Shadows of Bourbon Street (32 page)

Authors: Deanna Chase

Tags: #Contemporary, #Urban, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Shadows of Bourbon Street

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“You need some rest. I think a break is in order.” His arms are so comforting wrapped around me, and the light scent of his cologne is so familiar that I almost forget it’s his fault I’m barely holding it together. That song. He had no right.

Reluctantly, I extract myself from his embrace and nod my agreement. I need my bed. Need to crawl under the covers and block out the world. “You’re right. I do.”

He pulls his phone from his back pocket and taps out a message. A second later it buzzes with an incoming text. “Phil will meet you around back and take you to the hotel.” He kisses me on the forehead and guides me toward the back exit.

I pause at the door, suspicion nagging at the back of my mind. “You’re not coming with me?”

He flashes me his practiced, apologetic smile. Anger pushes aside some of the anguish crushing me.

“Never mind,” I say before he can give me one of his fucked-up excuses. You’d think he could abandon the band and label execs for one night to make sure I get back okay. Especially considering this latest breakdown is his fault. Not that I even want him around. But this is an emerging pattern. Put Lucy in the car with Phil while he stays out all night doing God knows what. I’m so sick of his shit. I don’t even want to look at him. “I want to be alone anyway. Just… give me space.”

He jerks back at my clipped tone and grimaces as if finally realizing just how pissed I am. “Do you want me to stay with one of the guys tonight?” he says carefully.

“Fine.” I stalk off before he can say anything else, the crack in my heart forming a small crater.

***

I wake to the shrill of the hotel phone. My gritty eyes won’t focus in the bright morning light, and I fumble around until my hand closes over the cool plastic of the receiver. “Hello?” My voice is gravelly and full of sleep.

“Ms. Moore?”

“Yeah?”

“I have Cassie Patricks on the line for you.”

I fall back on my pillow. Why in the world is our label rep calling me at seven in the morning? “Okay.”

“Lucy, good morning,” she says, her voice full of excitement.

“Good morning.”

“My apologies for calling so early. But I’ve got great news. We’re fast-tracking the new song. We need you and Cadan in the studio this afternoon to start recording. Two p.m. Don’t be late.”

I sit straight up and clutch the phone with a death grip. “Which new song?”

“‘Meet You in Heaven.’ A bootleg video has gone viral over the Internet.”

Oh my God. No. Not that one.
My stomach clenches with a wave of nausea. I take a deep breath, trying not to vomit right in the bed. “But that song isn’t ready. I’m not sure I even want to record it.”

“You’re just getting cold feet. I told Cadan it’s perfect just the way it is when he was here to sign the publishing contract on Friday. Now take a deep breath. It’s going to be huge. Especially if we capitalize on this PR ASAP. See you this afternoon.”

The line goes dead, and I stare with horror at the phone.
Publishing contract?
I didn’t sign over any of my new songs. What did Cadan do?

My feet hit the floor before my brain processes what I’m doing. Wearing only pajama pants and a tank top, I tear out of the room and head down the hall. When I reach Phil’s room, I bang both fists on his door. “Cadan,” I yell. “Open up.”

There’s no answer.

I bang again, this time continuously, making it impossible for anyone in this wing to sleep. The door to the right opens, and a woman snaps at me to keep it down. I don’t even acknowledge her. Right now, all I need is to talk to Cadan. If he isn’t inside, Phil will know where he is.

The door finally opens and a tall, slender blonde with bleary, mascara-smudged eyes stares at me. “Where’s the fire?”

“Is Cadan in there?” I don’t wait for her to answer. I just push past her and stalk into the suite. “Cadan?”

The bedroom door opens and Cadan stumbles into the sitting room, his sandy-blond hair still mussed from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

He’s still buttoning his jeans, and the first thing I notice is a hickey on his chest. “What the fuck is that?”

“What?” He glances over his shoulder at the closed door.

“This.” I stalk up to him and poke the hickey with my finger. Then I turn to the blonde. “Is this your parting gift? A way to make sure I know he’s unfaithful?” My tone is cool and controlled as if the scene isn’t making bile rise in my throat.

“Me?” she ekes out. “No, that was Natasha.”

Without speaking, I push past Cadan and open the bedroom door. Inside, a honey blonde with perfect, smooth skin is sprawled naked over the bed. A condom wrapper is lying on the floor.

“Oops,” the skank who answered the door says and disappears into the bathroom.

My entire body goes numb. I’d suspected Cadan wasn’t always faithful, but I’d never been sure. Now the truth is battering me over the head. Stunned into silence, I turn and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

“Luce,” Cadan says.

