Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (12 page)

“Well, you’ve met him. So, let’s not act like he’s a fucking joy to be around,” Brooke responds. “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later. Give Teddy a kiss for me when he gets home from school.”

“Thanks again for helping me today. You saved my ass. Dinner tonight?”

Brooke shakes her head, clearing her throat. “I can’t. I’ve got plans. Tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Teddy will be stoked,” Ember adds, saying goodbye and ending the call.

She sets her phone on the desk, fingers fidgeting with a few pens. “Sorry about

that—” and before she can get another word out, her phone starts ringing. “Oh my god,” she groans, glancing at the screen. “Shit, I need to answer this. Lindsay has been demon dialing me for the past two hours.”

“Hey, Linds—”

Before Brooke can finish greeting her, Lindsay chimes in, “Holy motherfucking shit. I figured it out. It’s Jesse.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“The Cockelgänger!”

“The what?”

Lindsay sighs heavily into the speaker. “Remember the guy I told you about? The guy who’s cock gave me déjà vu? The Doppelgänger dick—or Cockelgänger as I’m now calling it! Oh, c’mon Brooke! You don’t remember me telling you about this? For Fuck’s sake, I thought we were best friends!”

Brooke’s face fights a smile. “Uh, Linds, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“What in the hell could be more important than discussing this with me? The answer is nothing, Brookie. The answer is motherfucking nothing. And it’s Jesse. Jesse is whose cock he reminded me of. But now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think the other guy’s quite lived up to his. I mean, Jesse’s was pretty spectacular. Dear God, I’m getting—”

Brooke cuts her off. “Slow your roll, Susie. I think you might change your mind about discussing the Cockelgänger right now.” Brooke laughs, and then slowly points the screen in my direction.

Lindsay’s eyes go wide when they meet mine. “Oh. Shit. Well, screw me sideways. Hi, Dylan. Long time no see.”

I laugh, grinning at her shocked yet amused expression. “Hey, Lindsay. How’s it hangin’?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Just discussing your brother’s cock. Nothing major.” Lindsay’s lips crest into a smirk. “Tell Jesse I said hello.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the sentiment. Anything else you want me to tell the Cockelgänger?”

She barks out a laugh. “Nah,” she adds gesturing with her hand across the screen. “No use adding to that ego of his. I’ve seen his Instagram.”

That cracks me up. “Right.”

Brooke turns the phone back in her direction. “So, as I was saying, now isn’t a good time, Linds.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Call me later. We obviously have a lot more to discuss.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Olive juice, you hooker.”

“Olive juice too, you crazy dickhead.”

Brooke taps the screen and sets the phone back on her desk. “Sorry about that. Lindsay’s pretty damn unstoppable once she gets started.”

Nodding, I grin. “Yeah, I remember that about her. Au Fait…Karaoke…She was a force to be reckoned with.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes daze off for a few seconds, and before I can continue our trip down memory lane, her phone rings again. Brooke sighs, glancing down at her desk, and then her hesitant gaze meets mine.

“Go ahead and take it. I’m not in a rush.”

Her eyes flit towards the screen and then back to me again, before she finally picks up her phone on the fourth ring. You’d think it’s a bomb the way she grasps it lightly, slowly pulling it towards her face. With one finger swipe across the screen, a male voice fills the room. “Baby girl, what are you—hey, wait a minute. What are you wearing?”

She rolls her eyes. “I had a conference call with Alistair’s tailored suit posse, remember?”

His chuckle echoes in the room. “I forgot about that. Well, you look gorgeous, baby girl.”

Seriously, baby girl? What is with that? My brain cringes every time I hear that fucking nickname.

Brooke clears her throat. Her neck pulses with uncomfortable movements as she swallows a breath. “Is there anything you need right now, Jame? I’m getting ready to work on some music with Dylan.”

“Fantastic. Well, I just wanted to see where I needed to pick you up for dinner tonight?”

Bloody hell, I want to crawl out of my skin. It’s one thing to sit here and wait patiently while she chats with her sister or Lindsay, but it’s another thing to sit here and listen to her make small talk with her wanker of a fiancé. Sure, in a round about way, he’s my boss, but for all intents and purposes, Jamie Wallace and his horrible nicknames can suck it.

