Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (2 page)

‘I’ll be there. What’s this meeting for again?’

‘I swear you’ve been lost in the clouds since you got back from Paris, baby girl.

New band my dad and Nigel are signing.

It’s going to be a big opportunity for you, so put your happy face on.’

‘Like I get to produce kind of opportunity?’

‘Something like that…’

‘I haven’t even heard these guys (or girls). What if they suck ass?’

‘What if they’re really fucking brilliant?’

‘What’s this band’s name again?’

‘Nope, you don’t have time to search for their music on YouTube.

Leave your sister’s shop, grab me a coffee on your way, and get your ass here.’

‘Their band name is Nope? This doesn’t sound promising…’

‘Don’t be a smartass.’

‘I’m already in my car with your coffee in tow. Be there in 10.’

Before heading towards the label, I browse through my other text conversations.

Ember telling me that she’s taking Teddy to the museum today.

Lindsay’s picture message of the hot shoes she’s wearing at a photo shoot.

And then Dylan. It’s been two weeks since I’ve heard from him. The minute I got back to LA and turned my phone on, I had several missed calls and messages from him.

‘Where are you?’

‘Tell me you didn’t leave Paris without saying goodbye.’

‘Tell me you didn’t just walk out of my life without any inkling of when I’ll see you again.’

‘Why did you do this, Brooke?’

‘Not right now? What the fuck does that mean?’

‘There are so many things I want to say to you right now, but I refuse to say them in a bloody text conversation.’

‘I hate that you did this. Hate it. But it still doesn’t change how I feel about you.’

‘I know you’re ignoring me. At least just let me know you made it back to L.A. safe.’

It was painful to say the least. My heart broke with each message. And to think, after the way I handled things, he was still worried about whether or not I made it home okay.

Now do you get the whole black soul sentiment?

I eventually texted him back and let him know I was okay. I told him I was sorry for hurting him the way I did, and that if I had a choice in the matter, I wouldn’t have done it. I asked him to trust me. It’s a long shot asking someone to trust you when you can’t even tell them the circumstances that require their trust. I told him that it was okay if he was done with me and wanted to move on, that I would understand.

It was a lengthy text. I cried the entire time I typed it out.

The only response I got back…
Until I see you again, and you’re completely honest with me, you and I will always be unfinished business.

It’s been radio silence ever since. Not a phone call, a text, an email, a goddamn pigeon carrier. Nothing. And I can’t deny the fact that’s what’s killing me the most.

Dylan

“Welcome to LA, boys!” Alistair greets us as we step through the glass doors of a conference room. He’s the President and CEO of Wallace & Wright Records, our soon-to-be label. That’s why we’re here, to sign our lives away on the dotted line and officially start our music careers.

I should be excited, damn near ecstatic, over the fact that my band has signed with one of the biggest labels in the music industry, but all I can think about is Brooke. It still stings like a motherfucker when I think of how she left me.

Two days early and only a note served as her goodbye.

This isn't goodbye. It's just, not right now,
it said, but it sure as hell felt final to me.

I'm sorry. I know you deserve better than this,
it said,
but I wanted to refute that claim and tell her I deserve her. She’s the only thing I want.

I’ll always feel it too,
it said,
but I wanted to tear that goddamn note into a thousand pieces. If she felt it too, then why the fuck did she run? Because the way I feel for her, nothing could get me to walk away. Nothing.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s the biggest motivating factor in my agreeance to sign with a label that’s conveniently located in LA. Before Brooke, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of signing with a record company and risking our creative freedom as a band, but that all changed the moment I met her. Sure this is a fantastic opportunity, but the biggest draw moving to LA has is that it gets me one step closer to being with her.

It’s been one month. Seven hundred and twenty hours without Brooke, but who’s counting, right? Yeah, who am I kidding? I’m bloody counting. Every minute passes slower than the last. Every minute without her is one more minute of agony, another minute where I’m left with a thousand questions and no answers.

I knew she was going to be a challenge. Hell, I knew she was a bloody flight risk. Her horrible poker face showed the girl had running tendencies, but I thought I’d gotten past that giant wall she’d built. I thought I’d shown her how much she meant to me, how far I’d go for her. I thought what we had in Paris meant more than her running away without a goodbye.

Obviously, I was wrong. The girl is stubborn and thoughtless, and it pisses me the fuck off. I kind of hate the change she’s forced within me. I’m not the guy who pines over a woman. Well, I wasn’t that guy—until her. She changed me in a way that I won’t come back from.

Let’s take the inventory, yeah?

She left me alone without a fucking goodbye.

I’ve cursed her name a thousand times, punched three holes into walls inside my flat. (My knuckles are still swollen and bruised from those moments of rage.)

Hypothetically, most people in situations like this might find themselves wanting to curl up into the fetal position and have a good cry. (Not that I’m that person, but I’m just saying, that’s how most people would feel.)

And bottom line, Brooke hurt me.

But here I sit, wondering how she’s doing and hoping she’s okay because I love her. When you’re in love with someone, even when they hurt you, you still find yourself wanting the best for them.

Pathetic? Yes.

Avoidable? No.

I refuse to walk away…move on…get over her. Christ, even if I did want to, it’s not an option. It reminds me of a quote from
Memories of Suffocation
, Brooke’s favorite book.

“Love isn’t temperamental. There is no time limit or fine print at the bottom of the contract. There is no breaking even, no getting out while you’re ahead. Love is holding your end of the deal, even when you know it’s your heart that’ll be shattered in the end.”

I’m holding my end of the deal.

I’m in this for the long haul.

