Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (17 page)

Jamie has made an entire table of suits royally pissed at him, and for what reason?

I don’t see how any of this could benefit him. If anything, he just lit an inferno of rage to burn in his direction.

“I’ll agree to those terms,” Ari states. “I have no qualms with that. What do you think?” he asks, focus moving towards Alistair’s irritated gaze.

“Sure. I’ll have my lawyers change the contract to reflect the band’s new terms,” he finally answers, practically boring holes into his son’s skull.

Jamie moves his attention towards Brooke. “Do you have any concerns you’d like to voice?”

She gets up from her seat, moving towards the head of the conference table. Her fingers flip through the contract sitting in front of Gene. “I want another look at this before I sign anything.”

Alistair sighs. “Brooke, we don’t have time for this. The network is breathing down our necks to start production before the goddamn ink dries. They wanted your signatures yesterday.”

She picks up the thick contract, holding it against her chest. “Give me two hours. That’s all I’m asking.”

His brow furrows. “Two hours?”

“Yes.” Her voice is firm.

He shakes his head, sighing heavily. “You’re lucky I’m hungry, otherwise I wouldn’t tolerate this circus bullshit in my boardroom.” Two large hands smack down on the conference table as Alistair stands to his feet. “Let’s get lunch and meet back here in
two hours.
Everyone will be ready to voice any final
concerns,”
he says, glaring at Jamie. “And then we can move past this and get signatures on these contracts.”

Brooke nods and strides out of the room.

What in the bloody hell is going on?

Jesse and I hop into the Escalade, waiting for Zach and Alex. They decided to ask Nigel to join us. Might as well make use of the two hours and grab a bite to eat.

“Well, at least you know that Jamie is on our side. I mean, I know he’s not your favorite person, but that says something, right?” Jesse asks from the passenger seat.

I glance at him, sighing. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“I think he’s a stand up guy, mate. And he’s completely oblivious to what’s going on between you and Brooke.”

“Nothing is going on between me and Brooke.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, and Alistair Wallace isn’t a giant cunt. C’mon, Dylan, don’t try to deny it. You two are like a hurricane when you’re in the same room together.”

I stare straight ahead, annoyed that he’s chosen this as a topic of discussion.

“Get it off your chest. Tell me what’s really going on.”

My head falls against the back of the seat, eyes falling closed. “I don’t even know where to begin. It’s a disaster. This whole messed up situation is a disaster just waiting to happen.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t buy it either.”

That grabs my attention, eyes meeting his. “Don’t buy what?”

“Their relationship. Something is off about it. She doesn’t look happy, ya know? Not like in Paris. Actually, she looks pretty damned miserable.”

My eyebrows rise. “Miserable?”

He nods. “Bloody miserable, if you ask me. I have a feeling there’s more to it.”

“More to it? Jesse, she’s engaged to be married. And she and Jamie, they’re close, that much is obvious.”

“Close? Maybe close like friends. Maybe close like two people who care about each other. But not close like she’s madly in love with him. He doesn’t get to her like you do. You feed off one another. Christ, being locked in a studio with the two of you is painful. You’re either glaring daggers at each other or radiating so much sexual tension that I worry you might fuck on the soundboard, mid-recording.” His tone is teasing.

That makes me laugh. “Piss off.”

He grins. “I’m only speaking the truth, mate.”

My face falls as I start to wonder if Jesse is the only one who’s noticed the way Brooke and I are around one another. I thought I was putting up a good front, but I guess that’s not the case…“Do you think—”

Jesse cuts me off, answering my unspoken question. “I’m your brother. I know you like no one else. I don’t even think Alex has picked up on it.”

I guess that makes me feel a tad better, but it still doesn’t change the fact that my brother has caught on to this constant tug-of-war between Brooke and me. But how much longer can we continue like this? How much longer can this go on before someone else notices?

Alex and Zach, I’m not worried about. Alex already knew. And Zach caught on all too quickly when sitting with Brooke and me at Bar Marmont.
That should have been a red flag right there, you git.