“Don’t Luce me, you fucking two-timing piece of shit.” I keep heading toward the door but stop when I remember why I came in the first place. I spin. “Why does Cassie think we have a publishing deal for the new songs?”

“Babe.” He walks slowly toward me with his hand stretched out. “I made a mistake. We were drinking. Just a few beers. I think mine was spiked. Acid. Or Ecstasy. I don’t remember anything.”

My fists clench, and I have to fight to not punch him in the nose. “Gee, you don’t look like you’ve been drugged. Not like the band does after a rough night. Try again.”

“I swear, I didn’t—”

“Fucking shut up!” I yell. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Do you think I’m stupid? I know you knew what you were doing. I can see you calculating the best way to get out of this. You’re not even sorry. Not at all. The only thing you’re sorry about is that you have to deal with me now. Well, guess what? I’m about to make it real easy on you.” I lash out and push him away from me with both hands. “I’m done. This soul-mate thing? It’s over. Go ahead and fuck whoever you want. Sing whatever you want, just as long as it’s not one of my songs, because no matter what you told Cassie, those songs aren’t for sale.”

Fear flickers in his copper eyes. “Lucy, now wait.”

“I’m not waiting for a goddamned thing. You’ve hurt me for the last time, Cadan. I can’t live like this.”

I’ve got my hand on the door handle when Cadan says, “The contracts are already signed. The songs will be recorded no matter what you do. Are you prepared for someone else to sing them?”

My heart races and my vision clouds with darkness. Dizzy, I turn slowly and look him in the eye. “What do you mean the contracts are signed?”

His shoulders hunch forward. “I signed for you. I thought you just needed a push to get you through this grief about your dad. You love spending time in the studio, and with these songs, I knew the label would make us a priority for the next record.”

“You signed?
For
me?” The urge to kill him is so strong, I take a step back toward the door.

He shrugs. “I have before. The signature matches.”

Son of a… shitballs! He had signed for me. There was a time when I was taking care of Dad when I’d been too overwhelmed to deal with business and had left Cadan in charge. He mastered my signature just to make it easy on me. He’s got it down to perfection. Shaking, I take three steps forward and say in a careful tone, “You will tell Cassie what you did and you’ll tell her I’m no longer part of the deal. Forget the rest of the tour. I’m not doing it! If she wants to sue me for breach of contract, so be it, but I’m out and I’m taking my songs with me.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Cadan says, his face white.

I’d just put a major wrench in his plans. He’s a great performer, but the reason most of our fans come to see us is for the magic our combined harmony produces. Without me, he’s just another lead singer of a garage band.

“Cassie isn’t going to let you walk. And if she sues you, it will be for a hell of a lot more than what they’ve paid us so far. You can’t go. Not now. Do this one last album, then you can cut ties with me. But give me a chance to apologize. To make it up to you. I promise no more booze and no more opportunity for”—he waves a hand toward the bedroom—“this sort of thing. If I don’t go out with the band, the temptation is removed.”

I can’t believe he’s standing here negotiating with me. It’s as if he has no clue how much he’s hurt me. I pull the door open, cast him an uncaring glance, and step into the hall. Then I turn back to level him with a steely glare. “No. Not now. Not ever again. Stay the hell away from me, Cadan. My lawyer will be in touch about the songs.”

“Lucy!” He follows me out into the hall. “Wait.”

I stop in front of the room that’s supposed to belong to the pair of us. “Go back to your guests. I’m sure within ten minutes this fight will be the furthest thing from your mind.”

As soon as I get into our suite, I flip the security lock and then sink to the floor, my entire body shaking with adrenaline.

“Lucy,” Cadan calls through the door.

It makes me physically ill to know he’s standing out in the hall barely dressed. I have to get away. As far away as possible.

I do two things. First, I call my lawyer about the songs and breaking my contract. He’s dubious, but says he’ll do his best. Then I call Jax, my best friend.

“Lucy! I miss you,” she says by way of greeting. “I saw that video. Your song is amazing. I can’t wait to listen to a live version.”

I grumble. “We’re not recording it.” My voice wobbles, and being Jax, she notices it right away.

“What happened?”

I suck in a breath. It gets caught in my throat, and I swallow hard. “Cadan sold it without my permission. Then I walked in on him with two girls this morning.”

“Jesus,” she says quietly. Then she screams into the phone, “That asshole! I’m going to kill him.”

“Get in line.”

“I will.” She’s seething enough for both of us. Then she takes a deep breath. “What can I do?”

“Pick me up at the airport?” I move to the closet and yank my suitcase out. “I’m coming home. Today.”

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About the Author

Deanna is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn’t writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two shih tzu dogs, making glass beads, or out hocking her wares at various bead shows across the country. Want the next book in the series? Visit
www.DeannaChase.com
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