Page 37 of Your Rhythm
“Sort of. Roxanne is Cole’s...” He searches for the right word. “She’s, uh, a constant theme in Cole’s life, if you will.”
I nod and can’t help asking, “You ever have one of those? A constant theme?”
Matt shakes his head. “Nope. Haven’t been blessed with one yet, or maybe cursed is a better word. Those two have been to hell and back more times than I can remember.”
“She looks hot enough to be worth going to hell over.”
He laughs and then gives me a searching look. “I’m kind of surprised you agreed to meet me. You didn’t seem too into the idea when I asked at the hotel.”
I decide to just get it over with and come clean.
“I needed to talk to you about the Atlas thing.”
Something close to hurt flashes in his expression before he covers it up with a wry smile.
“And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company.”
“Look, it’s not that I don’t. It’s just...” I trail off, not even sure where I’m going with this. “I’m a professional. This is a professional thing we’re doing here, and—”
“And you also slept in my t-shirt a few nights ago,” he interrupts.
I pick up my drink, gulping down a few sips to stall the conversation until I can steer it back on track.
“That was a mistake,” I say finally. “I’m sure you saw the article those tabloid reporters put out. That’s just one example of why we can’t...why this isn’t...”
I trail off as he leans forward across the table, reaching to where my hand is resting on it. We both watch as he flips my palm over and runs his thumb over the paper-thin skin of my wrist. I feel myself shiver, at both how unexpected his touch is and how such a simple point of contact can feel so suddenly intimate.
“You keep telling yourself that,” he begins, voice low, eyes still fixed to the pad of his thumb as it criss-crosses over my veins, “but you’re here right now anyways. You can’t tell me you don’t want to be around me. I know as well as you do that’s not true.”
“Matt...”
I try to pull my hand away but my arm is too heavy, held down by the weight of his spell.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult, Kay. Just tell m—”
“I need your help, Matt.”
With an extreme effort of willpower, I slide my wrist away from his grasp and clasp my hands in my lap.
“That’s why I’m here right now. That’s why I agreed to see you. I have a problem, and I...I think you might be able to help me with it.” I force the words out, hardly able to look at him.
He leans back in his chair, drumming the fingers of one hand against the tabletop as he considers me for a moment.
“You don’t seem like the kind of person who asks for help very much, Kay Fischer.”
My hand strays to my collarbone, tracing the point of the sword etched underneath my shirt. “I guess that’s an accurate observation,” I admit.
“So I take it this is pretty serious?”
“It’s about the article,” I explain. “You know how I told you I wasn’t one ofLa Gare’s premier journalists? This article is supposed to be my big break.La Gareis failing, and this Sherbrooke Station story is part of a focus shift that’s our last shot at saving the paper. If it works, it’ll be what I need to finally start moving up in my career.”
“And the problem here is...?” Matt prompts.
“The problem is that Atlas Records is...known to be difficult to work with.” I scramble for a way to keep this as vague as possible. I’m not ready to delve into my past misadventures, especially with someone so closely connected to the source of those misadventures. “It’s hard to explain if you’re not up to your neck in media semantics, but basically I’m not going to be able to finish this story if I have to go through Atlas to get to you guys.”
His drum routine on the edge of the table picks up speed until he suddenly lifts a finger to point it at me.
“So what you’re asking is that I get the guys to go behind the back of our record company and let you keep interviewing us in secret in order to save your career?”
