Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (68 page)

When the three of them were alone again, his father sipped at a cup of coffee. “Listen, I’d like to set you up with my accountants. Arrange a meeting to talk about your situation.”

She had stolen Gage’s fork and shaved a bite from his dessert, but she paused in surprise before putting it to her lips.

“They are some of the best, and that includes brokers on the East Coast. Look at Gage. His financial comforts are sure not due to the music business. It’s all about taking what you have and making sound investments—and having someone who will manage your money as carefully as if it were their own.”

“I do understand that. But Tate and Jones have had it from the first dollar—before it was even mine.” She spoke of the accounting firm that had managed her father’s money, both before and after his death.

Gage’s father’s eyes were almost identical to Gage’s and therefore easy for her to read. The empathy in their dark depths upped a few notches, and suddenly, she understood.

“You told him?” The fork clattered from her fingers as it hit the china plate. Her chest felt heavy with betrayal. After the initial affirmation she found in Gage’s gaze, she swung her eyes to the glass wall. Gathering her thoughts, she took a breath and a sip of the wine the server insisted on topping off each time he came to the table.

“He can help—”

“Because I’m incapable? Because I blew it the first time around? I was a
kid
. And I didn’t even know about the money until it was gone!”

“Scar…” Gage’s fingers curled gently around her wrist but she snatched her arm away. “You’re about to become a billionaire—”

“You know what I think? I think you’re trying to deflect your dad from your screwed-up shit to my screwed-up shit.” Pulling her leg away from his, she used it to shove her chair back, but before standing, she realized she had nowhere to go. It wasn’t as if she could storm out of the restaurant and call a cab.

Gage didn’t let that issue stop him. Either he was more used to dealing with the back maze of hallways in establishments such as this, or it could be his only objective was to get out. The door closed behind him, and she raised her chin to her former stepfather, feeling somewhat ashamed.

“I’m sorry for the scene. It’s a touchy subject with me.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t even think I realized how much I resented her until I got away.” Her mother’s face intruded into her thoughts while speaking of her. “I can’t even take her calls anymore.”

“I’m truly sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. It really shouldn’t. At least though there is the trust. Your father was smart to set things up that way. I’m guessing he had some very sound advice, so I know Tate and Jones are good at what they do. But…” He trailed off, possibly realizing he was pushing the matter again. “I realize I’ve blindsided you with this. But once you have time to give it some thought, call me if you want to talk. Okay?”

“Moving the money would probably be a huge undertaking.”

“Not for you. For you it will simply be your signature a dozen or so times.” Gage’s father curved a reassuring smile. “Just think about it.”

“Okay. I will. Thank you.”

He came around and politely held her chair as she stood. “Your mother called me looking for you. She wanted Gage’s number, but I didn’t give it to her.”

“Sorry.” She rolled her eyes, wondering how many times in her life she had apologized for the woman who bore her.

“Did you know she’s in L.A.?”

Her feet seemed to fill with lead, and she froze when it became too much of an effort to take a step. Every spider sense she had told her his next words were about to fuck her world up.

“No. Why? Why would she be here?” And how the hell could she have afforded a flight?

The passport incident clouded her mind—the strange pitch in her mom’s voice when she’d explained why the bag was out of the safe…

I
t had been one of those days when the entire world seemed against him. His own body. The withdrawals had battered his body with the force of a jackhammer, waking him around dawn. He remembered from the few times he’d cleaned up before that right when it seemed he was coasting through the detox, he’d have a particularly bad day. Scarlette had mixed an extra ‘witches brew’ and it had helped. Then the shit going down at Noise City. And now, even Scarlette had verbally attacked him.

He splashed his face and thanked the bathroom attendant for the hand towel readily passed his way. Studying his reflection, he patted off the moisture.

For the first time, a weird thought struck him. He wasn’t terrified at being thrown out of the band, or of the band breaking up. As his dad had mentioned to Scar, the band after providing the funding for his investments had ceased to be his main source of income. He was a musician. He could begin another band. Or not. There were a dozen music-related fields he could consider.

For now though, tonight, he had his hobby band. The cover band Metal Feds played once a month at Cappy, a club on Ocean Avenue. Several musicians rotated through the lineup, depending on who was not on tour.

He’d been excited when he’d invited Scar earlier today, but now she was so pissed at him, she might change her mind about going. And that was fine. Whatever. In some respects, she was the smartest, toughest woman he knew. And in some ways, she needed to grow the fuck up.

After dropping some cash into the tip jar, he exited the restroom and found his father and Scar in the hallway. Ignoring Scarlette for the time being, he faced his father who had nodded to one of the hostesses, confirming they were ready to go downstairs. “We’re playing tonight. The cover band. If you want to come by for a bit.”

“Cappy?” When Gage nodded, his old man surprised him by agreeing. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

By the time the valet brought the car around, Gage had been recognized by a few patrons who were arriving, and accordingly, he had smiled for two selfie pics.

Once they were safely inside the Lotus and on their way, Scarlette joked. “You looked like a giant next to that girl.”

“I thought I was going to end up on my knees.” He joked back, recalling how far he’d had to kneel to get into the camera frame with her.

She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Why? It’s true. She was a shrimp.”

“No. In the dining room. I’m such a bitch when I get upset.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

She was sounding hostile again, and he spared a quick glance from the line of taillights in front of him. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He matched her formal tone and then dropped a casual hand on the back of her seat so that her hair tickled his thumb.

