As Dust Dances

  “Aye, I ken what that’s like.”

  “You okay?”

  He shrugged. “Same old.” His face fell. “Mandy left.”

  Curious to know if she’d taken my advice, I asked, “Do you know where she went?”

  “Aye, one of oor pals says she got help. She’s living in shared housing. Got a cleaning job, believe it no.”

  Relief moved through me that she’d taken my advice. “That’s good.”

  “I dunno aboot that. We were doin’ awrite here.” He grumbled. “We had each other.”

  I contemplated him; his cheekbones looked even hollower than before. It was awful but I didn’t want to give him money. I knew he’d only use it for drugs. “Can I buy you something to eat?”

  He stared at me, seeming to read my thoughts. He pushed, “Money would be better.”

  Sighing heavily, I stood up. “I’m not giving you money, Ham.”

  Curling his lip in disdain, he retorted, “Ye’re no any better than us, ye know. Whoever ye are now, once ye’re like us, ye cannae go back.”

  No, I couldn’t go back. Everything that had happened to me here would always be a part of me. Including Killian.

  Heroin wasn’t my addiction. Killian was.

  But unlike Ham, I would beat mine.

  “Goodbye, Ham.” I walked away.

  “I REALLY THINK IF YOU’RE going to launch this album, you should take some of these interview requests,” Gayle said as we talked on the phone a few hours later.

  I’d snuck back into the hotel through the service entrance and was safely ensconced in my suite.

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Yeah, Killian said as much.”

  I flinched at the mere sound of his name. “Well, he was right.”

  “But there’s so much positivity out there about this, Sky. It’s opened up a lot of discussion about so many things, including the importance of mental health. You know how amazing it is when celebrities admit they’re normal people too with the same fears and problems as everyone else. You could do a lot of good here.”

  “At the sacrifice of my own mental health?”

  She was silent a moment and then huffed, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Anyway, I really didn’t call to annoy you. I called because I wanted to let you know that if you want me to, I’d be happy to manage you again through your solo career.”

  Grateful for the offer, I also knew I had to be honest with her. “Gayle, I would like that, but you have to know that once I’m done fulfilling my contract for this album, promoting it, touring, whatever, I’m out.”

  “You’re out?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to do this. Be a star.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  I’d thought about that a lot and the answer was kind of glaringly obvious. “I want to write and produce music. I want to be behind the scenes.”

  “Okay. Well. That’s not my forte. I don’t handle songwriters, generally, but I can make an exception. If you want to be a songwriter, I’ll help you do that.”

  For the first time in what felt like days, my lips stretched into a genuine smile and I felt a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of that life waiting for me. “Gayle Leiderman, you just became my new favorite person.”

  “Fantastic,” she chirped. “I’ll send over a new contract to the hotel. We’ll keep it yearly for now since we’ll have to change the language when you change careers.”

  “Great. I’ll let the hotel know you’re faxing it over. And Gayle . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. For understanding.”

  “It’s hard for me but I try.”

  We hung up and for a moment I didn’t think about my pain. Hope smashed through it in that second. I was only twenty-four, after all. I still had time to get my life back on the path I wanted it to be on.

  The hotel phone ringing shattered the nice moment.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Finch, I have an Eve Smythe of Skyscraper Records on the line. Can I connect her?”

  Those butterflies I’d grown so accustomed to made themselves violently known. “Sure.”

  I waited until I heard Eve’s tentative, “Hello?”

  “You’ve got me, Eve.”

  “Oh, good. Hi, Skylar. I’m calling to let you know that Mr. Byrne would like you to meet with him today at one o’clock here at the label.”

  Shit. The last thing I wanted to do was be in the same room with that guy. “Regarding?”

  “The current media situation and the launch of your album.”

  Knowing that this was going to happen at some point whether I liked it or not, I decided to get it out of the way. But first, “Will Mr. O’Dea be in attendance?”

  “Yes, he’ll be here too.”

  A burning weight pressed down on my chest at the thought of seeing him so soon. “Okay. One o’clock it is.”

  * * *

  I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW BAD I looked until Eve winced when she met me at reception that afternoon.

  “This whole thing is really taking its toll on you,” she said sympathetically as she led me down the hall. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

  I shook my head. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “You know, you should ask the hotel for some cucumber slices. For your eyes. They’ll reduce the puffiness.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “So people won’t know you’ve been crying.”

  I gave her a pained smile.

  “Bloody tabloids. Bottom-feeders.”

  I’d agree but they weren’t the reason I looked like I’d been crying nonstop for a week.

  Eve drew me to a stop outside James Byrne’s office and knocked.

  “Come in!” he barked from inside and I pinched my lips together. Ass.

  Killian’s assistant shot me a commiserating look, I guess because I had to deal with the prick, and opened the door. “Miss Finch is here, sir.”

  “Send her in and go.”

  Ugh.