Call me a stalker or a crazy-person, I don’t care, but Brooke and I will always be unfinished business until she’s back with me.

“We’re heading to Venice Beach after this, yeah?” Jesse asks, sitting down in one of the plush leather chairs around the conference table.

I nod. He thinks we’re going there to check out the Cali scene. I’m going there to visit Wild Spirit, the shop that Brooke owns with her sister. I’ve already gotten the address.

He grins. My brother is all-too-ready to see what California has to offer, and it has zero to do with tourist attractions, and everything to do with women in bikinis.

“You guys going with?” he asks Zach and Alex.

They nod enthusiastically, offering a
hell yeah
and
definitely.

A few men in suits file into the room, taking their seats around the table. Alistair greets one guy in particular. He’s young, late twenties, and about as tall as me. The relation between the two men can’t be ignored, and I’d guess they’re father and son.

“Brooke coming?” Alistair asks him.

“Yeah, she’s on her way. Should be here any minute.”

Brooke.
That name is following me everywhere.

We’re introduced to everyone around the table. Lawyers, agent, manager, blah, blah, blah. And I’m right on the father-son thing. The guy’s name is Jamie, he’s the vice president at the label, and is, in fact, Alistair’s son.

“Well, let’s get started,” Alistair says, motioning towards a blonde dressed in a tight skirt and cleavage-revealing blouse. “Audrey, go ahead and pass everything out.” I guess bombshell assistants must be a requirement when you’re the CEO.

Alistair starts to ramble on with his well-versed spiel of why we’ve made the right decision and how Wallace & Wright is the only label that can take us to the top.

A packet of papers is set in front of me. I sigh heavily, staring down at the Wallace & Wright emblem etched on the cover. The sooner this meeting gets over with the better. I’m already bored and too distracted to keep up with what’s being said. Don’t get me wrong—this is fantastic, and I’m not taking this opportunity lightly. It’s just that men like Alistair Wallace don’t impress me. They live and breathe money. And I get the feeling that if you’re not actively helping him make money, he has no qualms with tossing you off the freight train that is his label.

The glass door flying open pulls my attention from the table. I glance up to see a blur of blonde curls striding into the meeting room. Jamie stands up and takes the coffee cups from her hand, giving her the opportunity to tuck away the veil of hair covering her face.

My heart jumps out of my throat and hits the table.

Brooke.

My Brooke.

So many unsaid words, so many questions, and yet all I can think about is how god damn beautiful she looks. It’s a brutal punch to the gut. She’s here, in this meeting room, standing in front of me, and hugging some guy named Jamie.

Jesse nudges my arm to get my attention, but I’m too focused on her.

She slides her messenger bag off her shoulder, and starts to sit down in the seat near Jamie, but Alistair says her name. “Brooke, before you sit down let me introduce you to the guys.”

She stands next to him, her eyes smiling at the familiar faces she knows at the table.

Her eyes make their rounds, until they stop at me. Once she registers that I’m sitting in this meeting because
my
band is signing with
this
label, those big brown eyes of hers turn into saucers.

But why is she here?

“Dylan, Jesse, Alex, Zach, this is Brooke Sawyer, otherwise known as my son’s gorgeous fiancée, and the woman who will help produce your debut album…Brooke, this is the band you’ll come to know and love as Careless Cockups.”

Produce our debut album? She works here?

Wait…did he just say fiancée?

My jaw tightens in response, ticking like a goddamn time bomb.

Did he just fucking say FIANCÉE?

I know I heard him wrong. I take inventory of her hands. A giant diamond sits on her ring finger, her
left
ring finger. The brilliant stone mocks me,
taunting me
, and I have the urge to throw the conference table out of the fifteenth story window.

And the
guy
is named Jamie. When I saw Jamie’s name on her phone, in my flat, I assumed it was a girl, but no, it was her fucking fiancé. She was lying to me the whole time.

Why would she do that?

I’m about to explode any second. My fists clench underneath the table.

Jesse nudges my arm again. “Take a breath, mate,” he whispers.

How can I take a breath when all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room?

She looks away from me, clears her throat, and offers a quiet greeting. She doesn’t say a thing about already knowing us, knowing
me
.

Everyone but me offers something nice and noncommittal in response. Zach is the only one who hasn’t met her, but no one says anything about it. They’re just as shocked as I am. Jesse and Alex have drunk with Brooke. They’ve seen her pissed and singing Madonna at Au Fait. And me, I’ve had my cock so deep inside her that she didn’t know where I ended and she began. How in the hell am I supposed to act like that didn’t happen? That
we
didn’t happen?

She sits down in the seat beside her fiancé.
Her fucking fiancé.

And I stare at her like a mad man, boring holes into her skull.

She has a fiancé. That’s the big secret?

Her honey eyes glance towards mine. She has the audacity to look like she might cry. Obviously, I don’t want to see her cry—it’ll fucking kill me if she does—but seriously? Why does
she
look hurt? I should be the one curled up in the fetal position underneath this table.

This isn't goodbye. It's just, not right now,
the letter mocks me. Not right now? I’d love to know when exactly we were going to get back together since she has a FUCKING FIANCÉ! Was it going to be after the wedding? Or before? Or maybe I was going to get to occasionally fuck her the entire time?

I make myself breathe slowly and count to ten in my head to keep from doing anything crazy.

Alistair talks about marketing plans.

I stare at Brooke

A guy named Nigel talks about a recording schedule.

I stare at Brooke.

Jamie talks about our pre-release tour.

I stare at Brooke.

Remember when I said I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain? It’s going to be pretty bloody hard now considering the other end of that bargain has plans of marrying someone else.