Despite her apology, she seemed off at the club. She was quiet and even ordered water, as he had done. He studied her for a moment, before leaving her at the table with his father and going into the back to change clothes.

From the stage, he squinted past the lights and was relieved to find a smile on her face. Because he knew her so well, he worried that anytime now she could snap out of this sweet trance they’d both been living in for the last few days. He was accustomed to her calculating nature, and he was afraid she would soon evaluate this new relationship between them and find it unacceptable for some reason.

If she did, he’d simply win her back over. But the truth was, with much of his life in turmoil, it would be so much easier if he didn’t have to fight for his love life.

The rhythm and performance soon demanded his full attention, and he welcomed letting the music lull all other thoughts away.

During their first set break, his father congratulated him on a great show but said he had to leave. After telling him goodbye and walking him to the door, Gage detoured to the bar before returning to Scar with a water for each of them and a shot of Petrón for her. On Metal Fed nights, the establishment vetted those who came inside during the sets, so that it didn’t become an out of control fan fest. Even so, the bar was always near full capacity before the show was over. At his request, management set up a table with one barstool very near the stage, just off to the side. He settled Scarlette there before hopping back into the limelight for the second half of the show.

He liked being able to see the expressions on her face and soon found himself showing off for her. He ate up the adulation he saw in her eyes. Although she still wasn’t smiling, she seemed to be more relaxed. Since she was now in the spillover from the stage lights, he could see she was drinking a colorful drink garnished with fruit. When she began to sway in her seat, all but dancing without being on her feet, he couldn’t take his eyes from her.

And then the predictable happened.

A man stopped beside her chair, leaning in close to speak to her. She shook her head a couple of times. After what looked like a forced laugh in response to whatever he said, she allowed herself to be led into the midst of the dancers.

Only years of sheer professionalism―learning to continue the show through anything―kept him singing and his fingers dancing on the guitar strings when the prick closed in on her enough that they brushed against one another while dancing. Scar drew away, continuing her sexy sway, and when it happened again, she actually looked up at the guy with a frown before pulling apart a second time. When the guy’s arms closed around her, Gage did miss a chord, but the crowd was frenzied and didn’t notice his lapse. Professionalism flew out the window. He had taken the step that would allow him to leap from the stage into the crowd where he would rip the guy’s head from his neck when Scarlette broke free, and with a twist through the writhing bodies, found another place to dance. Gage wanted to laugh when the guy stared after her and then tromped to the bar.

She was uninhibited and free, dancing much of the time with her eyes half closed as if she were in her own world. When the song ended, he waited for the hoots and cheers to die down and then spoke into the microphone.

“Ever get one of those songs that won’t leave you alone? The one that plays in your head, over and over, all day? Well, I’ve got to get this one out. Sing along with me.” He moved a few steps across the stage and enlightened the bass player, who in turn passed the information along. By the time the song was relayed to the rest of the band and they were all in unity, he was reveling in the astounded and smitten gaze of the woman he was singing his heart out to.

She had stopped dancing and was doing a side-to-side swing of her hips to the rhythm, with her eyes locked to his.

When the last set ended, he hopped to the main level and escorted her toward the corner table where the band and their friends had grouped.

There were a few Fire Flight fans, and he attended to them with autographs or posing for pictures, but kept a wary eye when he saw Scar’s stiff stance and forced smiles of earlier in the evening had returned. If she hadn’t already been reverbing weird vibes all night, he would have gleefully assumed she was jealous of the blonde who kept twining around him.

Shaking the girl off for at least the fifth time, he ignored her pouty red lips and asked, “Sweetie, could you grab me a drink?”

The gal’s mope transformed into a glowing smile. When her squeaky voice inquired what he wanted, he immediately turned to Scar. “What do you want to drink?”

“Um, a tequila sunrise sounds good…” She seemed uncertain as she took in the other woman’s reaction to the scene playing out.

“Tequila sunrise.” He turned back and informed ‘blondie,’ whose mouth dropped open at his audacity. “Oh, and a water for me. Thanks, sweetie.”

The Barbie clone flounced away with an audible hiss. Yeah. He should probably collect Scar’s drink himself to ensure it was spit free…

“You’re such an ass.” Scar informed him, but her face was alight with amusement, and he loved at last seeing a real smile tonight.

“An ass who can’t keep his hands off of you,” he mumbled, pulling her backside against him. “Come dance with me…”

After being teased with the spectacle of her dancing while he was as good as behind a glass wall while on stage, he was nuts to touch her. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, soaking in the warmth of her body through the jeans she wore.

The denim was a heavenly friction against his own jeans, and he molded himself to her, wondering if she would pull away. It was all he could do to keep his hands from traveling upward to cup the curves straining against one of those stretchy shirts she always seemed to wear.

Sighing out a frustrated breath, he gave her a twist, spinning her to face him and consoled his hands with the curves filling out the back of her jeans. When he hooked his fingers into her pockets and rocked with her to the beat, she shot him a look of surprise, but simply raised her arms until they rested on his shoulders.

Within the next ten minutes, dancing was impossible. Now that the show was over, the bouncers were more lax. Social media must have spread the word because the club was wall-to-wall bodies. He and tonight’s drummer, who was also the lead vocalist in another hot band, began to get mobbed.