Razing Ryker (Dissonance Book 1) (8 page)

Ryker strode down the hallway of the building listening to the sound of his own song building the closer he came to the studio. It was one of his older works. One he wrote when he was fifteen and excited about driving fast cars, kissing pretty girls, and playing Xbox with his dad. He smiled now thinking about the way he’d felt when he wrote that entire album. He was still with Disney then, still a child star and recently recovered from the transition from little boy to young man. It wasn’t long after the concert Grant was so focused on, the one at Christmas in Washington. There’d been snow on the ground. Worship songs on the radio. His mother had been alive.

His smile faded and his step slowed, his excitement over the rehearsal fading instantly and evaporating into nothing. He hesitated at the door, not sure he wanted to go inside after all. They’d been at it all day while he’d been stuck in meetings with Sarah and conference calls with his label badgering him about officially releasing
Internal
as a single and making that fuckin’ money, but he’d dug in his heels. He’d told them no until he was blue in the face and finally he’d stormed out and found himself here.

This concert wasn’t going to fix everything. It might help repair some of the damage done by his time with Lexy and the dark days he’d had after his mother died that stretched into weeks and months and a year, but it wouldn’t fix him. He had to stop hoping it would. What was in him, what was broken and missing, it couldn’t be fixed. And yet here he was drawn and here he was caught hoping. Wishing.

He heard the sounds of feet on the floor, marching to the beat of his music, and he knew they’d be distracted. He pulled the door open a small crack and peeked in to scan the crowd. To look at the loot he’d stolen from other shows, and as he watched them he realized he was right. This was right. The music he gave Bryant was his but he’d had it tweaked. The music accompanying his lyrics was no longer band music full of guitars, drum, and synth. It was orchestra. It was woodwind and brass.

It was Broadway.

It matched his dancers to a T and as he watched them work their magic, he grinned to himself.

Then his eyes found green and he felt his chest pinch. Greer stood on the opposite side of the group, her eyes focused on Bryant as he spoke but they flickered to his for just a split second. Just long enough for her to smile at him and set his heart into a hammering sprint that felt almost like fear. As his pulse slowed, his body roared.

She was in skin tight spandex capris and a pink sports bra. That was it. Her toned, tanned body was on display and he watched the steady rhythm of her stomach moving with her breath, her muscles rolling with the motion like waves on the shore. Her breasts filled the tight bra and strained against the material, fighting to be released. And her ass. She jumped into the number with the rest of the crew and when she spun and dipped he could see her ass in the tight black pants with no lines. Either she was in a thong or she wasn’t wearing underwear.

Coming here was a mistake. No, watching Greer was a mistake. Making eye contact. Sporting wood in the hallway while he peeked between the doors like a perv, that was a mistake.

“Ryker!” Bryant called excitedly, having spotted him.

Fuck.

“You made it,” Bryant continued, smiling and gesturing for him to come inside. “We’re almost finished for the day but we’d love to show you what we’ve got.”

“Yeah,” he agreed numbly. “Yeah, just give me two seconds. I have to use the restroom and I’ll be right in.”

“Great!”

He slid the door shut, wondering what the hell he was going to do about the half chub sitting big and obvious in his pants. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face and thought horrible thoughts. Clowns. Puppets, he hated puppets. The Muppets were Satan’s army fresh from hell, he was sure of it. Camping. Horseradish. The flight from Japan to France when they’d hit so much turbulence he’d been convinced they were going to die and he’d almost pissed himself. Bubble wrap.

He emerged from the bathroom three minutes later with a flaccid dick and a lot of questions about what it was that made him tick.

“There he is!” Bryant called, coming over to pull Ryker into a half hug.

The feel of another man’s crotch against his, add that to the list of turnoffs.

“What’s up, man?” Ryker greeted him, slapping him on the back. He turned to the group he’d put together and waved. “Hi. Thanks for coming. It’s good to see all of you again.”

“No problem.”

“Happy to be here.”

“Thanks for the chance.”

“Love your music.”

