As Dust Dances

  Once upon a time, they were my family. They were sometimes the only thing holding me together when we were out doing all the publicity and marketing shit that I hated.

  How would I be able to do this without them?

  My chest tightened, and I felt like the glass wall was closing in on me. By the time I hurried to the door, Killian was already there, pulling it open.

  “Skylar?” He reached for me but I pushed past him, needing air.

  As I threw open the studio door, I collided with Eve and gasped as hot coffee soaked the front of my cashmere sweater.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Eve’s hands flailed above my chest, as two now-empty coffee cups rolled at our feet.

  “You okay?” Killian grabbed my shoulder, turning me toward him.

  I pulled the sweater away from my body. “I’m fine. The sweater shielded me from the worst of its heat.”

  “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Mr. O’Dea.”

  “Eve,” I put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her, “I collided with you.” And the collision had stopped what had felt like the beginning of a panic attack. “We’re good.”

  She still looked slightly terrified of Killian, so I glared at him, trying to communicate with my eyes that he needed to reassure her. His lips pinched together for a moment but then he offered, “Eve, it wasn’t your fault.”

  His assistant immediately relaxed.

  “Do you have a spare T-shirt Skylar can borrow?”

  She winced regretfully. “No, sir . . . oh, but you do!”

  And that’s how I found myself following Killian and his assistant to his office at the farthest end of the floor. It wasn’t a huge space but it had a great view over the Clyde. He waited outside while Eve rummaged through a cabinet.

  “This should do.” She pulled out a Biffy Clyro tee from the bottom drawer.

  I took it and waited for her to leave before I looked around the office. My curiosity got the best of me as I wandered around, taking in the framed newspaper articles on his wall. They depicted moments of success for the bands he’d worked with at the label. His desk was sparse with only an iMac, a phone, a few pens, and a photo of him and Autumn. I smiled, picking up the photograph. I loved how much he loved his sister. They were sitting together at a table at some function, both looking glamorous—him in a tux, Autumn all dolled up. His arm was around her, her cheek pressed to his, and while he didn’t share her big, beaming smile, his eyes were warm with affection.

  I brushed my fingers over his face. What must it be like to be loved by him? I imagined it a heady thing, winning the love of a man who offered it so sparingly.

  Blinking out of the dangerous thought, I put the photo back where I found it, reminding myself I was supposed to be getting changed, not nosing through his stuff.

  My wrist protested as I pulled my sweater over my head. I was just reaching for Killian’s tee when his office door opened. “Are you read—”

  We both froze.

  Me in my bra and jeans.

  His lips parted, not even hiding that he was taking in every inch of me. I flushed all over.

  Killian cursed under his breath and then slammed his office door shut so no one would see me from the hall while finally turning his back to me. He sounded hoarse when he spoke. “Sorry. I thought you’d be dressed by now.”

  “My wrist was hurting,” I lied. “I needed a minute.”

  That was all it took to make him move. Suddenly he was in front of me, grabbing the tee out of my hands. “What are you doing?” I tried to cover myself.

  Killian gave me an impatient look. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before. Lift your arms.”

  “I can put the tee on myself.”

  “The longer you argue, the longer I see you half-naked. I’m a man who appreciates the female form, so I don’t mind. I can do this all day.”

  Grunting, I lifted my arms, my annoyance with him lessening as he carefully pulled it down over my head and then gently placed my arms through the short sleeves. He shrugged it down slowly, as if savoring those moments of naked skin.

  My breath caught as his fingers brushed the sides of my breasts and my eyes flew to his as he pulled the T-shirt down excruciatingly slowly, caressing my skin with it. Those dark eyes smoldered.

  Then somehow, we were standing closer, our bodies almost touching. Excitement tingled between my legs and I felt my nipples peak against the fabric of my bra.

  A flush crested Killian’s cheeks and his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

  I forgot everything.

  Where I was.

  Who I was.

  Who he was.

  All I could think about was the way my skin prickled to electrified life under his touch. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to push me up against his desk, rip my jeans off, and thrust into me.

  My breath shuddered at the thought and Killian’s eyes blazed even hotter, as if he’d been able to read my mind.

  “Sir, Mr. Byrne would like to speak with you!” Eve’s voice called through the door and shattered the moment.

  Killian stumbled back. His hands dropped from my waist, allowing the T-shirt to fall.

  I tried to catch my breath as he whirled away from me. “Just . . . Just a second,” he called back.

  “Killian . . .”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m Killian again?”

  Confused, I blinked. “What?”

  Exhaling heavily, he shook his head. “Nothing.” Then his nostrils flared as he stared at me. I glanced down at myself. His T-shirt drowned me. It also smelled of him, which was very bad because I really needed to stop thinking of Killian and sex in the same sentence, and wearing his scent was not helping. “I look ridiculous.” But I didn’t think Killian thought I looked ridiculous at all.

  He wore the same look Micah wore when some other guy showed an interest in me.

  Possessive.

  Oh boy, we needed to get out of his office, pronto. “You mind if I knot it?”

  He frowned, shaking his head as if shaking away thoughts. Possibly dirty thoughts. No. Probably dirty thoughts. “What?”

