Page 10 of The Erion Triad

His frown deepened. “Sure. We celebrated. Don’t you remember? I met with Donald Stephenson. About you. Luce, we’ve got a real chance. He asked me into his studio next week.”

Fuzzy memories surfaced, indistinct, yet there in a shadowy type of way. That had happened. Grant had secured a meeting with the most sought-after music producer in the country. She had a real chance of being heard, after all this time and all that work. It was finally paying off. She remembered now as everything snapped back into perfect clarity. Grant was helping her. He worked day and night to help her with her music career. Everything he did was for her.

“To hear my sample?”

He caught her chin between his thumb and knuckle. She tried not to flinch by his roughness. “Of course! What else would he want to hear from me about?”

“I… I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Everything was just so fuzzy. If she could just sleep some more, maybe she would wake up with a clear mind. Maybe she would be able to think. She reached for the sea of white so she could drift a little more.

“Hey, don’t close those eyes of yours. I thought I’d take you out for breakfast this morning.” Grant smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the filtered sunlight.

She used to think he was so handsome, only now his smile seemed a bit… smarmy. Other smiles—genuine smiles—circled in the back of her mind, but the molasses caught them and sank them below its opaque surface.

He took her hand and helped her to stand. “Take a shower and then we’ll go. My treat.”

He pulled her towards him so that she came up close to his hairless, bare chest. He spent hours in the gym, so it was sculpted in all the right places. Defined pecs. Six pack. Smooth skin. A line that ran down the center of his stomach to sink beneath the edge of the towel. It usually turned her on. A hidden part of her wondered why a guy like him could possibly be interested in a girl like her, but she never brought it out to examine too closely. She was just grateful that someone was in her life.

She held her arms in front of her so that only her forearms were pressed against his skin instead of her breasts. He wound his fingers around her upper arms, a faint frown playing on his forehead.

“You’re all stiff this morning. What’s wrong with you? Where’s my little Luce?’ He grabbed her buttocks, squeezing her cheeks.

She swiped his hands away and stepped back, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired.”

His face softened, the frown easing from his face. “Of course, you are. Holding three jobs has to take a toll. Well, at least you have the morning off. Let me take care of you.”

Her breath released and the tension in her shoulders eased. Three jobs. That was right. Working long hours had just caught up with her. That must be why she was so tired, why her mind was so fuzzy. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu. If she didn’t work, she didn’t get paid.

“That… that sounds great.”

He snapped his fingers, “Before you shower, get my shirt for me, would you? The one I asked you to dry clean during the week? I need it for this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? I thought… we were spending time together.”

A smile lit his handsome face. “We are. But you must work this afternoon, remember? I must go out and meet with some more people about you. You do your work, and I’ll do mine.” He must have seen something on her face because his expression turned sour. “I’m doing this for you, babe. Everything I do is for you. Then, when you’re selling records and gigs, that’s all you’ll have to do. That was the plan. Remember?”

The plan? Yes. It was. He was right. As usual. He was working hard to meet the right people, get her heard, promote her name. He was doing all this for her, but they had to live on something, of course, so she’d elected to work to fund their dreams.

“Yes. Yes, of course. How silly of me. I’ve just got… a bit of a headache.” She turned to go into the bathroom just off the bedroom.

“Babe?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“My shirt?”

The shirt. The silk one she’d had cleaned because it couldn’t be washed in the harsh washers in the Laundromat.

“The shirt. Of course.”

She couldn’t remember picking it up, but she was definitelynoton top of things this morning. Her stomach growled. She was starving. A hangover and starving. No wonder she was confusing things.

She opened the wardrobe doors, careful of the broken hinge. Hadn’t Grant said he would fix that? Maybe not. She couldn’t be sure. She rifled through the shirts she’d ironed and hung, finding the shirt he wanted still wrapped in the plastic wrap, and took it out, a frown pulling her forehead. She couldn’t remember putting it in there, but she must have. Why else would it be in there?

“Here it is.”

Grant’s smile returned. “That’s my girl.”

When he went to kiss her, she turned her head. His lips were cool on her cheek.

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