Page 87 of Chasing Lyric
Regrettably, I turn and head to my car, defeated.
How can a night that was going so fucking fantastically escalate into something so dramatic this damn fast? The woman I’ve fallen for, the woman I love, hates me beyond anything she’s ever known, and I don’t blame her.
She thinks I was in our relationship purely to sign her as an artist. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. Yes, when she gave me her name, and I first heard her sing, I saw dollar signs for sure. But when I listened to her story and knew what singing meant to her, I knew she was done with it. However, most of all, telling her I was a producer would only make her think the worst of me. And as time went on, it got harder for me to admit the truth.
I guess the longer I left it, the easier the lie felt on my tongue. Then coming clean just got harder and harder, knowing that when she found out, this exact situation would happen.
Do I wish I could go back, make it right?Yes, with everything in me.
But wishing never gets you anywhere.
I need to take action.
Pulling up to my lavish mansion in Beverly Park, I walk in feeling like this place isn’t my home anymore. I’ve spent all my time at Lyric’s because her gorgeous place feels more like home to me than I have felt anywhere in forever. This is a stylish mansion full of expensive belongings. They’re just things, and they’re certainly not what makes a home.
I drag my sorry ass to the bar and pour a drink, the weight of what I’ve done sitting heavy in my gut.What can I do?The fact of the matter is, as soon as she mentioned her full name, I knew who she was. As soon as she started talking about her family, it confirmed it. Her father, Stylo, is a huge ’80s rock icon. I’ve met him. Had lunch with him. Hell, I even produced one of his more recent albums.
I know the two sides of the Griffin family coin.
Lyric’s version, the one of her childhood, where her father was completely absent, leaving Lyric alone to tend to her brother and sister, and that’s nothing but the truth. She felt abandoned. She felt like music stole her childhood and the life she should have had with her parents, with her family.
I know her father, and all he talked about while I was with him was his eldest daughter and how she’s the light of his life. How everything he did and is doing was for her. He was always on tour, so the money they brought in would give her and her siblings everything they could ever dream of or want, even though they’re all grown now. He still wanted to provide for them, even if he didn’t always show it.
The only thing he didn’t realize was that she didn’t want materialistic things.
She simply wanted her parents and their love.
I lounge back in my big leather armchair, sipping on my whiskey.
I need to think.
Consider my options and weigh what I need to do to win Lyric back.
It’s dark. There’s not a light on in the house as I ponder, getting fueled more and more by my whiskey. The thing is, I think it’s helping because I have to come up with a plan.
A plan to get back in Lyric’s good graces.
And I need some backup to help me do it.
Chapter Seventeen
CHASE
The Next Morning
Today’s trip to the office had nothing to do with work and everything to do with avoiding the chaos of last night. The office never sleeps because it’s not your typical Monday through Friday, nine-to-five job. We deal with rock royalty, and they don’t stick to business hours, so we need to be available to them twenty-four-seven. I’m in today to keep my mind active and try to gain some semblance of normalcy. I didn’t sleep a wink, so I’m sure I look like hell, but honestly, I couldn’t give a shit.
Sitting at my desk, I stare down at my phone, flipping it once between my fingers before setting it screen-up like it’s daring me to hit call. I told Lyric I’d reach out today, and it’s already pushing eleven. No point in waiting. I unlock it, scroll to her name, and tap the screen before I give myself a chance to overthink it.
The line starts to ring, and a low pulse begins behind my ribs while my jaw ticks. Every second she doesn’t answer tightens the pressure in my chest like a vice.
I hate this—hatethat I gave her a reason to doubt me.
That I handed her every excuse to disappear.
At least her number still works—that’s something. It’s a thread I can hold onto, even if it’s fraying. I lean forward, elbows on my desk, staring at my phone, willing the call to go through.
But the line clicks over to voicemail.
