Page 21 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“I’d like you to come with me to my studio in LA when you get off. I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
I shake my head. I don’t open my eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose harder.
“No.”
“It will just be for a couple of hours.”
“No.”
He goes quiet. After a long pause, I finally open my eyes and meet his. I arch a brow, urging him to say whatever it is he’s thinking so I canturn him down again and then kick him out. But when he finally does, I’m rendered speechless.
“I’ll give you five grand to come hear me out. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll have Damon bring you home, and you’ll never see me again.”
“She’ll go!” Quin shouts, and I glare at him again. He’s eating potato chips like this whole exchange is some fucking blockbuster movie. “What? Five grand for a few hours? You’re a dumbass if you say no.”
Shit. He’s right. Five thousand dollars would pay our rent for six months. I cave, and from that stupid infuriating twitch of a smirk on Torren’s face, he knows it.
“Fine. I’ll go. But you can’t wait here. You have to go drive around the block for an hour or something.”
“You don’t really like me, do you?” he asks, catching me off guard, and my defenses become ironclad. A sword ready to swing if necessary.
“That obvious?” I snark, and he shrugs.
“Why?”
“I need a reason?”
There’s a brief pause as his eyebrows slant, then he gives me a curt nod.
“Guess not. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Forty-five minutes now,” Quinton interjects again, and Torren releases a ghost of a laugh.
“See you in forty-five minutes,” he amends, and then he’s gone.
Quinton and I watch as he climbs into the back seat of the black SUV before it drives off down the street, and then Quin lets out a long, slow whistle.
“Girl. I don’t care what it is he’s offering. You better take it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose again. I’m too sleep deprived to deal with Torren fucking King.
I slide into the back seat of the SUV quickly, and the bodyguard shuts the door.
My movements are jerky as I pull on my seat belt. I don’t look at Torren, but he’s impossible to ignore. This whole car smells like him,and even though there’s a good two feet of leather seat between us, I can feel him pressing against me.
It’s probably his ego taking up space.
“Here.”
I glance down at the check he’s holding out to me. Five thousand dollars made out to Calla Lily James. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he knows my name—it was all over the tabloids—but the possibility that he knowsmoremakes me uneasy.
Is that what this is about? Some kind of follow-up? Is he going to make me sign the NDA I refused four years ago? Belated bribery?
If my nerves weren’t already sky high, they’re in fucking space now. But I can’t turn back at this point. Might as well just plow through for the 5k.
Six months of rent, I remind myself as I take the check and put it in my backpack, then pull out my big headphones.
“Thanks,” I say.
