Strings attached, p.3
Strings Attached, page 3
Uh-huh.
Offering what she hoped was a cool smile, she slid into the front seat of his classic black Camaro. She’d never been much for cars, but her dad had a thing for classic muscle, and he’d have been all over this one.
The inside was as lovingly detailed as the outside, the leather seats butter soft and the vinyl dashboard spotless. Her dad would highly approve.
As Sebastian folded himself into the driver’s seat, she caught a whiff of aftershave and turned to face him, realizing he’d cleaned off the scruff he’d been sporting recently.
It made him look younger. And so much more . . . lickable.
As he turned the key, he shot her a look. “What?”
She shook her head, trying not to look guilty. She had no reason to feel guilty. That was ridiculous.
“Nothing. You . . . shaved.”
She wanted to groan. How stupid could she be?
“Well, damn, I guess I can be civilized.”
She winced. “Sorry. That wasn’t a comment—”
“It’s alright. It was starting to annoy me. Never liked beards. They’re itchy.”
“You look better without it.”
Now she wanted to smack herself on the forehead and stuff a gag in her mouth. What the hell was wrong with her tonight?
“High praise coming from you.”
She had to bite her tongue to contain her pissy response. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to let him get to her. And she wasn’t going to unnecessarily antagonize him.
Deep breath.
“Yes, it is. You look handsome.”
He snorted. “Wow, you almost sound like you believe it.”
Flowers. Puppies. Inhale. Exhale. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You look great tonight.”
Well, what do you know? That shut him up.
Of course, the silence held for only a minute or so. But she never would’ve imagined what came out of his mouth next.
“You look pretty amazing yourself.”
Heat flashed through her body, arrowing straight from her nipples to between her thighs.
Oh, no. No, no, no. That wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen. There was just so much wrong with—
Sebastian cleared his throat . . . and saved her from embarrassing the hell out of herself when she tried to say thank you. Because she was pretty damn sure it would’ve come out in a husky whisper.
“So, this couple we’re meeting. Greg didn’t give me a lot of details.”
Relief flooded through her. It didn’t wash away the heat still flooding certain parts of her body—which she shouldn’t be thinking about—but it was a start. “Well, it’s a father and daughter. I haven’t met them, but Greg and the dad go back. Like, I think, to high school. Now he’s some bigwig at a financial firm and has some local investors interested in getting into the movie business.”
“Greg said the daughter wanted me specifically to be there. Any idea what that’s about?”
Tru had an idea but wasn’t going to voice that here. Starfucker might almost make her sound jealous.
Although he was probably used to that, with all the groupies.
She’d never understood that mentality. Sex certainly wasn’t sacred, but she had to at least know the guy a few days to want to get in bed with him, not just think he was hot.
“The daughter works for one of the local newspapers, so I’m assuming that’s her angle.”
“What? You haven’t had their backgrounds checked and fingerprints run through the national database?”
She stiffened but . . . he was right. She totally would’ve done that if Greg hadn’t specifically told her not to.
“Greg told me they were good.”
“And Greg’s word is law.”
She didn’t hear any snark in his tone, but her back went up anyway. It was an immediate response to anyone who dissed Greg in any way. Yes, she knew she was way too sensitive, but the man was a legend for a reason.
“Well, it is his company. And a damn good one. And he’s a damn good guy—”
“Tru, stop. I wasn’t dissing the guy. You know I think he’s amazing. I was just . . .” He stopped and uttered a short, sharp snort. “Yeah, I guess I just wish I wasn’t so fucked up sometimes.”
The bitter tinge of self-hatred in his voice stopped her cold. “Sebastian, what—”
“Aw . . . fuck. Christ, forget I said that. I don’t know why— Look, I’m just talking out of my ass. So, you look fu—freaking hot, Tru. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than work clothes or jeans.”
Head spinning, she realized two things at once. First, he was trying to deflect. And second . . . she lit up like a Christmas tree when he called her hot.
Her stomach tightened into a ball and her skin felt tingly and flushed. And, holy hell, her thighs clenched and she actually got wet.
God, she couldn’t breathe. But she had to say something. Couldn’t let him think she didn’t appreciate his words.
“Thank you. You look pretty—amazing, too.”
He laughed. “Is that code for ‘I can’t believe you wore a suit’?”
“No. I . . . I . . . just . . . I’ve never seen you in a suit.”
“Shocked, huh?”
She huffed. “You’re determined to piss me off, aren’t you?”
He stopped laughing immediately. “Actually, no. Sorry. I’m trying not to be a prick, but obviously, I can’t help myself.”
“No. That’s not it.” In the dim light from the dashboard, she saw his jaw flex. “You’re not being a prick, and I’m not trying to get a rise out of you. Truce, remember?”
Baz slid a quick glance her way. “Yeah. Truce.”
“So . . . tell me about this car. My dad would love this, by the way.”
“Then your dad has damn good taste.”
Baz started to talk in a language she didn’t understand but that her dad definitely would have. Something about headers and engine block, and she nodded as he spoke about his car almost as eloquently as he did about music.