Even Nigel doesn’t really pose a threat.

But Alistair? Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. He might be a giant twat, but Jamie is his son, and Brooke is his soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

Fuckin’ hell.

Groaning, I run my hand through my hair. I know what I
should
do, but I also know what I
want
to do. And they don’t match up. They couldn’t be any more opposite.

“What do you think Brooke is doing with the contracts?” Jesse asks.

“Haven’t a clue,” I mumble.

“Text her. Ask her what she needed two hours for,” he demands, fingers busy scrolling through something on his phone. My guess is Twitter or Insta-whatever. The wanker is obsessed with social media. It doesn’t help that journos, and far too many infatuated women across the States, have latched onto his presence, seemingly more than thrilled with every picture and random thought he posts.

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

“This is exactly why I know you two have definitely shagged since we’ve been in LA. You think too bloody much. Don’t think about it. Just act normal. Just act like friends.”

I huff out a laugh. “
Friends?”

“Yeah, friends. It’s the approach you should have taken from the start. Treat her like there’s nothing between you. Act like you’re not affected by the fact that she fucked you over.”

“This is coming from the guy who told me he’d get down on one knee and beg Lindsay Monroe to marry him the next time he saw her.” I don’t even bother letting him in on the Cockelgänger discussion I overheard. No use adding fuel to the fire.

Jesse chuckles, smirking. “That’s different. I’m not trying to get Lindsay to realize she’s making a huge mistake. I just want to see her glorious tits bouncing in my face again,
while
she’s riding my cock. Believe me when I say this—Brooke wants you just as much as you want her. And the second you stop yo-yoing between acting like a giant cunt or like you need her to breathe, and get back to just being friends with her, she’ll be putty in your hands.”

“I’m getting relationship advice from the guy who never settles down? The same guy who was shagging his professor and
her daughter
without even knowing they were related?”

“Considering the only progress you’ve made is suffocating the room with the sexual tension between you two, I’d say my advice is worth taking. Don’t be such a wanker.
Text her.”

I guess he has a point. The only thing we’ve been successful at doing is a confusing combination of angry and desperate fucking. We’ve lashed out. We’ve said hurtful things. And the only time we’ve shown any sort of affection towards one another has been when my cock (or fingers) were deep inside of her. It’s completely screwed up.

So…what? I’m just supposed to act like I’m not desperately in love with her? I’m supposed to act like her being engaged to someone else isn’t tearing me apart from the inside?

“Trust me, mate. Just bloody trust me,” Jesse adds.

I slide my phone out of my pocket, fingers hovering over her name in my contacts.

Fuck it.

My index finger taps on her name, and I shoot her a message.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. I just needed to do something before we sign our lives away to the devil’

‘I think the word you’re looking for is “souls”’

‘LOL. That too…’

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘No, but I appreciate the offer.

Just know I’m making sure none of us are getting screwed in this deal.’

‘Well…I guess good luck with that…’

‘No luck needed. I’ve got William on my side.’

‘William?’

Who is William? Is it irrational that my initial reaction isn’t curiosity, but jealousy? An uncomfortable pinch in my gut has me automatically thinking the worst. In my defense, this is the same woman who left me in Paris without a goodbye, only a cryptic note of an explanation. And when I finally saw her again, I was hit with the bomb that she is engaged
to be married
. The same woman who told me she wasn’t seeing anyone when I asked her in Paris. The same woman who stared up at me with her heart in her eyes when we made love.

Yeah, I’m a caveman, but I’d say it’s warranted.

‘He was Millie’s lawyer and became my pseudo-Uncle over the years.

Retired now, but always willing to offer up his expertise when I’m in a bind.’

Overreaction, much?
Talk about knocking the wind out of my suspicious sails.

‘I’d say this warrants a bind. But two hours? Is that enough time?’

‘I think. He’s reading over the contracts now. But if I’m late you might have to pull the fire alarm or stage a riot, just to give me a little more time.’

