For Love or Money Page 17

  He takes a big bite and nods. When he’s swallowed it, he chuckles. “I have stayed in contact with James, always inquiring why he hadn’t tried to get to know you yet. I tried not to pressure him.”

  My stomach turns completely.

  Oh God.

  “I knew if anyone could help you to remember how much you loved music, it would be someone like him. Someone who was passionate about music and naturally talented.”

  I swallow the last of the food in my mouth and process how to ask what I want to ask. “So you didn’t try to set us up, like together?”

  He cocks an eyebrow and looks more like my calm and peaceful dad again. “Set you up?”

  “Just, we’ve kind of hit it off. We get along.”

  Dad sits at the stool and leans across the counter. “You’ve had some hard years, Lana. When your mom died you went so deep into your music, it was scary. People actually thought it was me, pushing you too hard, but I just tried to be supportive and love you, no matter what you wanted to do. Then when you broke and it stopped being fun, I felt like I had lost you. You pulled away and you rebelled, and it’s been a long haul of that.” He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “I just think maybe—not that I’m telling you what to do because I know how well that goes for me—but maybe you should consider taking things very slowly with Mr. Holland.”

  It dawns on me what this is and I laugh. “I know how he paid his tuition.”

  “Oh, okay. I don’t think that makes his being a gigolo any better in my mind. No father wants his daughter to date that guy. You have to see it my way.”

  “Trust me, neither of us knows him. He’s one of the good guys, past mistakes or not.” I shake my head. “Jeeze, Dad, what don’t you know?”

  “I didn’t know you two were seeing each other. I sort of thought you’d never escape Andrew Saint Clare’s grasp.” He smiles again. “As much as James is a nice kid, he’s troubled. It’s like you went from the fire of Andrew to the boiling pot of James. You might want to take it very easy. Two sticks of dynamite tend to rub each other the wrong way. Artistic people have tumultuous relationships, and rarely are they able to be happy about the other person’s success.”

  It makes me laugh and brings my appetite back. It had been temporarily lost when he’d mentioned the set up. I want to believe James and I might one day be James and I because we like each other. Not because my dad paid him to date me. “Well, we aren’t dating. We’re just very friendly and we get along. The music isn’t the only part though. We just match in a lot of ways.” It’s not exactly how I would say it, but I don’t want him stressing out too hard.

  “Then I won’t worry until there’s something to worry about.” He swallows his bite and looks out at the ocean I have missed so much. “Want to take a walk after dinner?”

  “Sure.”

  He seems so much lighter than he used to be. We seem lighter. Like we were when my mom was alive.

  We finish dinner and walk down the back steps to the beach. I peel away layers of Bostonian clothing and leave it on the stairs. It’s all dark, like the color insulates or just made me blend in on the East Coast.

  Here the light colors and airy fabrics are more popular. It’s sunny and fresh feeling. The warm wind off the sea is a blessing.

  Dad slips his hand in mine, he hasn’t done it in ages. I don’t remember the last time.

  “You know, Lana, when I was twenty-one years old, my dad gave me my inheritance in a lump sum. He told me he was making a one-time investment in my future. I used it to start Webber Records and became a music exec. Not because I had any natural talent.” He turns and grins. “You got that all from your mom. But what I had was an ear for the right sound and a strong business background, thanks to my banker dad. So when I made my first million, I went to see my father, to tell him I had made a million dollars. He was dying, he’d gotten cancer. It was why he’d given us our inheritance early. It was then that I learned he’d cut my youngest brother off. He’d given him nothing. So I hunted my brother down on the streets in LA. He was a bum and a junky and starving so I gave him money. I paid someone to watch over him and be his caretaker. It didn’t help. No amount of money could save him, because he didn’t want to save himself. My brother died of AIDS in the early eighties. He was a junky and God knows what else. I blamed my parents a little for his death.”

  I have never heard this story before. My mind is racing and my hand is sweating, but he ignores it and stares out at the beach.

  “When your mother died and we got lost, both of us, I was terrified you would end up like my younger brother. I didn’t see it until it was too late. It was then I realized how easy it was to love your child so much that you miss the bad things about them. Then one day you look up and you’re scared that that’s all that’s left. I panicked when I realized how far you’d come. So I did the thing I wished my parents had done for him—given him one chance to turn his life around.”

  My insides are like a vice around my heart.

  He looks at me, nodding. “You’ve really proven yourself this last month and a bit. But the true test of success in life comes in the form of a path. For you it is a path into the unknown, as far as music is concerned. I never imagined you would be a very good music executive, but I did imagine you would be part of my label. I imagined your future was with me, making music. The true test is going to be during this contest, to see if you can live up to the pressure of being in the career you love. If you can cope with the highs and lows without resorting to your old habits.”

  I wince. “Dad, I’m clean. I swear. No drugs and no random acts of insanity.”

  “I know. We couldn’t control your extracurricular activities, but Henry had replaced your pills about six months ago. You’ve been off of your antidepressants and your antianxiety pills. And he put a natural sleep aid in your sleeping pill bottles. So whatever you were taking were either from the health food store or placebos. Unless you managed to get more on your own.”

  I gasp. “What?”

  No wonder I never had withdrawals. I’d been withdrawing from them all winter, unbeknownst to me and was doing other drugs to mask them.

  He nods. “Yes. He was very particular about weaning you from them before we started the show.”

  I stop walking. “You knew about the show before I got attacked and Weaver overdosed on cocaine?”

  “Of course. Now, the deal stands. If your band wins, Leo will get the position at my label and I will sign your band.”

  I cover my eyes with my hands. “Dude, what don’t you know?”

  “The meaning of life has evaded me for some time.” His eyes soften. “But I am starting to see it now.”

