The master manhattan rec.., p.1
The Master: Manhattan Records, page 1
The Master
Manhattan Records
M. S. Parker
Belmonte Publishing, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Belmonte Publishing LLC
Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC
Contents
Free Book
Manhattan Records Series
1. Nate
2. Ashlee
3. Nate
4. Ashlee
5. Nate
6. Ashlee
7. Nate
8. Ashlee
9. Nate
10. Ashlee
11. Nate
12. Ashlee
13. Nate
14. Ashlee
15. Nate
16. Ashlee
17. Nate
18. Ashlee
19. Nate
20. Ashlee
21. Nate
22. Ashlee
23. Nate
24. Ashlee
25. Nate
26. Ashlee
27. Nate
28. Ashlee
29. Nate
30. Ashlee
31. Nate
32. Ashlee
33. Nate
34. Ashlee
35. Nate
36. Ashlee
37. Nate
38. Ashlee
39. Nate
40. Ashlee
41. Nate
42. Ashlee
43. Nate
44. Ashlee
45. Nate
46. Ashlee
47. Nate
48. Ashlee
49. Nate
50. Ashlee
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Manhattan Records Series
Thank you for reading The Master, the final book in my Manhattan Records series. I highly recommend reading the books in this order:
1. The Boss
2. The Dom
3. The Master
One
Nate
A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and into my eye, the salt stinging as I lowered the weights I’d been lifting for the past twenty minutes. Before that, I’d been on the treadmill for twice as long. I wanted to keep going, pushing myself until I could barely stay upright.
It wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t give a shit about that. I liked keeping in shape, but no matter how much I wanted to pretend that the reason I’d been spending hours in my gym every night was because I was on a health kick, the truth was there in the back of my mind, a gnawing annoyance that I refused to give any additional attention.
What a load of bullshit.
As I’d done for the last week when these thoughts came into my head, I reminded myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d never forced my desires on anyone. I’d never recorded a partner without their knowledge or consent. I’d never made a woman do anything she wasn’t game for. I’d been protecting myself, and considering my position, it wasn’t out of line for me to want that.
Besides, she had been the one snooping around, putting her nose where it didn’t belong. We’d been in my house, and there wasn’t anything wrong or strange about me expecting to maintain at least some modicum of privacy. The DVDs had been in a closed cabinet, and I hadn’t exactly hidden what they were.
And we were back to the fact that I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I cursed as another drop of sweat made it into the same eye. I grabbed for my towel and wiped my face before looking for the time. If I wanted to sleep tonight, I needed to exhaust myself the same way I’d done all week. Except tonight wasn’t the same since it was Friday, and I didn’t need to worry about how to avoid…her. Finally, I had an entire weekend where the chances of our paths crossing without deliberate choices were slim.
Except that wasn’t necessarily a positive thing.
I didn’t need to see her for my thoughts to head in that direction. Hell, the fact that I kept using pronouns instead of her name was proof of how much she’d fucked with my head.
Apparently determined to be a total masochist, I crossed to my rowing machine. Logically, I knew I’d regret this tomorrow when I was at my nephew’s birthday party and could barely move, but the mind-numbing exertion was worth future physical pain.
I refused to think about what I’d say or do if anyone asked why I was at the party alone. Considering how fragile this new truce was with my family, I doubted any of the adults would risk rocking the boat, but I would’ve been concerned about my niece and nephew if I’d let myself think about it. Catherine and Jacob knew that things had been tense between me and the rest of the family, but they didn’t know enough to understand how to avoid sensitive subjects.
Not that I was sensitive about her.
Dammit.
About Ashlee. There. I said her name. Ashlee Webb, the twenty-three-year-old redhead with turquoise eyes and curves to drive a man insane. My employee. Sort of.
When she’d first come to work at Manhattan Records – the record label I’d created with the man I’d only recently learned was her biological father – she’d been a normal employee. Her promotion to the A&R department had put her on my radar, and since I hadn’t wanted to risk my company when we started having sex, I’d changed her position to a freelance one where she answered to Stu Hancock, one of the two people in charge of A&R. It meant that, legally, she couldn’t come after me professionally for whatever shit she suddenly decided offended her.
“Dammit!” I ran both my hands through my hair in frustration. No matter how often I told myself I wasn’t going to think about her, I couldn’t seem to stop.