  I stepped into his office and immediately halted at the sight of Killian sitting on one of two chairs in front of a glass-and-chrome desk. His uncle sat behind the desk, a floor-to-ceiling window behind him with a fantastic view along the River Clyde. It would’ve been a mirror image of Killian’s office if the walls weren’t so bare. Whereas Killian’s was covered in his passion for the job, his uncle’s had two probably expensive pieces of artwork on his walls and nothing else.

  I looked at Killian. He sat sprawled on the chair, his left ankle resting on his right knee. Although he wore a suit, his tie was loose and askew and he had an overall disheveled demeanor. He hadn’t shaved either.

  I tentatively crossed the room and slipped into the chair beside him and when I chanced another glance at him, our eyes met. His were bloodshot, his expression wounded and furious.

  “You’ll have to forgive my nephew’s appearance, Miss Finch,” James said smoothly. “The boy forgot his manners today.”

  I sneered at him. “You call Mr. O’Dea a boy one more time and I’m going to leave your office and never come back.”

  James’s eyes narrowed and I could feel the heat of Killian’s gaze burning into me. “I’m sorry, we have a problem?”

  “Your condescending attitude is a problem, yes.”

  “Skylar,” Killian warned. Our eyes locked and if possible, he looked even more pissed at me. “I don’t need you defending me.”

  “Why would she defend you?” James pushed his chair back. “Might it be because you’re sleeping with each other?”

  Shock rooted me to my chair.

  “You’re surprised I know? Really? You were carrying on an affair in a building in which I own many of the properties. Including properties my employees rent.”

  “You had someone spying on us?” Killian curled his lip in disgust.

  “No. You don’t interest me that much. But another employee saw you kissing as you got out of the lift. He asked me if I knew about the conflict of interest this pos
ed. Of course, I didn’t know what he was talking about it. But did I know my nephew is reckless and immature? That I did know so it really came as no surprise.”

  “We’re not together anymore,” I said.

  He snorted and gestured to us. “Clearly. The angst is almost amusing.”

  “James,” Killian warned him, sitting forward in his chair, “don’t push me right now.”

  His uncle’s expression darkened. “No. Don’t you push me right now. I’ve shut up the employee who knows about you and no one else is to ever know. I want all the media focus on Skylar and this album, not on some misguided romance with her A&R exec.” He rounded the desk and sat on its edge, contemplating me. “There’s a storm out there, Miss Finch. A big, bloody storm with your name on it, and we’re going to make sure this album gets caught up in it.”

  Trepidation filled me. “How?”

  “Well, for a start, I’ve rescheduled that interview with Good Morning Britain. And then we’re heading to the States. There are a lot of big-hitter interviewers over there who want you on their sofas.”

  What? No! “But—”

  “Lois told me about your deal with Killian. I checked the contract and your little clause about the media is in there.” He glared at his nephew. “That was ill-conceived.”

  Killian pushed up out of his chair and paced behind it. James watched him as if sickeningly entertained by his nephew’s distress.

  “If you saw the clause, then you know I don’t have to do that interview.”

  “Or post on your social media or engage with your fans, or basically do anything that ensures this album’s success.”

  “We can make this album a success without all that.”

  “Maybe,” he acknowledged, “but look at your social media. No one had commented on your Twitter or Instagram in months until that stalker posted the photos of you and your band a few days ago. Until they were reminded, they forgot about you. That’s how it works.”

  “Get to the point, James,” Killian demanded.

  His uncle didn’t look at him. He focused on me. “My point is that unless you agree to do exactly what Lois advises you to do for this album launch, advice that includes radio and television interviews and sharing every boring minutiae of your life with your fans, I’m going to fire my nephew.”

  Killian’s low, hoarse fury filled the room. “You son of a bitch.”

  “And not only that,” he looked at his nephew now, emotionless, cold, “I’ll make sure he never works in the music industry again.”

  Disbelief slackened my jaw. “You would threaten your own family for an album?”

  He frowned at me like he thought I was simple. “Not just any album, Miss Finch. An album riding the coattails of an international sob story that has gripped millions. Millions who will buy the album. We’ve never had an opportunity like that at this label. I intend to make sure we take advantage of it.”

  Realizing he might be a sociopath, I stared unseeing at the ground. I was trapped. Again. “Fine.” I stood, my legs shaking a little, but I refused to let James see me beaten. I glared at him, hoping he could taste my vitriol. “But when this is all over and you and I are no longer legally bound to each other, I’m going to make it my life’s mission to ruin you.”

  I walked away, flicking a look at Killian who stared at me like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

  “You’re needed here at eight tomorrow morning for the album cover shoot,” James called after me.

  My answer to that was to slam his office door so hard after me, I could hear the window behind his desk shudder.

  Eve’s head jerked up from her place across the room but I couldn’t talk to her. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I needed to get out of there.

  I heard James’s office door open behind me and then, “Skylar, wait.”

  Killian caught my arm, jerking me to halt. I glared at him. “Let me go.”

  His grip on me only tightened as he hissed, “Don’t you dare do what he says. Not for me.”

  “You want to lose your job? Everything you’ve worked for? Everything you love?”

  Condemnation darkened his gaze. “Not everything I love.”

