The Comeback (BWWM Interracial Romance Book 7) (5 page)

Brenton shrugged. “Your mom sent a big arrangement, so yours would have just been overkill.” He licked his lips. “It’s not like I don’t understand. Your life was complicated—it still is. So is mine. And it’s not like I tried all that hard to keep in touch with you, either. We lost track of each other.”

They finally left the restaurant, knowing that they were holding up the employees the longer they stayed. Amber walked reluctantly by Brenton’s side out to his car, not wanting the night to end but not wanting to be so forward as to suggest that she stay the night. It was Brenton’s place to offer—it wasn’t her position to suggest. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a better first date,” she told him, summoning her cheeriest voice.

Brenton laughed. “It’s good to know I’m not that out of practice; but you know technically lunch was our first date.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t a real date. That was—that was two friends reconnecting. This was an actual date.”

Brenton stopped at the passenger side door of the car, once more turning Amber to face him. “I don’t want it to end yet—do you? Can you handle all the ragging from your mom?”

Amber laughed. “It would be worth it.” Brenton leaned in and Amber felt her body heating up again as he brought his lips down against hers. The second kiss was just as intense as the first; there was nothing tentative at all about Brenton’s hands wandering over her body slowly, the taste of wine and coffee on his lips, the warmth of his body so close to hers. Amber felt herself tingling all over, hot and cold flashes of sensation lighting up her nervous system, electric jolts crackling just underneath her skin. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of it—softer than she would have believed, so different from Kobe’s hair that she couldn’t even compare it.

They lingered, holding each other, kissing and then backing off only to start up again, and Amber remembered the feverish nights she had spent as a teenager, not ready to go home, wrapped in other boys’ arms—but none of them had ever made her tremble the way that Brenton was doing. None of them had ever filled her with fireworks the way he was. The only one who had ever made her feel so special, so full of excitement and need, had been Kobe—and now, kissing Brenton in the dark, feeling her heart beating faster and faster and her body heating up at his slightest touch, she knew that it was still not the same. That in a few short hours, Brenton had given her a bigger surge of passion, a deeper hunger for more, than Kobe had ever managed in the months and years they had dated.

Abruptly, Brenton broke away from her lips, letting out a soft cuss; Amber felt a vibration against her ribs, and realized in a flash that broke through the heavy daze that it was his phone. “This can only be one person,” he said under his breath. He stepped back from her and slipped his phone out of his jacket pocket, frowning at the screen for just a moment before taking the call. “What’s wrong, Betty?”

Amber curled in on herself slightly, hearing the tension in Brenton’s voice, seeing the way he’d changed in an instant. “You said you’d love to have Felicity for the night—Yes, I am her father. No I’m not at home.” There was a long pause and Amber watched as Brenton clenched his teeth, setting his jaw, looking as obstinate as he ever had in their teen years as friends. “You know what? Fine. Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Amber watched as Brent took another deep breath, exhaling it in something like a sigh. “I have to go pick Felicity up from her grandparents’,” he said. “God—they have to be doing this just to fuck with me.” His hand came down hard against the side of the car and he looked at her. “Any other time, it’s a fight to get them to let Felicity come back home—and now, because I’m on a date and probably enjoying myself, they concoct some excuse about her needing to come home.”

Amber took a deep breath of her own, trying to dispel the thick haze of desire that had crept through her veins like thick, warm honey. “Well,” she said, trying to do whatever she could to brighten the situation, “I probably shouldn’t go home with you on the first date anyway.”

Brenton laughed bitterly. “But you would have, wouldn’t you?”

Amber bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, probably I would have. And it would have been a mistake. It’s worth waiting for, right? It’s not like we’re horny teenagers.”

Brenton smiled wryly. “Teenagers, no.” He opened the car door, sighing gustily as he let her in. Amber watched him walk around the front end of the car, composing himself before he opened the driver’s side to climb in next to her. “I’ll drop you off at home and go get my baby. I’m sorry, Am-bear.”

Amber shrugged. “You’re a dad. That means sometimes you don’t get laid. Besides, I got a reputation to maintain—or at least to salvage.”