He absorbed the scattered greetings with a nod, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of them the way he did in front of a crowd of reporters.

“Do you want to see what we have?” Bryant suggested.

“I saw. I was, uh, I was stalking you all a little from the hall,” he told them with a small grin. “You look great. Really great. It’s going to be a good show. I’m sorry I wasn’t here today but I’ll be with you tomorrow. I promise.”

“Well, we’re all wrapped up for today. I think I’ve put them through the wringer enough.” Bryant clapped his hands and addressed the group. “I’ll be sending you all the music you heard today. You’ll get digital copies in your email tonight. Learn it. Practice it. Live it!”

“Just don’t leak it,” Ryker joked half-heartedly.

They chuckled quietly, awkwardly. He caught Greer watching him, her lips pinched apologetically. He gave her a slight nod.

“I have more appointments to get to, but it was good to see you all. Again, thanks for coming,” he told them earnestly. “I know some of you have other engagements that we’re working around and all of you value your time. I understand that and I promise to make every second count.”

Another scattering of ‘thank yous’ followed him as he left the room, hurrying into the hall and out of the building. He paused on the sidewalk, checking his phone and cursing. Text messages, all from Sarah. All angry. Oh and a missed call from Lexy just to piss him off. He’d made it perfectly clear to her a hundred times that they were through but the girl just wasn’t getting it. Unbelievable.

“I’ll use Jessa’s laptop to download it, no big deal.”

“And download it to what?”

“Don’t start.”

“Get a phone. Get an iPod. Hell, get a Zune.”

“Where would I get a Zune? 2008?”

“They still sell them.”

“Do they, Cam?” Greer challenged. “Do you they really?”

“Get something.”

“I will.”

“When?”

Jace turned to find Cameron and Greer walking out of the studio doors and slowing to a stop near him. Greer met his eyes and hers tightened with what he could only interpret as embarrassment.

“Not today,” she muttered in reply to Cameron’s question.

Jace nodded to her, their eyes still locked. “You looked amazing up there.”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks. Bryant’s a good teacher.”

“He’s also on crack. Don’t let him run you guys into the ground.”

“He’s a little Energizer Bunny, that’s for sure,” Cameron commented, looking between them as they continued to stare at each other.

Jace broke away, offering his hand to Cameron. “What’s up, man? Glad you decided to join.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for taking us on.”

“Lucky to have you.” His eyes pulled back to Greer like gravity had hold of him. “Both of you.”

“Yeah,” Cameron replied slowly, grinning. “Well, I gotta go.”

Greer snapped her eyes to his, her face furrowed in confusion. “What? Where?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“It’s why I asked.”

“I have to go apologize for being an asshole, remember? I have to say the three worst words in the English language.”

“I was wrong?” Jace guessed.

Cameron pointed at him. “My man. See, he knows. This is gonna suck.”

“Well, good luck,” Greer told him as he backed away down the street. “Remember Switzerland.”

“I’ll even bring chocolates,” he promised. “See ya.”

Looking at Greer standing on the sidewalk in front of him with her long hair in a loose ponytail, her body encased in skin tight spandex and her white hoody, her face flushed from her workout – a workout she’d done to
his
music – Jace wondered what the fuck he was doing. He knew what he wanted to be doing, but was it right? Probably not, and it made him want it all the more.

“Do you have somewhere you have to be?” he asked her.

She shook her head, shrugging. “Washington in a couple weeks? That’s about it.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Can I take you to dinner? There’s a restaurant near my hotel that’s insane. I’m hooked on it.” He pulled out his phone. “I can have my car pick us up in a few minutes and—“

“What about that diner?” she asked, pointing across the street.

He glanced up, surprised. It was a bit of a dive, not somewhere Lexy or Sarah would ever have set foot in. He looked at Greer skeptically. “You want to eat there?”

“Why not? It’s right there, you wouldn’t have to call your car. And besides, I don’t think I’m really dressed for anything fancier.”

“How do you know this restaurant is fancy? Maybe it’s a shithole with really good pasta.”