  I tugged on my arm, stumbling back from him. “I need to go.”

  “Don’t do it. He’s not going to fire me. He can’t, Skylar. He doesn’t have a fucking leg to stand on. He knows I’ll sue him for wrongful termination.”

  “Do you know how long lawsuits take, Killian? How much money? What are you going to do in the meantime? No label will touch you while you’re suing another label.”

  Frustration blazed across his face. “Fuck!” He turned away, head in his hands.

  And I used the opportunity to escape.

  Eve stared at me with wide eyes, obviously wondering what the hell was going on. I hurried past her desk.

  “Skylar!” Killian called after me. “Don’t do it!” To anyone else, he likely sounded angry, but I could hear the desperation in his voice. “Not for me! Do you hear me? Skylar!”

  As the elevator descended through the building, I could still hear him shouting my name in my head. He was right. I didn’t need to do this. I had a contract that said so. But how could I let James ruin Killian’s entire career? For me it was merely a year, maybe eighteen months of unhappiness, versus the man I loved facing a lifetime of failure and disappointment.

  Because that was it at the end of the day. The thing James took a stab in the dark at.

  I loved Killian.

  I resented that love now, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there with its claws buried deep inside me.

  Love.

  Was there anything ever more complicated in this life?

  DESPITE MY DECISION TO HELP Killian, there was honestly a piece of me that clung to the belief that he’d turn up at the hotel or at least call to reiterate that I shouldn’t give into his uncle’s demands. He didn’t. No show. No call.

  As I lay in the bed in my hotel room that night, my anger toward Killian grew.

  He was going to let me do this.

  And I know I said I would and I hated being that woman who said one thing when she really felt another, but I’d honestly expected Killian to stand up for me more. That was what he was known for! Protecting the people he cared about.

  However, this was his career. It was different. It meant so much to him to prove himself to his uncle, to beat him at the success game, and if I didn’t do this, his uncle won a pretty goddamned huge fight between them.

  I tossed and turned all night, a mass of confusion and hurt.

  When I finally got out of bed the next morning, I groaned at the sight of myself in the mirror. I really hoped the makeup artist for the album cover shoot was a genius with dark circles. I looked like hell.

  The paparazzi surrounding the hotel had decreased that morning as Rick and Angus got me into their SUV.

  “Do you think that means they’re giving up?” I asked hopefully.

  “For now,” Angus replied.

  For now.

  As soon as I indulged them again, it would flare up.

  Great.

  “I should do what Daniel Radcliffe did.” I grinned thinking about it. “He wore the same clothes for months to frustrate the paparazzi because every photo they took looked like it was from the same day. They were worthless.”

  Rick chuckled. “Buy a bunch of the same jeans and jumpers. You could make it work.”

  I might do that. It was a way of still holding onto that defiance and control James was trying to take from me. “Unless the label has other plans for me, I need to shop tomorrow. I have to buy a laptop, get a phone from this century, and buy a couple dozen pairs of the same jeans and sweater.”

  Rick looked over his shoulder at me, grinning. “We can make that happen.”

  A couple of paparazzi waited for me outside the building and one nearly clocked me with his camera before Angus moved him out of the way.

  “Come on, Skylar! We just want to know wh
at you’re doing here!”

  I ignored them and strode toward the elevator with purpose.

  “We’ll be here,” Rick said.

  I thanked them, smiled at the building security guard, and stepped into the elevator.

  Closing my eyes, I took slow, calming breaths.

  I could do this.

  Eve greeted me at reception. I frowned. “Where’s Justin?”

  “It’s only 7:55 a.m. The office doesn’t technically open until 8:30.”

  “Oh, right.” I glanced around, only now noticing that the place was pretty much empty. “Where is this team? Do we know where we’re shooting the cover?” I asked as I followed Eve down the hall.

  “Actually, they’re not here. Mr. O’Dea asked me to bring you to his uncle’s office.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged but wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  Hmm.

  Exhausted at the thought of another confrontation, I had to force myself to walk into that office. Sure enough, James was sitting behind his desk while Killian stood with his hands on the back of one of the chairs in front of it. Today he looked much better. Clean-shaven, and his suit, shirt, and tie were immaculate. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his tired eyes.

  He straightened when I walked in, his gaze flicking to Eve. “Eve, I’d like you to stay.”

  James scoffed, “I’m not discussing business with an intern.”

  “She’s my assistant,” Killian stressed. “And this morning, she’s here because she knows what I’m about to say is true. She’s here to testify to it if you don’t believe me.”

  “This isn’t a courtroom.” James bolted upwards in his seat, eyeing his nephew in suspicion. “What the bloody hell is going on? Why did you call me in here today?”

  I waited, studying Killian, feeling clueless. He turned to look at me and I felt breathless at the thousand silent apologies in his gaze. “To right a wrong,” he answered.

  “Get to the point.”

  “The point, Uncle,” Killian dragged his gaze from mine to James, “is that we have a problem with Miss Finch’s contract.”

  James tensed. “What kind of problem?”