They rode in near-silence to the apartment that Amber shared with her mother and she went straight to her bedroom, thinking of the tension in Brenton’s face and body when he had taken the call. She slipped out of her dress and shoes, wrapping a robe around herself and sitting down at her desk. Picking up a pen, she flipped her notebook open to a blank page and started to write quickly, thinking of what Cara had told her, what she had seen of Brenton’s obviously broken relationship with his in-laws, what he had said in the wake of the phone call he had received. She thought about going home with him, about what it meant that they were waiting, and filled the page with lyrics.

By the time she wiped off her makeup, wrapped her hair in a scarf, and washed her face to go to bed, Amber was so exhausted that she didn’t even think of her ex; all she could think of was the sad, angry look in Brenton’s eyes when he spoke about his mother-in-law, the look of regret, and the way he had asked if she would have gone home with him if it weren’t for the interruption. She fell into a deep, not-quite-contented sleep, thinking of how it would be different when they got together again. At least, she thought as she finally dozed off, she knew for a fact that they would have another date together. She just hoped that the next one wouldn’t be interrupted. Maybe Brent could get his own parents to watch Felicity instead of his in-laws. That might improve their odds of ending up in bed together.

“All right, Amber, try that take again,” David said from the control room of Studio A at SugarHill. “It was good—it was really good, but we want great, right?” After months of back-and-forth, and development, it was finally time to start recording, and for Amber to come out of her self-imposed exile from the music community. She had been hard at work in the studio five days a week; even when she didn’t have vocals, there was plenty for her to do. She and David were working together to make sure every aspect of every song was exactly as it should be—which meant that she needed to be there.

David had encouraged her every step of the way, encouraging her to pen more lyrics, to explore more and more of the creative aspects of her music. “I really like what you’re doing here,” he would say, pointing to a melody she had come up with. He took her basic piano playing or the beat she had come up with from the samples she had and built it up, overlaying effects, different instruments, everything that they could come up with. Amber wanted a raw, pure sound—but she didn’t want it to sound cheap.

The constraints of developing and recording a new album had kept her relationship with Brenton casual—and so had his responsibilities. If she had had a regular nine-to-five job, it might have been easier to coordinate their schedules, but Felicity, at two, had real and legitimate demands on her father’s time. They had seen each other maybe two dozen times in three months, but Amber was happy with that; even though she knew that she was in love with him, and that he loved her, she couldn’t quite shake the way that Kobe’s betrayal still haunted her. Brenton was different, and Amber knew that. But in spite of being as different from her previous boyfriend as it was possible for any man to be, she couldn’t quite bring herself to completely trust him.

Her doubts, her insecurities, her anger, her grief, and her need for more had all found its way into her songs. The feedback from the label was more and more positive, and Rebecka from A&R was getting more and more excited about the marketing potential. Her publicist, working with Amber’s management under Carl, had started reaching out to the press, getting positive attention on her once more. Her sessions in the studio were interrupted by cameras and quick interviews for promotional material. The decision had been to portray her as completely over Kobe; that her comeback was as much about her new artistic freedom as it was about getting free of Kobe’s cheating ways.

David understood that strategy was important—he allowed the journalists and Amber’s publicists alike into the studio, had spoken on the record himself, telling the major magazines that he was excited about the project, that he thought that new and old fans alike would be surprised in a good way. It was just as Amber had explained it to Brenton; having a major producer on her side was an important tool in the process of not just getting the album made but making sure it was properly promoted.

Amber stepped back from the microphone as she finished her take, closing her eyes. “How was that, David?” she asked.

“Listen for yourself, woman,” David said over the intercom; Amber could hear the smile in his voice. He played back the take over the studio’s system, and Amber listened to it with a critical ear. As the playback rolled, she smiled more and more. She hadn’t told anyone the inspiration for this particular song—like all of her new material—but she could hear that somehow, David had managed to divine the real intention she’d had—and that was why he’d pushed her to so many takes. It had taken five to get it, but the quality of her voice, raw and full of soul, was exactly what she wanted it to be.