“It’s by your hotel. Where are you staying? The Hilton? Four Seasons?” she scoffed. “It’s not a shithole.”

He grinned. “No, it’s not.”

“How many stars?”

“Four.”

“No.”

He put his phone away, raising his hands in defeat. “Fair enough. The diner it is.”

It was terrible. They commiserated over the soggy buns, the dry meat, the rubbery cheese, and the oily French fries until they couldn’t take it anymore. Jace threw a fifty on the table despite Greer’s protests and her multiple attempts to pay for her meal, further confirming his suspicion that she’d asked to eat there because she could afford it. In the end he won and they ran for their lives before their surly waitress could scowl at them again and spill more water on their table.

“Wow,” Greer breathed when they were finally free of the smoke filled building. “I have regrets.”

“I think I have food poisoning,” Jace countered.

She smiled at him, pushing stray strands of her hair out of her face as the wind took hold of them. “You have tetanus at the very least.”

“I’m up on my shots. I should be in the clear.”

“That wasn’t beef, was it?”

“Cows don’t crumble like that.”

“Ugh,” she shuddered. “Alright, hit me. How many stars?”

He grinned. “One.”

“That’s generous,” she chuckled.

“I had to give them something for having tables. How about you?”

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, looking back at the building. “Comparing it to some other places I’ve eaten, I’ve gotta give it a two.”

“Bullshit!” he cried, feeling a full smile stretch his face in unfamiliar ways. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” he cried, throwing his head back and howling mournfully to the sky. Greer’s full laugh fell around him like rain, lingering in the air and in his ears. He looked back to her, the smile still tight on his lips and a feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. “You have to let me fix that.”

Her eyes flashed with uncertainty. “No,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Your call,” he agreed, backing off immediately. He understood this reaction, he’d seen it before. His money put people off sometimes. Not everyone wanted to be thrown into his wealthy world and he had trouble knowing where the lines were. He didn’t know what it was to be middle class or lower. Hell, he didn’t even remember upper-middle class. Things that seemed so simple to him were struggles to others. His every day was the average person’s luxury or dream come true. He was a winning lottery ticket. He was the one percent.

And it was fucking lonely at the top.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” Ryker commented, glancing around as lights came on up and down the street. He caught her tight eyes and offered his arm. “Can I walk you home?”

She grinned, her face relaxing. “That’d be nice, thanks.”

She hesitantly put her arm through his and guided him in the right direction. They walked in silence, their feet falling in time with each other creating a rhythm Ryker could feel in his blood. One he’d remember forever.

“Greer!” Jessa called into the apartment. “You have a delivery! You gotta sign for it.”

“I have what?” she asked, coming out of the kitchen and drying her hands on a worn gray towel.

Jessa pointed to the young courier waiting impatiently in the hall. He thrust the rectangular package forward and jangled his clipboard.

“I need a signature from Greer Weston,” he demanded.

She hurried forward and took the clipboard, eyeing the package suspiciously without taking it. She scanned the paper in front of her, unsure. “Where do I…”

“Here.” He tapped the sheet. “On the only open line.”

She scribbled her name on the line, shoved the clipboard into his chest, and took the offered box. “Thanks so much,” she said sarcastically.

“Whatever.”

Greer closed the door hard and threw the locks. “Was I supposed to tip him?”

Jessa snorted. “Hell no. Kid was a shit.” She nodded to the box, her brown curls bouncing and shining. “Have you never gotten a delivery before?”

“No.”

“That’s weird.”

“It feels weirder getting one.”

“Who is it from?”

Greer turned it over in her hands, checking the labels. Aside from her name, it was gibberish to her. She nearly dropped it when it started ringing. “What the hell?”

“It’s a phone,” Jessa said, scowling. “Maybe you shouldn’t open that.”

“Why not?”

“That’s how they activate bombs. With cell phones.”

“Who? Terrorists?”

“No, Girl Scouts. Yes, terrorists!”

The ringing stopped and both girls looked at the box with deep seated doubt. “It didn’t blow up,” Greer muttered.