Then it hit me. Maybe the key to this internal torture wasn’t to stop thinking about her. Maybe I needed to think more. More about how to get her out of my life completely. I’d been avoiding her at work, but it was my fucking company. I shouldn’t have to avoid her. Sure, I’d been an idiot for getting involved with an employee, but in my defense, I’d just been looking to get laid, and I’d never done my best thinking with my dick.
Which was probably what my younger brother would say if anyone asked him.
Dammit.
At some point during my revelation, a little voice in the back of my head piped up with an accusation of self-deception. It seemed to think that I wasn’t remembering things correctly, as if I was somehow determined to place all of the blame on Ashlee for the way our semi-relationship had blown up. I knew this wasn’t the case since I’d admitted that my cock had done the driving when it’d come to the stunning redhead.
Then I remembered the last time I’d seen her, just before she turned and walked away. The expression of hurt on her face still cut me, and I pushed it aside.
The only good thing I could say about this whole mess was that Ashlee at least hadn’t gone to her father with some sob story. Finley Kordell wasn’t only my business partner, he was one of my few friends, and I’d have been pissed if she’d ruined that friendship.
I supposed there did exist the possibility that Finley would have chosen me over her, considering he’d known me longer. Hell, we still didn’t know if she really was his daughter.
What a fucking mess.
My mind kept racing now that I’d let it off its leash, trying to find avenues with which Stu could dismiss her without giving her ammunition to use against me. And I had no doubt she’d find some way to screw me over since she undoubtedly hadn’t gotten whatever she wanted out of me before I kicked her out of my place. No woman I’d dismissed before she thought we were done had ever simply walked away.
Which was exactly what happened when I fucked my brother’s girlfriend. The one he’d had ten years ago, not the one he had now. As far as I could tell, his current significant other, Trissa Harring, was one of the rare good ones. Even if she wasn’t, I’d learned from that particular mistake and wouldn’t be repeating it.
I glanced at my wrist before realizing that I hadn’t paid much attention to when I’d started rowing. I supposed it didn’t matter since I wasn’t really going for a specific timed goal, but pretending that was what I was doing would’ve been nice. Now all I could do was keep at it until my arms and legs couldn’t do it anymore.
My entire week had been like this. Pushing myself to the limit. Dropping into bed exhausted. Waking up to the same reality morning after morning: I didn’t want to go to work.
Feeling that way was what pissed me off the most. I loved my job. I’d sacrificed more for it than anyone, but Finley knew, and even he didn’t know the graphic details. I couldn’t let Ashlee rob me of everything I’d worked my ass off to build.
Decision made, I decreased my speed and went through my cool-down. Once I was done, I’d shower and crash. Tomorrow, once I got home from Jacob’s birthday party, I’d figure out what I needed to do to get Stu to fire Ashlee. Her days at Manhattan Records were numbered, and I’d be able to get back to my much-missed normal life once it was done.
Maybe I’d celebrate by heading to Club Privé and finding someone who understood the way I did things. There were always plenty of wil
And no one – not even me – was going to convince me otherwise.
Two
Ashlee
When I was a freshman in college, my general psych professor discussed the commonly used definition of insanity – doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. Most of what I’d learned in the classes that hadn’t been part of my major had disappeared not long after the final exam. That particular bit of information had apparently remained buried in my subconscious, lurking until last week when Nate and I fought about the recordings I’d found of him and former lovers.
We hadn’t been together long, and it seemed like we’d spent the majority of that time fighting, but I’d been willing to put in the work because I thought we’d reached a point where we’d actually talk when we had a problem. We’d done the whole ‘keeping secrets’ thing, and I’d been as guilty of it as Nate.
When he told me about having sex with Calah, even though she’d been dating his brother, I thought it’d been a breakthrough. That night, I’d even been willing to talk to him about what I’d seen instead of jumping to conclusions.
Except he’d had the exact same reaction he’d had when I’d asked if he’d slept with his brother’s girlfriend. He’d lashed out verbally, accusing me of things and blaming me for what I’d seen, as if my curiosity had truly been the issue at hand. It hadn’t been as if I’d gone digging through a desk or locked drawer. I’d simply been looking for something to watch because I hadn’t been able to sleep. The cabinet under the television had been a logical place to look.
It had been his response as much as the rest of it that had made me leave. I’d never once doubted my trust in him sexually. He’d never degraded or humiliated me, never made me feel unsafe. But I’d wanted more than just his body.
