Page 13 of Giving Chase

"It won't," I promise, sealing it with a soft kiss. "Trust me, Eliza. I've got this under control."

As I pull her close again, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning. One I should probably listen to, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the emotions running through me at the moment. So, I ignore it, too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of having Eliza in my arms.

No strings attached. I can do that. I can totally do that.

Sucker.

Hell You Call A Dream

ELIZA

The scentof Chanel No. 5 fills the air as I spritz it on my wrists, a comforting ritual that does little to calm my nerves tonight. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of my black Armani cocktail dress. It's elegant, professional – armor for the battle ahead. But as I fasten the clasp of my mother's vintage pearl necklace, my hands are shaking. It’s a bit formal for me, but it feels like armor. And I definitely feel like I need some sort of protection tonight.

What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to have dinner with Chase?

The phone call had been difficult enough. Hearing his voice after five years of silence had brought back a flood of memories – both sweet and painful. And now I've agreed to see him face to face, to sit across a table from him and discuss the Hall of Fame induction as if we're nothing more than old colleagues.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I can do this. I'm Eliza fucking Kerr. I've negotiated million-dollar deals, managed impossible egos, navigated the treacherous waters of the music industry for decades. Just last week, I talked down atemperamental rapper from walking out mid-tour over a dispute about his rider. I can handle one dinner with Chase Avery.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. Because Chase was never just another musician, another client. He was...everything. And that's exactly why I shouldn't go tonight.

A soft knock at my bedroom door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Mom?" Justin's voice calls out. "You okay in there?"

I open the door to find my son leaning against the frame, concern etched on his face. "I'm fine, honey," I say, forcing a smile. "Just... nervous about this dinner."

Justin raises an eyebrow, so much like me it's almost comical. "You know, you don't have to go if you're not ready."

For a moment, I'm tempted to take the out he's offering. But I shake my head. "No, I need to do this. For the band, for the label... for me."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. Sometimes I forget how much he's seen. How much he's been through with me and the band. "Well, if you need an excuse to bail early, just text me. I'll call with a family emergency."

I laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "My hero," I say, reaching up to ruffle his hair like I did when he was little. He ducks away, grinning.

As Justin heads back to his room – he's been staying with me while his place is being renovated – I turn back to the mirror. The woman staring back at me is successful, respected, powerful. But I can see the vulnerability in her eyes, the fear.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and dial a familiar number.

"Eliza?" Michelle's voice comes through, warm and slightly concerned. "Everything okay?"

I sink onto the edge of my bed, tension easing from my shoulders at the sound of my best friend's voice. "I'm not sure, Michelle. I think I might be making a huge mistake."

Michelle Reeves has been my right hand at Blackmore for the past decade, rising from my assistant to become our Vice President. Along the way she’s become one of my best friends. Someone I can trust. She's one of the few people who knows the full story of my history with Chase.

"Is this about the dinner with Chase?" she asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter as always.

"How did you know?"

I can almost hear her eye roll through the phone. "Please. You've been on edge ever since you agreed to do the induction speech. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why. Plus, you kinda still share your calendar with me, so…"

I sigh, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "I don't know if I can do this, Michelle. Seeing him again, after everything..."

"Hey," Michelle's voice softens. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Eliza. You've dealt with far worse than an awkward dinner with an ex. Remember when we had to renegotiate all our streaming contracts after that royalty dispute last year?"

I chuckle despite myself. "God, don't remind me. I still have nightmares about spreadsheets and fine print."

"And you handled it like the boss bitch you are," Michelle says. "You can handle this too."

I stand, pacing the length of my bedroom. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps, a counterpoint to the clicking of my heels that usually accompanies my movements at the office. "He's not just an ex, Michelle," I say softly. "You know that."

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