‘Stage a riot? I’m more of a lover not a fighter…’

‘That’s not what I heard…’

‘Jesse is a cunt. Don’t believe a word he says.’

‘Who says Jesse gave me the inside scoop?’

‘I know my brother. I’ve been tolerating him for twenty-five years…’

‘Actually, it was your father. He told me all of your dirty secrets.’

‘What? When?’

‘The day we had lunch at Au Fait.’

‘Oh, right. The day he gave you Millie’s letter.’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you opened it yet?’

‘I don’t really think that’s any of your business.’

None of my business? Wow. I’m not sure that should hurt as much as it does. But it feels like a jagged knife into my chest. How can I be friends with her when this is the kind of reaction I get? Maybe I pushed the line by asking, but I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I was merely asking as a friend, as someone who cares about her far too much.

‘Forget I asked. See you in a few.’

‘Dylan, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way.

Shit is just overwhelming at the moment. And Friday is Millie’s birthday.

I’m missing her like crazy. And I can’t bring myself to read her letter. Her last letter.

It’s the only thing I have left. I guess, it just feels too much like goodbye, ya know?’

‘No explanation necessary, Brooke. I get it.’

‘Dylan…God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

This is the exact reason I hate text messages. You can never really decipher what someone means or is trying to say. They’re not in front of you, baring their expressions and the tone of their voice. I don’t know what Brooke is really apologizing for, but I have a feeling it has nothing to do with a text message.

Instead of taking the high road, I take a note from Brooke’s book of cryptic messages and respond with a simple,
‘Yeah, me too.’

I know I should feel sympathy towards her. I know I should be the bigger person here. But I’m too raw from her actions, her words.

‘
None of my business.
’

She was so quick to cut me off. So hasty to act like I’m not
really
a part of her life. It feels like, in her eyes, what we had in Paris doesn’t really matter. I don’t really matter. At least, I don’t matter enough for her to open up and let me in. I don’t matter enough to get an actual explanation of why things ended up this way between us. Why she lied to me in Paris. Why she said yes to Jamie. Why she can’t be in a room with me for more than three seconds before her eyes find mine. Why she started our relationship off with lies.

Relationship?
That might be exaggerating on my part. She didn’t seem to have a problem walking away from me. It seems I was the only one who was all in, who was ready and willing to give her everything.

The lyrics to one of Jeff Buckley’s most famous songs ring loudly in my head.
Hallelujah
was originally written and recorded by Leonard Cohen, but it’s Buckley’s broken and beautiful version that most remember. He used to play that song at the end of every show, and his normally amped up crowd would fall silent. Completely awed by the painful brilliance of it.

Everyone construes their own thoughts on what those lyrics mean. Most believe when this song was written it was about a love that had soured and gone stale. The breathtaking lyrics are laced with religious imagery, including references to some of the most notorious women in the Bible.

I’ve always felt sometimes our interpretations of lyrics can depend solely on our moods, so I guess, right now, this songs is a reflection to me. A reflection on the way you can love someone enough to let them do horrible things; on how you willingly suffer an infinite amount of pain, all because you love someone that much.

This song mimics they way I feel about Brooke. I love her, so much,
too much
, that I’ll endure just about anything to be with her. Even when I know our time is temporary.

I sit back and watch her smile affectionately at another man. I watch her kiss his cheek and hold his hand. I witness the way the diamond on her left hand blares her choice in my face. I do all of this, and still, when I’m alone with her, I always end up finding a way to touch her, hold her, make her mine. I have zero willpower when it comes to Brooke, and I’d be lying if I said my intentions are honorable, never meaning to lead us to the paths we’ve found ourselves in—fucking against a wall outside a bar, biting the swell of her breast while she rides my hand in her office.

I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t savor those moments.

Because I do.

I savor every one of those moments with her, because as simple as it may seem, those times mean something merely because I’m with her. And in those short specks of time, she’s exactly who she should be. She’s
my Brooke.
The woman I fell in love with the second she tried to stealthily take my picture on the métro.