She realized, after a couple of minutes, that she was listening more to the sound of his voice than what he was saying. His voice held a bit of a rasp, like he smoked way too much. Or screamed every night for a living.
But she knew he didn’t smoke, and he hadn’t stepped on a stage in almost a year. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he missed it.
He eventually wound down his one-sided conversation about his car and slid her another glance. She let her gaze connect with his for a second and saw his narrow before his mouth twisted with a wry grimace.
“Sorry. I tend to get carried away when I’m talking about music or muscle cars.”
“Do you miss performing?”
The question escaped before she had time to censor herself. She sometimes wondered if the reason he was so pissy was because he missed his band.
He sucked in a short breath, like she’d smacked him. She almost felt like she should apologize for prying, but she honestly wanted to know.
And she was sick of fighting with this man, sick of wondering whether they’d start bickering the second he walked in the door in the morning. It’d become almost routine. He’d say something, she’d say something, and it would go to hell from there.
“Yeah. I do.”
His voice was almost too soft to hear, but it didn’t seem like he didn’t want her to hear. It sounded like he was talking to himself.
“Then when are you going to see your bandmates again? I understand you write with your singer.”
He nodded, a quick dip of his chin. “We wrote our first album in my basement. The second we wrote on the road. I write most of the music. Nik writes most of the lyrics. Trev and Jase write together, too, but they don’t click as much as Nik and I do.”
“And what about . . .” she had to think for a second, “Zach?”
He shot her another look, this time with raised eyebrows. “I never woulda guessed you’d know the names of my bandmates. Then again, you know everything.”
Was that a compliment? It almost sounded like it. Then again—
No. Don’t overthink things.
“I’m paid pretty damn well to know lots of things. And I’m good at it. I always have been. Pisses off my sister to no end.”
“There’s another one of you?”
He sounded horrified, but the smile he flashed her made it clear he was teasing.
And she couldn’t help but smile back. Then totally had to think about what he’d said.
“No, there’s definitely only one Violet.”
“Violet, huh? Where the hell did your parents get your names anyway?”
“Purple is my mom’s favorite color, but she didn’t want to name her daughter Purple. So . . . Violet. Since my mom got to pick Violet’s name, my dad got to pick mine. I’m named after my grandfather.”
“So you don’t have any brothers?”
“Nope, just me and my sister.”
“She calls you Trudy, doesn’t she?”
“Of course she does. She knows I hate it.”
“So why does Greg call you Truly?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not telling. Mostly he does it to piss me off.”
“Greg’s too smart to piss you off on purpose. You’re basically his right arm.”
His words lit that warmth in her belly again. This time, she didn’t try to contain it. She let it sweep through her.
So dangerous. And pointless. And really, really stupid.
“I love what I do.”
And she did. Even though she’d never imagined she’d have a job like this when she left Nebraska for Hollywood.
She owed Greg more than she could ever repay him. Then again, she was damn good at her job and he relied on her. And trusted her. She’d never want to do anything to abuse that trust.
And this stupid, constant fighting with Sebastian was not conducive to a productive work environment.
Wow, maybe her sister was right and she really was a stuck-up priss with a God complex.
“Tru? Hey, Tru, we’re here.”
His words registered as her door opened.
Gathering her wrap and her purse, she took the parking attendant’s hand to help her out of the car, then waited for Sebastian to shake hands with the young guy, who not only fawned over the car but recognized Sebastian and asked for his autograph.
Sebastian’s smile was a revelation. His eyes, more blue than green tonight, sparked with pleasure and his face transformed from the frustrated intensity she associated with him lately to one of pure joy.
She’d never seen him like this. So . . . happy. Almost carefree.
She liked seeing him like this. It was . . .
Bad. Very, very bad.
And the more she told herself how stupid she was, the more she melted inside when he grabbed the guy’s hand and they did that weird shoulder-bump thing guys did.
This was a side of Sebastian she never got to see.
Because you’re a stuck-up priss with a God complex.
Fuck you, Violet.
He caught her gaze then, eyes narrowing as he checked out her expression.
Since she needed to hide way too many feelings, she forced what she hoped was a cool, pleasant smile and turned toward the restaurant.
And nearly walked straight into another parking attendant coming up behind her.
“I’m so sor—”
Sebastian’s hands landed on her hips from behind as she tilted a little to the side. “Guess we’re gonna have to cut you off early tonight.”
She froze, the heat of his hands seeping into her skin through the thin silk of her dress.
“Not used to these heels.”
The lie sounded muted to her ears, but Sebastian must have heard her because his gaze flashed down. The dress hem hit at least two inches above her knees and the heels were at least three inches high. Combined, they made her legs look . . . well, pretty fantastic. Her daily workouts in the gym Greg had installed in the warehouse kept her sane while her yoga class three times a week kept her toned. The result being: She had pretty awesome legs.
At which Sebastian was now staring.
He seemed to realize what he was doing a split second later and practically shook himself before removing his hands and waving her toward the entrance.