  “Knot it.” I grabbed the hem and pulled it tight against my belly with the excess material at the back.

  “Oh. Aye, sure.”

  I put the knot in the back, feeling slightly less ridiculous. Killian was staring at the small expanse of skin I’d revealed in doing so. My hands trembled with the desire to reach out to him, so I forced myself to look away. “Can I leave my sweater in here?”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  I only looked up again when I heard him open the office door.

  When I stepped out, I found Eve standing nervously beside an older man with dark hair and gray eyes. He was a little shorter than Killian but still looked fit and strong for his age, distinguished in his expensive three-piece suit.

  He wore a look of disapproval and I’d soon discover that this man wore a perpetual look of disapproval.

  “Killian.” He eyed him coldly.

  “James.” Killian nodded just as coolly. He turned to me, gesturing me forward. “Skylar, I’d like you to meet the head of the label, James Byrne. My uncle.”

  * * *

  JAMES BYRNE PIERCED ME WITH his chilly gaze.

  I knew it was probably best to be polite since he was Killian’s uncle, but that’s exactly why I didn’t want to be. From everything I’d learned so far, I did not like this man.

  So I stayed silent.

  As did he.

  Finally, he looked back at Killian. “A word. My office.”

  He followed his uncle, shooting me a frown over his shoulder as they walked about fifteen steps to a door that had James’s name on it. When they stepped inside, I noticed a door across the hall that bore the name “Kenny Smith.” Hmm. Wasn’t that the guy getting all the credit for Killian’s work?

  I tried to shrug off my irritation, telling myself these were not my probl
ems.

  “He’s hardly ever here,” Eve whispered, drawing my attention back to her. “I wonder what he wants.”

  I wondered that too.

  The phone on Eve’s desk rang and she hurried to pick it up. “Good afternoon, Skyscraper Records, Mr. O’Dea’s office, how may I help?” She listened for a second, then looked up at me and rolled her eyes. “No, I’m afraid Mr. O’Dea is unavailable at the moment . . . Yes . . . Yes, I did say that because Mr. O’Dea was unavailable then too . . . I did pass along your message . . . I did . . . yes, I will again. Thanks for calling.” She hung up with a beleaguered sigh.

  “Problem?”

  “Ugh, yeah.” She leaned over the table toward me and dropped her voice. “That was Yasmin. Mr. O’Dea’s ex-girlfriend.”

  I didn’t know why that information made me feel cold considering I knew a man like O’Dea wasn’t a virgin. I guess I’d assumed that he was more a player than a guy who would have a girlfriend.

  “They broke up last week and she’s been calling nonstop. Guess someone doesn’t know when to give up.”

  They broke up last week. They broke up last week.

  “I’ve only been here a few months, but Sarah in marketing told me that Mr. O’Dea’s one of those serial monogamist types. She said he’s been in, like, five relationships in the past two and a half years. She says it always ends because Mr. O’Dea’s never out of the office. Although he has been lately, so we all thought maybe the whole Yasmin relationship was working out after all, but then he told me not to take any calls from her anymore so we’re all intrigued about the disappearances.” She suddenly straightened, looking concerned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that to you. Oh my God, I’m terrible at this job.”

  I managed a weak little laugh, even though an unexpected and painful wound had been inflicted. “I’m not going to repeat that. But—and I don’t mean this to be a bitch, this is friendly advice—I wouldn’t gossip about your boss to any of his artists anymore. It might get back to him, and you seem pretty enthusiastic about wanting to work here.”

  “I am.” Eve’s eyes rounded with intensity. “But I have this filter problem and I talk too much.”

  “You’ll learn with experience.”

  But would I? Or was I fated to continually put my feelings somewhere they didn’t belong? Like in a man I thought was my friend, despite all the shit between us, only to discover that I knew very little about him. And most of what I’d learned had come from his sister.

  Not telling me about a girlfriend . . . What must she have thought he was doing those late nights at my apartment? Why didn’t he ever mention her? Was it because she mattered so little, or because I mattered so little?

  Fuck.

  How the hell did everything get so twisted up? I wrapped my arms around my waist, ignoring the throb in my wrist. I wanted to go. I needed to be alone to process this new information.

  However, I had to stand there as Killian emerged from his uncle’s office wearing that damn blank mask I hated so much. His uncle followed him out and they drew to a stop in front of us.

  James flicked a look at Eve. “I need a coffee, girl.”

  No please, no thank you. No use of her name. It’s not like I hadn’t been around people in powerful jobs who thought it was okay to treat others like their servants. It annoyed me then and it annoyed me now. I bristled as Eve scurried off to do his bidding.

  “So you’re the ex-pop-rock princess my company is spending all the money on.”

  Wow.

  Nice.

  The thought of the apartment, the clothes on my back, all the food that had helped me get healthy again, suddenly made me feel vulnerable. Like I was stripped naked in front of this guy. Because it was his money that had helped me. Not Killian’s. I hadn’t minded it when I’d thought otherwise, but being faced with the truth made me feel small. I’d been taking this man’s money and he didn’t look happy about it. Why should he?