Their happy chitchat has my stomach twisting, nausea filling my mouth. My ears tune them out, but my eyes can’t stop from running along the length of her, silently savoring and scrutinizing her appearance. Of course, she’s beautiful in my eyes, Brooke is always beautiful, but I feel like an alien has taken over her body. She is dressed in nothing like I’ve ever seen her wear. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun, a few blonde curls framing her face. A black skirt skims her gorgeous arse, landing just below her knee, highlighting her toned, lean calves. And a grey silk blouse finishes off the business-like attire.

I understand she had a conference call today and probably needed to dress appropriately, but even when I saw Brooke dress up for an evening in Paris, she always managed to throw in her own style, her own little flash of personality.

Where is the Brooke I’ve come to know and love?
This version—this prim-and-proper, too-put-together version of Brooke—isn’t mine. This must be
his
. And without wanting to come off like an dick, I’d like to make it known that I think this version is complete codswallop. This isn’t my Brooke.

And God, do I want
my
Brooke back.

I want her long, wild curls bouncing around, begging for my fingers to slip inside and turn them into disarray. I want Brooke in her faded band t-shirts and cut-off jean shorts. I want Brooke and her favorite worn-in boots, highlighting her perfect stems. I want Brooke and all of her sass, arguing with me over Jimmy Page being more talented than Hendrix. I want to see those gorgeous honey-brown eyes of hers light up as she excitedly chats with me about music and books and everything in between.

It’s not lost on me, that despite my disdain for this too conservative, too held back Brooke, I still want every version of her. I’m desperate for her that way, but I want
my
version most of all.

“Yeah, he’s here now.” Her voice cuts into my thoughts. I glance up to meet her eyes. “Here, Jamie wants to talk to you,” she says, turning the screen in my direction.

He grins at me like a man without a care in the world.
Fucking twat.
“Dylan! How’s it hangin’?”

I shrug. “Can’t complain, mate.”

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you before you get bombarded with news. Alistair isn’t always the best in giving a heads up when there’s been a new development…” Jamie continues, but I start to tune him out, eyes moving slightly above the phone that Brooke’s holding in front of me.

She’s leaning against her desk, her waist at my eye-level. Long legs are crossed at the ankle, and I follow that gorgeous skin, all the way up to the edge of her skirt, where it’s shifted slightly, revealing the hint of silk and lace.
Is she wearing a bloody garter belt?
My fingers itch to slide up her smooth skin and caress every brilliant inch. The urge is strong, and I have to clench my fists to prevent myself from doing something I’ll probably regret.

“…I’m not sure what this means for the band, but Alistair is pretty excited about it. He thinks this will help promote Careless Cockups. He’s adamant that it’s not a reality show, but more of a documentary.” Jamie grimaces. “Honestly, I don’t know what to call it, but I’m certain it won’t be a hindrance on your career. I think this might really help promote the album and get sold-out crowds for your pre-release tour.”

Reality show? WHAT?

I shake my head, confused. “Wait.
What?
Run that by me again.”

Jamie chuckles, nodding his head. “No worries, I can understand the shock. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what this could mean for you guys. Honestly, this is the first time we’ve ever considered doing something like this.”

My eyes meet Brooke’s, and I see the uncertainty lying within their depths. “Did you know about this?”

She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t be mad, baby girl! It all just came out about a week ago, and you’ve been too busy in the studio for an update,” Jamie responds, speaking a little louder so Brooke can hear him.

I grab the phone from her, standing up and pacing. “All right, explain this to me again.”

“The cable network C&E has shown interest in doing a short series, between four and seven episodes, focused solely on Careless Cockups and their debut album. They want to film you guys in the studio, at a few of your shows, and slide in occasional clips that showcase your personalities. I’d like to sit down with you guys tomorrow and discuss it further. I’ve already told Alistair that we need to hear you out, understand if this is even a path you want to take, and if it is something you’re interested in, what your limitations are. I know this is a lot to take on, and a lot to process, but I think it’s a positive thing to consider.”

“Will Alistair be at this meeting?”

