Page 3 of When the Storm Breaks
I shook my head and laughed. “I can’t. I’m leaving. Hayden’s bringing the car around.” Hayden was Bastian’s driver, bodyguard, and closest male friend. Bastian rarely went anywhere without him. Hayden was the yang to Bastian’s yin. If you asked me, they belonged together.
Bastian’s hands paused on the keys and the last lonesome note echoed in the room. I grabbed a crystal ashtray from the black lacquer Chinoiserie sideboard under the antique mirror and walked it over to the piano then held the ashtray under his cigarette to catch the ash. He took it from me, ground out his cigarette, and set the ashtray on the piano bench next to him. “You’re going through with it.”
I nodded.
Bastian was the only one who knew why I was going to Texas. He was the only person I completely trusted. Not even Landry knew. My brother and I weren’t on the best terms right now.
“Be careful, yeah?”
“Careful in what way?”
“Don’t get too attached. Your life isn’t in Texas.” I could hear the worry in his tone. It had taken me a few years to wrap my head around the fact that Bastian Cox actually cared. Not about everyone. But about a chosen few. I was lucky to be one of them. After I broke up with Dean and left Acadian Storm last year, he not only offered me a place to stay, he produced my solo album and released it under the record label he set up five years ago.
“By all means, find yourself a hot cowboy. Ride him hard and put him away wet.” He lit another cigarette and took a drag, his dark eyes studying my face through the blue haze of smoke. “But whatever you do, don’t fall in love.”
For Bastian, love was a dirty word. He was still dealing with the fallout of a nasty divorce after his Brazilian supermodel wife of six months sold an exclusive story to the tabloids, pleading poverty even though the pre-nup left her $6 million richer. And as for me? Falling in love was the last thing I wanted or needed. History had proven that I had lousy taste in men. Give me a bad boy, preferably one with a tragic backstory and a penchant for self-destruction, and I was all over him like flies on shit. Which was exactly what I always ended up with. A shit sandwich and enough heartache and misery to last a lifetime.
“I have no intention of falling in love.”
“Good. But if you do fall madly and irrevocably in love, I want to hear the whole tragic tale. I could use some new material.”
“I have to save all the best stuff for myself.”
“Greedy.”
“Why do you always assume love will be tragic?” I was contradicting myself. It always ended tragically.
“You can’t have it all, Shiloh. Never make the mistake of believing you can. It will only end in heartbreak.”
“Did Gia break your heart?” I asked, even though I knew she hadn’t.
“I’d have to have a heart to break.”
“You do have a heart. A big one.”
“My soul has proven worthier than my heart. If forced to choose...” His eyes narrowed on my face. “Which would it be? Love or your music career?”
“Why should I have to choose? Some people make it work. With the right person, it’s possible.” I didn’t know why I was insisting it was possible when I had no reason to believe it.
“When you find that unicorn, I’ll dance the tango at your wedding. But until that tarnished prince who’s willing to fall on the sword for you comes along... protect your battered heart. Trust no one. The world is filled with bloodsuckers and wankers and you, my little chanteuse, are a wanker magnet. Case in point. Cunt Dracula, the blood-sucking Bouchon,” he said with a flourish of his hand. Ash fell from his cigarette to the parquet floor.
You could always count on Bastian to give you the cynical, jaded view of life. Too bad he was right.
If I was forced to choose, my career would always win. There was no man on earth worth giving up everything I’d worked so hard for. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about that. Falling in love wasn’t in the cards for me. My reason for going to Cypress Springs was something entirely different.
All I had to do was ingratiate myself into the McCallister family’s lives. More specifically, Brody McCallister.
Thanks to the private investigator I’d hired, I knew Brody was the key to getting me closer to what I wanted.
I looked over at the doorway as Hayden strode into the room. All six foot four inches of sheer male perfection. He was a former rugby player and so ridiculously handsome it should be illegal. “How’s his Highness feeling today?” he asked wryly.
“Apparently L.A. is sucking the soul out of him.”
“Nothing new then.” Hayden plucked the cigarette out of Bastian’s mouth, crushed it in the ashtray and pocketed the pack of Marlboro Lights. He was always trying to get Bastian to give up cigarettes and eat healthier. A futile effort.
“Off you go.” Bastian waved him away. “You wouldn’t want her to miss her flight, would you?”
“I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He pointed at Bastian. “We’re sitting outside.”