  “I’m going to pay you back,” I said. Riotous butterflies flurried to life at the thought of accessing my money, but in that moment, I thought being beholden to him instead of Killian was worse than my band finding out where I was.

  “If your album does well, you will.” He dragged his gaze down my body and back up again. “You’ll need to dress better.”

  Screw you, ass—

  “There was a coffee spillage,” Killian explained. “We had to find something for Skylar to change into.”

  James flicked his nephew a look before turning back to me. “This boy,” he gestured to his nephew and I swear my fingers almost sprouted claws at him calling Killian boy, “thinks you’ll be an impressive addition to the label. I see the merit in it, considering the free publicity, but since he won’t let me hear any of your music yet, I’m a bit skeptical.”

  Choking on my annoyance, I couldn’t speak for fear of what I’d say.

  He raised an eyebrow and shot Killian an amused look. “You better make sure her music is more interesting than she is.”

  Annoyance flickered over Killian’s face and James appeared surprised by it. “Something I said?”

  “No. It’s been a big morning for Skylar. A lot going on. She’s done this before, James. She’ll be fine.”

  James harrumphed and then turned his attention back to me. “Nothing to say?”

  I felt like I was in front of my school principal. God, this man was the most condescending prick I’d met in a long time. “Do you always greet your artists this way?” It slipped out before I could stop it.

  “In what way?”

  “Interrogative. Condescending.” I couldn’t be stopped. It was that word boy.

  He pressed his lips together in displeasure. “I’m your boss. Not the other way around.”

  “But surely it’s your policy to keep your artists happy? Not make them feel like they’re about to get detention.”

  “Only when my artists are making me money and not bleeding me dry.” He cocked his head, narrowing his nasty gaze on me. “Has it always been your policy to be rude to your label head, Miss Finch?”

  “Actually, my current policy is to give zero fucks.”

  Killian exhaled a shuddering sigh, rubbing a hand over his head like he couldn’t believe I’d said that.

  James gave his nephew a look filled with such disdain, a lesser man would have buckled under it. “I hope you know what you’re doing, boy.”

  Oh, if he called him boy in that snotty tone one more time!

  He marched away before I could say anything, hopefully to exit the building and relieve us of his toxic personality. How did someone like him make a business out of music? Janet Wheeler, the head of Tellurian’s label, was unbelievably passionate about music. Yes, she had a business degree, but her passion was ultimately what drove her.

  But James . . . that guy was all coldhearted, soulless business. And you did not make a label successful by talking to your artists like they were crap on your shoe!

  “Can you believe that guy?” I gestured toward the empty hall.

  “That guy,” Killian bit out between clenched teeth, “is my boss and your label head. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Surprised by his anger, it took me a second to respond. I sputtered out, “You’re mad at me? God, if that guy called you boy one more time, I was going to push him out of a window.”

  Killian blinked as if he wasn’t expecting that response at all.

  “He’s an asshole.”

  His face darkened. “Right now, he’s not the asshole. This is my job, Skylar, and you made me look incompetent in front of my boss. Was it deliberate? Are you trying to sabotage this and get out of our deal?”

  That he would even ask that floored me. Hurt on top of the hurt I’d already been experiencing over the news that there was a Yasmin made me feel even smaller than his uncle had. I hated feeling small. “No. I just . . . I didn’t like him.”

  “Well, sometimes we have to work with people we don’t like,” he said poin
tedly.

  That sucker punch knocked the breath out of me. Hurt didn’t cover how I felt. It obliterated my sarcasm shields, leaving me entirely defenseless. The only option left was to retreat until I could reboot them.

  “You know, I think we should finish the tour another time.” I turned away, unable to look at him. “My wrist is making me irritable.”

  “You think?” he snapped. He disappeared into his office, returning a couple seconds later with my sweater. I took it from him, careful not to touch him, and hugged it into my chest as I marched ahead down the hallway toward reception.

  Before we turned the corner, a door burst open on my left and I nearly collided with the young woman who came out of it.

  “Oh, sorry.” She smiled apologetically up at me and then froze as our eyes met.

  Confusion and shock drew me to a halt.

  It was Shelley, the police sketch artist.

  What the . . .

  She threw Killian a look over my shoulder and whatever she saw sent her scurrying away from us.

  Shelley worked for him, not for the police?

  I stumbled forward, my mind whirring. What did that mean? That Killian found those boys before the police—

  Oh my God.

  I was vaguely aware of someone calling goodbye to us as we stepped into the elevator, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than my current realization. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind us, I whirled on him.

  “Did you have those boys beaten up before you turned them over to the police?”

  Killian stared ahead, refusing to look at me.

  “Killian?”

  He glanced down at me out of the corner of his eyes, apparently bored. “Well, I’m a dick, right? Dicks do those kinds of things.”

  I ignored his jab and pressed, “How? How did you get to them first?”

  Shrugging like our conversation didn’t matter, he replied, “We found them through Shelley’s drawings. My birth father has connections. He owed me one, so he had them interrogated. They were a bit more thorough than the police and they fessed up.”

  “That’s why Welsh was in worse shape than the other kid.”