Page 7 of Shattered Chords

“Ally’s very talented. She has a great future ahead of her if she continues to practice. She should have a guitar that matches her skills.” I gave the redhead my signature panty-melting smile that made women lose their marbles. It was my other gift that I’d been abusing since fifth grade, when I discovered girls wanted to be around me when I smiled.

Camille drew a deep breath, preparing for another attack.

I dialed up my charm. My treacherous gaze slid down to her chest and took notice of the bright pink bra showing from beneath the shirt. Her two top buttons were undone, and from where I stood, I could see the swell of her breasts as she held the air in her lungs for another moment. My blood rushed south, and I was both petrified and happy. After months of hibernation, my dick was finally awake, and she was someone’s mother.

The thought shocked me.

This was a first.

“It’s very kind of you to compliment Ally’s playing.” Camille tried to sound firm, but the tremor in her voice indicated she was nervous. “But we can’t accept your present.”

“I insist.” Strange thing, but my heart raced. This was an honest attempt to encourage Ally to follow her dreams. Nothing more. No ulterior motives. I didn’t expect a pushback. Most people would have been happy to get a Les Paul from me.

“I’m sorry. Six thousand dollars is a lot of money.” Camille shook her head, a stern warning in her green eyes.

“Do you even know what this guitar can do, Mom?” Ally asked, strumming through a tune that sounded all too familiar. It was a Hall Affinity song. As she played, she trotted along the wall of amplifiers, her black hair covering her face entirely.

Camille’s shoulders slackened in defeat. She looked at her daughter, then back at me. The tension between us grew as the air crackled with electricity.

Heart pounding, I took a step forward. “Let her have the guitar, Camille.” The noise in the shop muffled my whisper and I felt like I was speaking underwater. “This is a replica of a very valuable 1959 model. It’s as close as she can get to owning an original that costs over two-hundred-thousand dollars.”

Camille’s eyes narrowed. She craned her neck to level up with me and murmured, “If a man spends that much money on a gift, he wants something in return.”

Our faces were dangerously close and the faint smell of her perfume—jasmine and mint—crawled up my nostrils and teased my lungs. I found it strange. Two decades of snorting coke had dulled my senses to the point where I ordinarily couldn’t smell shit, even if my own house were on fire.

“You’re right.” I gave her a slight nod. Our gazes were locked and loaded. Like guns, ready to fire. The static that filled the space between our bodies sparked. “This man wants redemption.”

She arched her brow in question.

“I’m a recovering addict, Camille. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of and now I want to do something nice for a change,” I explained quietly. A lick of fear rolled down my spine. Possible rejection terrified me. “Part of my rehabilitation program.”

“Does that actually work?”

It was my turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“The pickup line you’re trying to use on me?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust me, you’d know if I were trying to use my pickup lines on you, darlin’.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, I don’t usually flaunt all my faults in front of women I’m trying to seduce.”

Preoccupied with the guitar, Ally paid little attention to our conversation. I knew why. She wanted to savor each second with the majestic instrument before letting it go. Convincing her mother to accept the gift started to feel like a personal challenge.

Camille regrouped quickly. “There are other ways to do something nice, Dante.”

The way she said my name made me shiver. It rolled off her tongue like a cool blockbuster one-liner.

“I agree and I’ve tried them all.” I smiled again.

My charm was finally working. Camille squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose as she appeared to be contemplating.

“Please, just accept the gift,” I pressed. “Trust me, your daughter should have this guitar.”

Ally stopped playing for a second to check her phone, and Lance finally took my advice and changed the background music to Pink Floyd.

I waited.

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