I grabbed another beer; there was still plenty of time before my turn on stage came up.
My cell phone buzzed with a text message as Grace and I sat drinking at a table. Grace’s eyebrow cocked up as I checked the message and sighed. It was Owen.
“Hey, where are you?” the text read.
“The Barfly. Why do you need to know? I'm off the clock, and I've taken care of all my responsibilities for the day,” I responded, maybe a little harsh, but at that point—two beers in—I didn’t care.
He responded back quickly. “I needed you to come back in to work on a situation with one of the hotels, but no biggie, I can handle it.”
Good, I thought, not bothering to reply. I took another long swig of my beer and then shoved my phone into my purse.
“Owen?” Grace asked.
“Yeah, just a little bit of a situation with work and some mix up with a hotel booking. No big deal, though; nothing he can't handle on his own,” I said, shrugging it off.
“So, spill it. What’s going on at work? I mean, you seem a little out of sorts. Have things gotten weird or uncomfortable or something?” she asked, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow at me. I swear I should have never told her about me and Owen sleeping together. I was starting to regret letting her in on that little secret.
“Nothing is going on with work,” I said flatly. “Absolutely nothing. It's all fine, seriously.”
“Are you sure?” she prodded. “Because that tone tells me otherwise.”
I sometimes hated that she knew me so well. “Fine, fine, you're right. Things aren't okay—they're not okay at all. He came on to me again today,” I finally admitted.
“Ohhh…then why are you here?” she giggled.
“Because I have to work with him, Grace! Jeez, doesn’t anybody understand that? I don’t need things getting complicated. And this job really is a lot of work, and it's so stressful. There are a million things to take care of, way more than I could have ever anticipated there being.
“Then you add the stress of trying to keep your boss at arm’s length. It’s just...ugh! I really don't need to be on an emotional rollercoaster with Owen Young on top of everything else.” I turned my attention to the stage to watch the next performance and let her know I wasn’t about to discuss it any further. She took the hint, and we both watched the next few performances without discussing work or Owen.
By the time it was my turn, I had long finished my third beer and was feeling a decent buzz. There was a good bit of liquid courage flowing through my veins by the time they called my name. Getting a pat on the back and “good luck” from Grace, I headed straight up to the stage, feeling confident. They had an older, baby grand piano, but it was still in good condition. I’d played it a few other times at open mic night, so placing my fingers along the ivory felt comfortable.
I sat on the bench and adjusted the microphone stand before starting in on a song. It was one I’d written a while back, one of my favorites. I got lost in the music as my fingers pressed down gracefully on the keys. I’ve always felt at home up on the stage, just losing myself in the beauty and intensity of the music, just feeling every ounce of my being connecting with the notes and the lyrics and the soul of the song. I closed my eyes, the words flowing fluidly along with the melody as I poured my heart into the song and let the music carry all of my troubles to a place beyond me. I didn’t even notice how silent the room had grown while I was singing.
When I finished, I opened my eyes and looked up at the silent room, scared for a moment, until cheers, whistles, and hoots broke out. I smiled, Owen far from my mind, absolutely content.