Page 73 of Next Time I Fall (Excess All Areas 2)

There were three cars in the driveway, each one splashier than the last.

No wonder he’d had a Mercedes to loan her.

As she pulled up to the gate and pressed the button to announce herself, she wondered why a single man needed so many bedrooms with likely as many bathrooms.

Like, how many people needed to pee at one time?

Her hair was under control for once, her makeup subtle to highlight her blue eyes, and the new dress had been an investment the week before she’d not yet had the chance to wear. The fact it was buried beneath a thick puffy coat and partnered with her boots was neither here nor there. If she never got as far as taking her coat off, it didn’t matter. Becauseshe’dknow she was wearing something power-inducing beneath.

“Hello?”

“Jimmy. It’s Cerys.”

“Come in,” he said, and she heard the mechanical rattle of the gate as it ground open.

After parking, she approached the door and was just about to knock as Jimmy answered. Her father looked tired, and for once, his age.

“I wondered if I could speak to you before you head to the studio.”

“Come in. I should have had you over here before now,” he said, letting her step into the marbled hallway.

She fiddled with the slender gold bracelet her mum had sent her for her birthday.

My sunshine.

She thought back to Jase’s comments yesterday, when he’d taken care of her, and she wondered how the world could see her one way, and her father not see her at all.

“Let’s go sit in the east wing,” he said, gesturing to the left of the sweeping staircase to the upper level. She rolled her eyes at the idea he had a house with wings. A multimillion-dollar home with cold modern art and half the furniture it needed to feel lived in. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” They passed through a large kitchen with a marble-topped island that could sit ten people, and a cavernous space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a grand piano situated right in the middle.

When they finally stopped, it was in a bright room furnished comfortably. Large doors looked over a deck surrounded by a manicured rockery.

She slipped off her coat and took a seat on a wide chair in lush peacock-blue velvet. “I need to ask you something. Not as the guy currently producing Sad Fridays. Not even as my dad. It’s killing me not knowing what you think of the song. Because I know I EQ’d it quickly, but I was focused on his harmonics and making sure—”

“Cerys. Stop.” Jimmy sat on the edge of the sofa and placed his head in his hands.

This had been a bad idea. But she couldn’t let it go. It felt like completing a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle only to realise a piece right in the middle was missing. It was a thread, one that if she tugged on it, would make everything fall apart—the everything being her faith in herself and her skills.

She should get up and go. Call an Uber. Leave the Mercedes in his driveway.

Her father reached for a controller on the coffee table stacked with black and white books. The drum intro for “Am I Him?” flooded the space. Neither of them moved.

Did it mean something that he had it cued up ready to play? Had he guessed she might swing by?

Jase’s voice kicked in and she was reminded of all the hurt he’d suffered and was still processing. And how, in spite of that, he’d trusted her. And how they were dancing on the dizzying precipice of love and sex and all the joy it could bring. How much joy it had already brought.

How despite feeling ready to dive in with both feet, he’d done nothing more than kiss her and hold her and make her feel loved and special until she knew she wanted everything with him.

And she’d left him asleep in her bed with a note, so she could come here to fix things, instead of telling him that she was ready for more.

As the song came to a close, Jimmy looked up. “I’ve played it about fifty times since I got home last night. And about as many times as I’ve heard it, I’ve thought about something you said to me in my office.”

“What was that?”

“You’re regarded as one of the world’s best producers, but you aren’t acting like it. That’s what you said, right?”

Cerys cursed, wishing she’d been able to curb her emotions. “I’m sorry for the way I phrased that.”

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