Jamie shakes his head. “I wasn’t planning on having him there. His focus is always on the monetary gain, if you catch my drift.”

“Where’s your focus?” I have a hard time believing Jamie isn’t focused on the cash cow either. I mean, he
is
Alistair’s son. But then again, the odd exchange I witnessed at Bar Marmont, where his father mentioned multimillion-dollar trust funds in reference to Brooke’s ring, wasn’t a normal reaction I’d expect from someone who’s following in his father’s footsteps. If anything, Jamie seemed entirely pissed off and uncomfortable by what Alistair had said. He didn’t seem like a man whose sole focus is money. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to fake a smile.

“Doing what’s right by you guys. Look, I know my father’s prick. Hell, I could go on about what it was like to live with that man for eighteen years, but he knows how to promote musicians. He knows his shit when it comes to the industry that way.”

I glance up at Brooke. “What’s your honest opinion on all of this? Do you really think this is what’s best? Putting our lives out there for the entire world to see? Sounds a bit drastic if you ask me.”

“I’m not sure,” she responds in a quiet voice. “I don’t know all the details. It’s as much of a shock to you as it is to me.”

Jamie chimes in. “That’s what the meeting tomorrow is for. Since your lives are the ones that would be most affected by this show, I think the six of you deserve the opportunity to discuss this without Alistair or any executives from C&E around.

Brooke’s jaw drops.
“What?”
she asks, snatching the phone out of my hand. “What do you mean by that? How will this affect
my life
?

Jamie smiles, eyes warm and genuine when they meet Brooke’s. “Calm down, sweetheart. Nothing is set in stone yet. But yes, this would affect your life,
if
it ends up coming to fruition. And you should know, the network is pretty certain about it, and antsy as hell to get a contract signed.”

Brooke shakes her head. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would I be on camera? I’m not part of the band…”

“Yeah, but you and Nigel are producing their album.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea, Jame. I kind of hate it, to be honest.”

“Baby girl, you know I wouldn’t allow anything to happen that you’re not onboard with. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on doing what you do best, producing kickass records, and I’ll handle everything else.”

Christ, enough with the baby girl shite.

“Okay.” She nods.

“Sorry to cut this short after dropping that bomb on you guys, but I can’t be late for this meeting. Dylan, give the guys a heads up about this. I’ll coordinate with Nigel and Brooke, and plan on chatting this over when everyone is at the studio tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“Brooke, I’ll pick you up around seven tonight. Alistair made reservations at Nobu.”

Brooke takes the phone over towards the windows, staring out towards the hills.
“Nobu?
Jesus, that’s just fantastic.” Her voice drips sarcasm. “No use in going to dinner unless there’s paparazzi to take your picture.”

Jamie chuckles. “Believe me, I know, and I’m about as thrilled as you are. And don’t forget to wear something pretty, baby girl, you know how Alistair
loves
public appearances.”

Maybe I’m just reading into things, but this conversation makes me feel like I’m missing something. Something big. Something that would give me a little insight into the kind of relationship Brooke and Jamie have, especially where Alistair Wallace is concerned. I find myself leaning forward, trying to catch any little comment that passes between them.

“Okay, I really gotta go this time. Love you, Brooke.”

“Love you, too, Jamie.”

Bloody hell, never-fucking-mind.
I slouch back into my chair, staring at the carpet like it’s about to do a goddamn magic trick. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than hear them exchange I love you’s or toss around pet names again. Yeah, I’m pretty certain there’s a list a mile long that I’d rather do—colonoscopy, getting a tooth pulled, use the bathroom
after
Jesse’s been in there for a half hour—than listen to Jamie call Brooke his “baby girl.”

She makes her way back over to me, switching her phone off and setting it down.

“Trying to distance yourself from the rest of the world?”

Brooke shrugs, walking around her desk and leaning against the edge. “I’m trying to avoid being rude for the fourth time since you stepped into my office.” She’s back in the same position she was during Jamie’s initial call. Her ankles crossed, toned calves mocking my willpower. I can’t stop myself from raking my gaze across her body, finding that hint of lace and silk at the tops of her thighs.

“Fourth time?” I question, slightly confused.