Another noise sounded from inside. A weirdly familiar
ding
that she couldn’t quite place.

“Sounds like an iPhone,” Jessa said dismissively, turning abruptly and heading for the living room.

“So we’re not worried anymore?” Greer called after her.

“If you have an iPhone all you have to worry about is becoming a hipster! I’ll watch for the signs. No lens-less glasses or scrunchies!”

“Thanks a lot,” she muttered, tearing into the tape holding the box closed. When she shed away all of the packaging she found a slim white, shining iPhone inside. And it had a message.

From Jace Ryker.

This is your work phone. You need it.

“Whoa.”

She had used Cameron’s phone before so she knew how to work the thing, but it felt surreal that this was
hers.
Well, hers for the next month.

This is too much,
she texted Jace.

His response was immediate and she realized it was probably him that had called and nearly kicked off World War Three in her apartment.
You have to have one. At least while you’re working for me. You need it for the music alone.

You can’t give me a phone.

We’re rhyming again.

Greer grinned.
We just can’t help but make music together.

The second she sent it, she realized how that sounded and hurriedly typed,
I can’t keep it. You can’t give me this phone.

I didn’t. Ryker Corp. did.

There’s no such thing as Ryker Corp., is there?

There will be if you give me a hard time about the phone. It’s a business tool from your boss. Just say ‘Thank you, Mr. Ryker’ and we’ll all move on from it.

I thought I was supposed to call you Jace.

When you sass me about work, you get Mr. Ryker. When we risk our lives in subpar eateries or sing duets in dark theaters, then you can call me Jace.

Uh huh. And you get to just call me whatever you want?

The phone started ringing in her hand, surprising her. The name and photo that splashed across the screen made her smile.

“Hello, Mr. Ryker,” she answered seriously.

“I can call you
whenever
I want now, too,” he told her in answer to her question.

“Convenient.”

“Look, don’t sweat the phone. It’s no big deal. I have like fifty of these things laying around that were given to me for no reason. I got one in a goodie bag at Elton John’s last month.”

“You know Elton John?”

“You don’t?” he teased.

“Oh, of course I do. I was just hanging out with him last weekend at his villa in the south of France.”

Jace chuckled quietly and there was something about it…

“He actually has a villa in the south of France, doesn’t he?” she asked warily.

“I don’t know, but I do.”

“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled.

“It’s more of an estate than a villa.”

“Not better.”

Her anger made him chuckle again. “Anyway, keep the phone. Do you want a different color? I have pink.”

“Why did someone give you a pink phone?”

“Because I’m a trendsetter, apparently. Put something in my hands and the world wants to buy it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“You get used to it. Especially when there’s a line of underwear in Japan with your face on it.”

“There is not.”

“Google it.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

He groaned theatrically, making her smile. “You’re killin’ me. Look it up on your phone.”

“I will tonight.”

“Don’t let it be the last thing you look at. I can’t be held accountable for your dreamstate after you see them. In fact, let me send you the link because if you just go Googling ‘Jace Ryker underwear’ you’re going to hit a really seedy part of the internet.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” she chuckled.

“For my sake, don’t.”

“Alright, for you.”

“Thanks.”

A silence fell between them, one that wasn’t particularly awkward. It was actually kind of nice knowing he was there, just a breath away, and when she wasn’t looking at his movie star face and Adonis body wrapped in wealth and a world she’d never know, she could relax with him. He was funny! He was easy to talk to and he seemed to genuinely like talking to her too. He seemed lighter than he ever had before. More accessible and she wondered if it came with getting to know him. If he was guarded with people because he had to be and you had to earn his trust. She could understand that and from what she was seeing – or
hearing –
of him now, she wanted to earn that. She wanted to earn
him.

“Jace?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice so deep it made her eyes close and her heart flutter in her chest.

“I was just checking. I didn’t know if you’d hung up.”

“No. Do you need to go?”

“No. You?”

“Yeah, but no.”

She laughed softly. “What does that mean?”

“It means I have to go but I’m not going to.”

“Oh.”

Oh my God.

