Page 9 of Wild Eyes
You don’t owe me anything.
It’s a basic sentiment, yet it catches me off guard. I’ve lived a life of constantly owing someone something. Tit for tat. My attention in exchange for a favor. Constantly caught in the middle of warring sides and having to smile my way to the top.
I’m so sick of smiling.
“I’ll see you ‘round!” He waves and offers me a wink before turning away and gifting me with a view of his firm ass.
Maybe I should have offered ass-grabs as a thank-you.
As I brush the thought away with a chiding shake of my head, I hear him mutter to himself from the other side of his truck, “Fuckin’ Tesla and a talking bird.”
It makes me smile. A genuine smile. But only for a beat because I turn away and suck in a deep breath, preparing myself to face Ford Grant.
The man is in for a bit of a surprise.
Yes, we have spoken about working together.
No, I did not tell him I was coming.
“Guard the car, Cherry.” I check to make sure the air conditioning is on before slamming the door and steeling my spine as I make my way up the front walkway. There’s no doorbell, which makes perfect sense for the place. Instead, there’s an ornate door knocker shaped like a bear with a ring held in its mouth. I chuckle—bears are my theme for the day—and knock.
Within seconds, a feminine voice calls, “Coming!” from inside.
The door swings open and I’m face-to-face with a blue-eyed woman. She takes one look at me and her jaw slowly falls open.
“Oh my god.Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back, my voice low as I glance at the ground, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.
“Who is it?” a man’s voice asks.
The blond woman ignores the question and sticks her hand out to me. “I’m Rosalie, the business manager here at Wild Rose Records. It’s so nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand, a little taken aback by her firm grip. “Hi, Rosalie. I’m Skylar.”
She grins, pumping my hand with vigor. “Hell yeah you are.”
“Rosie,” the man’s voice calls, closer now than before. “I know you get off on annoying me, but—” Ford Grant rounds the corner and draws up short when he sees me. His dad is a famous rockstar, the guitarist from Full Stop, and the resemblance is clear as day.
His copper-brown hair is artfully mussed, and he’s tall and fit-looking—he could easily pass for a model. Ford would blend in well where I come from. But I hate where I come from, so I find myself noting that he lacks the heavy muscle of the man who brought me here.
He’s dressed casually, but it’s an expensive sort of casual. There are no holes in his shirt, no scuffs on his boots. He has polish, and for the first time in my life, I find myself indifferent to it.
“Skylar?” His voice is absolutely brimming with confusion.
I hold my hands up beside my head with a shrug and deliver a simple, “Surprise?”
“I’ll say!” Rosalie adds, clearly amused by the entire situation.
Ford strides closer and lays a possessive hand on her lower back as he steps in beside her. She peeks up at him, her lips quirk to one side, and the interaction is so chock-full of genuine affection and respect that I feel like a voyeur.
I glance away, twisting my hands together. “I’m sorry. I know this was unexpected. I just…I needed to get away. Needed to work on something fresh. Any chance we could start early?” I pour all the positivity and enthusiasm I can muster into that lastsentence and hope it will be enough. I’m definitely feeling short on positivity and enthusiasm lately.
Ford’s thick brows furrow as he peers down at me. I don’tthinkhe’s mad, but there’s an imposing aura about him.
Rosalie shoves an elbow into his ribs. “You’re doing the resting prick face. Stop it.”
He slices her an annoyed glare before turning his attention back on me. “Sorry, I was thinking. The reason I haven’t gotten you out here yet is that the cottages aren’t ready to go, and neither is the recording studio. They’re being framed in, and I don’t have?—”