She had taken home rough mixes of everything, hurrying to Brenton’s house with jump drives to play it for him, to hear his opinion. Brenton had been as impressed as everyone else who had heard bits and pieces of the developing album—almost more impressed than the professionals she worked with. She never really told him the specific inspiration for some of her songs, but deep down, she thought he had to know; that some of the songs were about Kobe, some of them were about Brenton, some of them were about Kelsey, about Amber’s mother and friends.

“I think that’s a take, don’t you?” Amber looked over to the control room.

David laughed over the intercom. “Unless you think you can do it any better than that.” There was a challenge in his voice.

Amber shook her head, laughing out loud. “No—it’s only if
you
think I can do better. You’re the boss, man.”

“Let’s hang that one up for the day then. Get in here and we’ll talk about ‘Have it Your Way.’”

Amber had to keep an eye on the clock; part of the promotional effort was rehabilitating her reputation in the media. She had to be seen; she had to show up at events. Sometimes she showed up on her own, proudly self-sufficient, sometimes she brought her mother with her, both of them dressed in the finest gowns or designer outfits that Carl could get for them, their makeup impeccable, their hair perfectly done. But more and more, as she and Brenton saw each other for a longer period of time, she was inviting her boyfriend to come with her, to be her escort. They joked about his life in the public eye, and she knew that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the role he played, but she was grateful to be seen with such a beautiful man escorting her. She was glad that she had someone new, that the world could see that she was happier with Brenton than she had ever been with Kobe.

Her new boyfriend hadn’t been entirely embraced, by either the music press or her fans.
Amber Solomon is dating a slice of Wonder Bread,
someone had commented. Someone else had theorized that Kobe had ruined black men for her. Amber didn’t respond, but it wasn’t always possible for her to ignore the comments. It put a little bit of a strain on her—but she told herself, again and again, that the furor would die down. She really did want to be with Brenton; she was comfortable with him, she cared about him—she could even say, three months into their relationship, that she loved him.

At five o’clock, Amber checked in with David one last time, sitting in the control room for fifteen minutes to discuss what they would be working on the next day. “I think, assuming everything goes to plan, we’ll have this done in the next several weeks. Then you and the label can figure out what’s going on with the promotional efforts, what the first single will be. Honestly, I think this one we just finished today should go out first. It’s a fucking hit. You’ll knock everyone on their ass with it.”

“It’ll probably depend on whether the label sees it our way,” Amber pointed out. “But your recommendation will definitely help.” She packed up her purse with the things she needed to take home—including the rough mix of another new song—and headed for home.

Amber smiled to herself as she thought of the event that she and Brenton were going to that night; it was a fundraiser for one of the charities she’d been involved with since she had first started to come up in the world. Oriented towards helping young women of color gain practical music education, it was a cause that was close to her heart: not only did the charity encourage young black girls and women to learn about music, but it also sponsored talks about entering the music industry intelligently. Amber herself had done a few of the talks, visiting schools around the country and telling rooms full of girls that they had just as much right to respect in the industry as any man, as any other woman.

Since it was a “professional” event, Amber had arranged for her normal stylist and makeup crew to come by her mother’s house to help her prepare. Sasha and Tyrone were sitting in the living room when Amber walked in, the dress bag in Tyrone’s hands, Sasha’s lap covered by her makeup bag. Amber knew that Tyrone would have already dropped off the suit that Brenton was going to wear to the event at his house; fortunately for Amber, Brenton, coached in military standards of neatness, was more than capable of wearing a suit well.

Amber showered quickly and wrapped a robe around herself, and her team went to work: even though she was proud of her curves and happy with her body, the kind of dress that she was wearing, a slinky emerald-green gown with a plunging neckline, required some careful thought for what she wore underneath. On a previous outing, Brenton had lovingly teased her about the “armor” she had to put on under a costly and expensive designer gown. “You’re probably bullet-proof,” he had said with a laugh when they went home together afterward. Even though the whole world knew that Amber Solomon was a voluptuous woman, with thick thighs and broad, sensual hips and full breasts, the entertainment industry required something more svelte—and required her curves to be just a little contained to be “perfect.”