Okay. Yeah. Business dinner.
Pushing through the front door, she knew Sebastian was close at her heels. She could feel him. Wanted to feel him pressed up against her again.
Shaking her head, she approached the maître d. At the mention of Greg’s name, the man whisked them to a secluded section of the bustling restaurant, an Old City institution that wasn’t the stuffy, stuck-up place she’d expected.
She loved this section of the city, loved the architecture and the history, all of the little art galleries and shops and restaurants and bars. There was an energy in Old City at night that buzzed. She’d been exploring Philadelphia as best she could when she had the time. Which was practically never. She had been to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, at least.
South Street was only a block from her apartment, and she and Sabrina had spent a few Saturday afternoons cruising the shops and chowing down cheesesteaks.
But even though she’d lived in the city for several months, Tru still felt like she really didn’t know much about it.
What would Sebastian say if she asked him to show her around? And why would she even consider asking him?
As she took a seat, she thought back to this morning when they’d been at each other’s throats.
What the hell had happened? What had set her off? Could she even remember? Why—
He pulled out the chair next to her and sat, pushing out all other thoughts from her brain. She’d expected him to sit across the table, not directly to her left and so close she could feel the heat of his body against her side.
Confusion made her lungs heavy and her stomach tight.
Alright, maybe it wasn’t all confusion, but she wasn’t about to consider any other causes right now.
Because Greg and Sabrina walked into the room, followed by two more couples. That explained the eight chairs at the table.
“Hey, Baz, Tru. Sorry we’re late.”
Sebastian stood, shaking Greg’s hand, then wrapping Sabrina in a big hug, which she returned just as tightly.
Making Tru’s jaw clench.
Tru knew Sebastian had a huge crush on Sabrina. She simply refused to believe the emotion she felt now was jealousy. Absolutely refused.
Turning, she smiled and took the hand of the man who stood at the seat next to hers.
“Hi, I’m Trudeau. I’m the managing director of ManDown Studio.”
“Cory Shirk. Nice to meet you. I know we haven’t met, but I’ve heard a hell of a lot about you from Greg. He can’t say enough good things.”
She blushed. Couldn’t help it. And she released his hand as soon as she could so he couldn’t tell her palms were about to start sweating.
Because this guy was hot. Like, “Holy hell, I’m gonna melt” hot. From the square jaw and strong, straight nose to the neon-blue eyes and the cheekbones of a cover model, the term ruggedly handsome might’ve been coined just for him.
He was a redhead. Not strawberry blond but true auburn with waves that just reached just to his chin.
Was she drooling? God, she hoped not.
But she totally didn’t have to force a smile. “That’s nice to hear, thank you. How do you know Greg?”
“Tyler and Jared Golden are good friends. We have several mutual interests.”
Now, why did that sound way more interesting than it had any right being? Maybe it was just the way he smiled at her that made her brain react in strange ways.
Or maybe it was the way Sebastian tensed beside her when he mentioned the Golden brothers. Something Cory either ignored or didn’t notice as they shook hands.
“Tyler says you’re a great musician. Coming from him, that’s high praise.”
Sebastian nodded, his expression softening a little when Cory mentioned Tyler. “Tyler’s a great guy and a pretty damn good musician himself.”
“If you’ve heard him play, he must consider you a good friend. I’ve only heard him a handful of times, and I’ve known him for twenty years.”
Tru couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation as she was being introduced to the other people in the party.
She shook hands with Blake Grantham, who’d arrived with Cory, and the money man, Joe Duplass, and his daughter, “Call me JoJo,” who clearly wanted to eat Sebastian with a spoon, if she could have stopped fawning all over him for two seconds to stuff her tits back in her blouse.
If she wasn’t careful those monstrosities were going to pop right outta there and announce themselves to the world.
Then again, they’d probably made their appearances all over the city by now.
Damn good thing no one here was a mind reader.
Tru had honed her “I’m so sincerely thrilled to meet you, you wonderful person. Let me be your best friend forever and ever” face.
If people only knew how sarcastic her brain became when faced with women with unusually huge boobs who used them like weapons in their arsenal. Usually, they expected men to fall at their feet when they aimed those puppies at a target.
Of course, men typically obliged because they were generally horny.
Greg didn’t. He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t pay JoJo any special attention or surreptitiously check out her rack. Then again, Greg had probably met her before and quite possibly had seen her tits up close and personal in previous dealings. The man had certainly been no saint before Sabrina.
Sebastian didn’t seem overly interested in JoJo’s assets, either. Actually, he looked almost uncomfortable. Like he was trapped and wanted to run.
Which was stupid. He hadn’t had any trouble talking to the parking attendant who’d practically gushed over him earlier.
But, as they all took their seats—Sebastian still to her left, JoJo to his left, and Cory on Tru’s right—she couldn’t help but notice how tense he became.
After they’d ordered drinks, Greg kept the conversation rolling: talking about local sports, the economy, and the risks of sinking any kind of money into the film industry at the moment.