“I’m glad I gave you the phone, Greer.”

She grinned. “You didn’t. Ryker Corp. did, remember?”

“I’m glad,” he repeated.

“Me too.”

The phone beeped and she frowned as she pulled it away from her ear to look at the screen. It said she had a new text, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to lose this connection with Jace.

“Did you get it?” he asked.

“Get what?”

“The picture I sent you.”

“Oh, the message. Of course of it’s from you, you’re the only one with the number,” she muttered, feeling stupid. “Hold on.”

She called up the message and downloaded the photo attached, reading his words as it opened.

This is me hiding.

The picture loaded, making her burst out laughing. He was in a bathroom – a fucking nice one that looked bigger than her apartment and was covered in about a hundred percent more marble – and he was sitting in the bathtub, half of his face covered with the cream colored shower curtain.

“Who are you hiding from?” she asked, still laughing.

He chuckled, the sound carrying across the city in a melody that hit her ears and made her skin tingle with excitement.

“Everyone,” he answered vaguely before admitting, “Sarah. She wants me to make decisions about shit I already decided.”

“Then what’s her problem?”

“I didn’t make the decision she wanted.”

“Tell her to get over it.”

“If only it were that easy. Here, I’ll go find her and you can tell her.”

“No!” she cried. “I’m not talking to that woman. She freaks me out.”

“That’s her plan. It’s an intimidation tactic and I’m over it.” He cleared his throat, his tone lightening. “Your turn.”

“For what?”

“I sent you a picture of what I’m doing – hiding. Show me what you’re doing. I want to see you.”

Her heart leapt into her throat as she smiled, fumbling with the phone. “Okay, hold on.” She ran to the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain closed, putting her phone inside and snapping a picture of herself with her eyes crossed and her face half covered by the fogged plastic. It ended up being a bit of a cleavage shot and she thought about retaking it, but some wild part of her forged ahead typing him a quick message and hitting SEND before she could stop herself.

“There, it’s on the way,” she told him.

She heard muffled sounds as he pulled his phone from his ear and laughed when he saw her picture and read her words.

This is me seeking. I’m terrible at it.

His laugh was better than his chuckle. It was better than anything. It was full and thick like cream, dark and sultry like chocolate. It made her hungry for more.

“Can Ryker Corp. get away with hooking you up with an optometrist in the next month?” he asked, coming back on the line.

“Up to you. It’s your fictional company.”

“I’ll talk to HR,” he said, still laughing.

“You have a great laugh,” she told him, feeling emboldened by their banter and the miles and miles of space between them. “You should do it more often.”

“I have been lately,” he admitted softly.

“How lately?” she pushed.

“Since I met you.”

She took a deep breath, her body calming at his words. They soothed her, settled her. It was real. It wasn’t in her head. She wasn’t some star struck idiot spinning fantasies. There was something here. Something between them that they both felt.

“I like you, Jace,” she whispered.

“I like you too, Greer,” he whispered back. “More than I’ve liked anyone or anything in a really long time.”

She smiled into the mirror, watching her skin go pink at his words. At her own thoughts. “Hey,” she said softly. “You wanna do something crazy with me?”

He paused, debating. “Depends on what it is.”

“It’s not getting married in Vegas tonight.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed out in a relieved rush.

“Come up before, has it?”

“No comment.”

“Uh huh.”

“What kind of crazy are we talking about? ‘Cause I could be into some crazy right now.”

“Need to shake things up a bit, do you?”

“You have no idea.”

Greer bit her lip and reached over to close the bathroom door, locking it. “Do you wanna take a bath with me?” she asked huskily.

She could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, thick and slow.

“Is this a trick question?”

She chuckled, kicking her shoes off. “No tricks. You’re locked in a bathroom, I’m locked in a bathroom… No pictures,” she assured him, imagining that had to be a huge concern for him, especially after the concert fiasco with his ex. “Just talking.”

“Naked, wet talking?” he clarified.

“Yep. Could you be into that?”

“Greer,” he said emphatically. “I am so fucking into that.”