“Can you imagine what it must have been like back before spandex and nylon?” Tyrone asked her, shaking his head as Amber shimmied into a pair of control-shorts. “Girdles, corsets, a layer of petticoats, a bustle… How they didn’t die of heat stroke back then on a regular basis is beyond me.”

“A lot of them did,” Sasha pointed out. “Of course back then they considered you only a proper woman if you were regularly subject to ‘the vapors,’ so at least it was pretty easy to be considered a proper woman.”

Obediently, Amber sat still while her team made up her face, pulled and arranged her hair into a coronet, powdered and perfumed her body until she could barely recognize the real woman underneath all of the Hollywood magic. She admired herself in the mirror for a long moment. There was something a little sad about it all, Amber thought; in order to keep her fame, she had to be a nearly-unattainable ideal. It was difficult for her to keep her own self-image in the environment that the entertainment industry maintained. But she knew—not just from her own self-determination, but from the repeated compliments she got from everyone who knew her well—that she was beautiful without all of the “magic” that her stylists and artists wove around her. She had made a point of appearing in front of girls in schools in as little makeup as possible, so that they could see that she was a real person, not just a media image. More than once she had taken her makeup off in front of the music students she spoke to—just to prove to them that there was a great deal of illusion inherent in the industry.

The car arrived and Amber watched her stylists leave, heading out to their homes or more likely the bars. It would take fifteen minutes to get to Brenton’s house, and then from there another twenty minutes to get to the event. Amber settled in, careful not to crush or wrinkle her gown. She watched the scenery rush past the window of the back of the hired car, smiling slightly and thinking of how nice it would be to see Brenton again; they had both been so busy, it had been days since they’d had more than a few minutes to talk on the phone.

They pulled up to Brenton’s house in good time; Amber smiled to herself again as the driver parked and got out to knock on the door. It had taken Brent some time to get used to the level of service that Amber had started to accept as customary in the past several years; he admitted to her that he felt a little bit weird at some of the events. She watched eagerly as Brenton came out of the house, sighing with relief and desire at the sight of him: clean-cut, his hair brushed flat against his head, his face shaved, and the suit fit him like a glove. There was absolutely nothing at all for her to be ashamed of showing up with a man as gorgeous as Brenton at any event.

He climbed into the back seat on the other side and leaned in to kiss her carefully. “You look amazing,” Brenton told her, taking in the dress, the way her body looked in it; Amber grinned at the obvious lust in his eyes, knowing that he would spend the whole night waiting to go back home, to lead her into the bedroom.

“So do you,” Amber told Brent, reaching out and twining her fingers between his. She sipped carefully from a bottle of water—there would be champagne, cocktails, and hors d’oeuvres at the event, but she wanted to be hydrated before she got there. She and Brenton chatted about their days; she shared David’s comments, telling Brenton that the album was finally starting to really take shape after such a long time in development, that she was starting to be able to see the finished product. Brenton told her about a problem he had solved at work, about Felicity’s new obsession with a particular kid’s show—focused on music. “Maybe I can teach her a thing or two if she’s interested in music now,” Amber suggested playfully.

“Maybe,” Brenton said. Amber felt a brief flush of irritation. She and Brent had discussed the possibility of her finally meeting his daughter a few times, but it always seemed off in the distance. Whenever she dropped even the slightest hint about interacting with the two-year-old, Brenton would hedge—either saying that he wasn’t sure his daughter was ready to meet the woman he loved, or making a vague comment.
I’m just on edge because it’s a public event,
Amber told herself, suppressing the irritation. She changed the subject, and Brenton started to relax again as they talked about the charity and Amber’s involvement with it.

They arrived at the event, and Amber put on her best social face, keeping close to Brenton and smiling all around her, full of obvious pride of how beautiful she was and how gorgeous her date to the event was. She answered questions from journalists lining the red carpet, telling them about her dress, about her date, about her passion for and involvement with the charity. “It’s all PR,” she told Brenton as they stepped through the entrance together. “Every last bit of it. I mean, I’d support this charity even if I stopped being relevant tomorrow, but everything I do right now is to make people… not exactly forget what happened between Kobe and me, but let them all know that I’ve moved on.”