I thought he’d felt the same, but he’d proven more than once that I couldn’t trust him with anything more than the physical aspect of things. This last time had been the final straw, and I’d remembered my professor’s statement as I’d taken the elevator down to the lobby.
It had to end. I couldn’t keep trying to make things work while he continued to blow them up.
I had to move on with my life and chalk up the past month as life experience to learn from. I would get past this. I’d seen my mother do it when Mona walked out on us, and they’d been together for years. I could do it with Nate, even if my working at Manhattan Records made it awkward.
At least my new contract made it possible for us to avoid ever needing to have a work conversation. I wasn’t sure how much either of my bosses knew about Nate and me, but due to my freelance status, I didn’t need to explain to Mr. Hancock why I didn’t want to deal with Nate directly. I did my work, and it was Mr. Hancock’s job to make sure the right people knew what they needed to know.
Still, whether I saw Nate or not, I always knew he was in the building, right down the hall from me. I was all too aware of the things we’d done here, of the way we’d met. I desperately wanted to believe that I could stay on at Manhattan Records and be closer to my father, but after only a month of being with Nate, I was finding it more difficult than I liked to get things back to the way they had been before Nate had overheard Flora Watts talking to me about him. Before he and I–
Someone snapped their fingers in front of my eyes, breaking the hold my thoughts had on me and bringing me back to the present, though it took me a minute to remember where I was and what I was doing.
The young man sitting next to me was tall, lean, and blond with sparkling hazel eyes. In the chair across from us was another man about the same age, but he was short and stocky, with brown hair and intelligent blue eyes. They were both watching me with concerned expressions on their faces, and I offered them a tight smile in an attempt to reassure them that I was okay. It wasn’t great, but it was the best I could do at the moment.
Perry Post and Gary Whittaker lived across the hall from me, and most of the time, we were basic neighbor-friendly. Smiles and greetings any time we saw each other. Conversations when we happened to be doing our laundry at the same time. We were the sort of neighbors who’d ask questions if we saw anything suspicious, but we’d never really gone out of our way to spend time together.
That had changed this week.
I’d left Nate’s place before dawn last week and managed to keep it together all the way home, but when I’d gotten to my door, I hadn’t been able to find my key. I’d broken down in tears right there in the hallway. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if Perry hadn’t been up with a bout of insomnia. He’d taken one look at me with my tear-streaked face and just-fucked hair, wearing men’s clothes that were entirely too big, and put his arms around me.
I might’ve been able to get myself under control if he hadn’t said, “Fuck whoever made you cry.” His sincerity had made me cry harder, which led him to take me into the apartment, sit me down on the couch, and make me some hot cocoa. When I’d managed to wheeze out that he didn’t need to go to the trouble, he’d told me that he’d been making himself some already. He’d recently broken up with his boyfriend after finding out that Jared was married with three kids.
The two of us had talked for nearly an hour before I’d started nodding off. He’d given me his bed and said he’d take care of the key issue. By the time I’d woken up later that morning, the lock had been changed on the door, and Perry had new keys for me. Gary had made French toast for all three of us.
It had almost been enough to make me start crying again.
I’d thanked them with dinner on Sunday, and each night, one of them had checked in with me to see how I was doing. I’d always been such a solitary person, content to have my mother as my closest friend, but this week, I’d been glad to have friends other than her to turn to. I hadn’t told her yet that Nate and I had broken up, and I honestly didn’t know when or how I was going to. She’d canceled our Sunday brunch because she’d needed to meet with someone about work, and I was still ashamed at how relieved I’d been.
Yet another thing to talk to my new friends about.
“You were doing it again,” Perry said, putting his arm around my shoulders.
I leaned against him and tucked my feet under me. “Thanks.”
“Are you going to see your mom on Sunday?” Gary asked.
I also heard what he wasn’t asking. He wanted to know if I was going to tell her what’d happened. I didn’t want to lie to her, and I knew she’d ask how things were going with Nate. I’d managed to evade the question so far this week by sticking to texts and telling her I was spending a lot of time with my neighbors since one of them had just gotten out of a bad relationship. Technically, it was a lie of omission rather than a direct lie, but I wasn’t going to nitpick. I felt guilty enough as it was.
“I still haven’t figured out what to do,” I admitted. “She’s had my back about Nate from moment one, but I know part of why she supported me was because she’s always trusted my judgment. I hate the idea of her not being able to do that anymore.”
Perry gave me a squeeze. “Ash, I looked up that asshole, and trust me when I say he’d make anyone lose their sound judgment.”
