Page 7 of What Happened Last Night

She kept her gaze on her coffee cup, into which she was studiously emptying a capsule of milk. There was definitely a blush on her neck and her cheeks. I thought it was because my stare was unbecoming, but then she said, “I’ve never been to a recording studio before. Will the band be there?”

Ah. The Road Kings were the reason for the blushing. There was no woman alive who wasn’t fascinated by a rock band. Even Luna, apparently.

“Musicians aren’t morning people,” I replied, sipping my own coffee. “But they’ll show up eventually. Mostly to bust my balls.”

Her lips parted. I should probably apologize for my crude word, but Luna needed to get used to it. Rock stars used salty language all the time, and she was going to be working with them.

“I’ll give you a tour of the studio,” I went on. “I’ll give you the security codes. You’ll likely do errands that bring you to and from RKS without me—probably errands for the band. If you don’t drive, I’ll give you a paid Uber account. If you think I’m absent-minded, you haven’t seen anything yet. At least I have files. The Road Kings will send you to the depths of despair.”

Luna raised her gaze for the first time, looking at my face. Her eyes were a lovely blue. I wanted to look at that color longer, more closely, but I wouldn’t allow myself.

“I drive. And you’re not absent-minded,” she said.

“You’re being kind,” I replied. “It’s a miracle that I dress myself.”

As if by reflex, her gaze dropped to my clothes. I wore chino pants and a button-down with a lightweight summer sweater pulled over it. One of the things the boys liked to make fun of was my uptight wardrobe—at least, it was uptight to them. I might have ditched my last tie, but the rock star look didn’t suit me, either. I’d look ridiculous in ripped jeans, a band tee, and a bunch of rings.

So I wore pants of the non-ripped variety, topped with a decent shirt and a clean shave. Respectable but unremarkable. When I got attention from women, it was never for my clothes. It was always for my money.

Luna’s gaze lingered a second too long on the spot where the collar of my shirt emerged from my sweater. She cleared her throat. “You’re just thinking about other things, that’s all. And you dress fine.”

“Thank you,” I said politely, because she was being kind again. “In case you’re wondering, by the way, you’ll never have to pick up my dry cleaning. I’m not that kind of boss.”

Our breakfasts arrived. As we dug in, I braced myself. We’d have to get some personal things out of the way—at least, personal on my part. It was unavoidable. Just do it, Hale.

“I’m going to assume you’ve researched me,” I said. “So you know my connection to the band.”

Luna swallowed her bite. Her blush had faded, but only a little. “I know that Stone Zeeland is your half brother. That’s all.”

I nodded. Stone was the Road Kings’ guitarist, one of the best guitarists in rock n’ roll. “He and I have the same father,” I said. “Stone is a few years older than me, but our father abandoned both of us. Stone’s mother raised him, but mine put me up for adoption. I was adopted as a baby and raised by my parents.”

“Oh,” Luna said.

“I’ve always known I was adopted,” I explained. “My parents believed it was best to tell the truth early. But I didn’t look for my birth family until I was thirty. That was when I found my birth father, who is genuinely a piece of shit. I found my birth mother, who is an addict and currently lives in a halfway house after her most recent release from prison. Her crimes over the years have had to do with possession, dealing, and faking opioid prescriptions. I’ve talked to her a number of times since I found her. I hired her a new lawyer. I’m willing to get her help for addiction, but I have no idea if she’ll do it or if it will work.”

Luna had stopped responding. She’d put her sandwich down. She stared, listening, probably in shock.

“I also found Stone,” I said. “The brother I hadn’t known existed. I knew about him long before he knew about me. I was, at first, rather unfair to him. I got involved with the Road Kings, convincing them to reunite for a tour, without telling Stone who I was.”

Luna was still speechless. My blood relationship with Stone was public knowledge—it was published in a profile about him. But the rest of what I was telling her was known to only a few people. Which now included her.

“It’s hard to explain my reasons,” I said carefully. “I love the band’s music. Getting involved felt fulfilling to me in a way that nothing else in my career has.” It was impossible to put into words the way my life had changed when I’d found my blood family. I should have been disappointed in my parentage, but instead I’d felt relief that I finally understood why I’d never fit into the life I was living. I hadn’t felt comfortable, it turned out, because that life wasn’t me.

“I moved to Portland,” I continued as Luna listened. “My parents are unhappy about it. I’ve never spoken to my birth father to this day. Stone knows who I am now. We’re very different, but he’s my brother.”

Luna found her voice. “Will, this is very personal. You don’t have to—”

I lifted a hand and she stopped. “I’m telling you all of this because you screen my calls and my messages. There will be occasional calls from my parents. There may be calls or messages from my birth mother. It’s best if you know the lay of the land.”

“Wouldn’t they call your personal line?”

“Sometimes they do. But anyone who knows me knows that the best way to reach me is at work.”

“Okay.” She nodded slowly. “I get it.”

“If my parents or my birth mother call, always take a message,” I told her. “My biological father has never called me, but it’s possible he might, since I have a lot of money and people usually want some. If it happens, under no circumstances do you put him through. On the other hand, if Stone ever calls me—he won’t, but if he does—put him through no matter what.”

Luna nodded again. I had a setup in which calls went to my assistant’s phone first, and my cell only rang if she tapped the Connect button. It did away with the old-fashioned model of having an assistant sit at a desk, answering a landline and pressing an intercom.

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