  I hug him. “I love you, Dad. You’re a peculiar man and a snoopy snooper-ton, but I love you.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “Me too, kid. And I’m proud of you. I’m proud you took a chance on yourself.”

  I don’t have a response. We continue our walk down the beach, holding hands and talking like I’m still seven. And the best part is, I feel seven. I feel clean and free and loved.

  I feel like I am enough—good enough.

  When we get back to the house I head for bed. It’s bright and sunny but I’m dying of jet lag. I turn my phone on quick, seeing a message on my voicemail.

  Who calls anyone anymore?

  I listen to the message. It’s from my doctor, but it’s too late to call him so I set my alarm for six in the morning and fall into a deep sleep.

  When the alarm goes off I almost forget where I am. I swat at the wrong side of the bed, desperate to stop the noise. In my squinted and hazy vision, I see my cell flashing and reach for it, dialing the number in redial after I turn off the alarm.

  “Dr. Brine’s office. How can I direct your call?”

  I clear my throat but I still sound groggy. “Hi. It’s Lana Webber. I got a phone call yesterday—“

  “Just a minute!” She interrupts me and puts me on hold.

  Dr. B
rine answers a second later. “Lana, how are you?”

  Like I want small talk. “Fine, how are you?”

  He chuckles. “Great. You and the young man are both clear. So I will schedule you in for six months?”

  I nod, thankful yet again. I close my eyes. “That would be great.”

  “Have a great day.”

  I hang up and sigh, sending James a text saying we need to talk. My eyes are shut again as I hit send and fall back into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pussy Cat Dolls

  James

  We land in Chicago with a two-hour delay, thank the gods. Brandon is still drunk and stinking to high heaven and Simon looks like he was raped. His clothes are tattered, but it’s the shell-shocked look on his face. Leo nudges me. “You think she hurt him?”

  I shake my head. “Eva is known for being very gentle.”

  Leo looks worried and whispers, “We need to get them changed and showered and shit. This is bad. Lana said get them laid, not give them PTSD.”

  Brandon slumps into a chair and is snoring in seconds.

  Simon sits tenderly.

  “Oh shit. She played with his ass. Look how he’s sitting.”

  I start laughing. “You sure he was with Eva?”

  Leo shakes his head again. “I’m sure of nothing. I was drunk as shit.”

  “You might need to back off that. Lana’s dad is a little intense. He doesn’t think drinking and working mix.”

  “I know. He’s like my dad.”

  “But more open-minded?” I ask as I pull my phone out.

  “Considerably more open-minded.”

  I nod, seeing Lana has left me a cryptic message. I hate those kind of cliffhanger messages. Scowling and annoyed, I dial her number. I don’t want to do the whole ‘we need to talk’ by text.

  “Hello?” She sounds groggy.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey!” I can hear a smile in her voice.

  “You texted me some kind of coded message?”

  She moans and I can tell she’s stretching. “Yeah. I talked to the doctor today.”

  “And?” My heart is in my throat.

  “I’m clear but—“

  “What?” I’m panicking until she giggles, making me growl. “Not even funny.”

  “We’re both clear. So if you kept it in your pants last night with the strippers and whores, we should be good to just have regular sex.” She pauses. “I mean, if we have sex.”

  My lips curl up into a grim smile. “Oh, we are having sex. Lots and lots of sex. At the end of summer, of course. When we’re not partners in crime anymore.”

  She moans. “This is complicated.”

  “I know how to uncomplicate it. You like me and I like you and we make beautiful music together. That’s what matters. Everything else is just the nonsense you get hung up on.” She is such a stressful person.

  “You know that’s not a word right?” She yawns. “You tired?” Changing the subject . . .

  I nod and sit back down next to Leo. “Beat. I can’t wait to be at the hotel and just sleep forever.”

  She yawns again, killing me. “Did you manage to solve our little virginal problems?”

  I glance at the two wrecked guys, sitting across from me, and nod. “You could say that.”

  “What did you do?” Her tone becomes urgent.

  I pause and look at Leo. “Lana wants to talk to you.”

  “JAMES!” She shouts into the phone but Leo takes it, sounding soothing when he speaks, walking away from me.

  I watch as he paces next to the men’s washroom, shaking his head and snarking back at her.

  If anyone is going to wrestle with her over the fact we might have damaged the guys, it’s going to be the guy in charge and not me.

  Nick comes strolling over with a bag of pastries. He hands me a bear claw. “The coffee is just getting put on fresh. She said come back in ten minutes. They didn’t have espresso. I guess some flights got mad delayed with a spring storm and they are waiting on more beans.”

  “I hope we don’t get delayed. I’m going to pass out any second.” This is not great news.

  He yawns and shudders. “I still have whiskey burps.”

  I look down at the erection in his pants and groan, “That’s not all the whiskey side effects you have going on.”

  His eyes join mine, staring at his dick. “Shit. I thought it went down finally. I banged that girl for two hours and finally said fuck it and went to sleep.”

  “You might want to try sticking to beer next time.”

  “Dude, you okay?” Nick ignores my comment and gives Simon a weird look.

  Simon shakes his head, adjusting his sitting position again.

  Nick cocks an eyebrow and looks at me. I shudder and look for Leo. This is a conversation for a man more comfortable with anal play than I am. Leo brings me my phone and takes my bear claw, eating it. “She is so stressful. Everything has to be perfect or she’s going to commit murder.”

  I sigh and nod at Simon. “Let me handle her. You need to have a conversation—”

  Nick interrupts, “Away from the rest of us.”

  “Come on.” Leo rolls his eyes and walks to Simon.

  Simon’s face flushes and he’s obviously confused, but he doesn’t fight Leo.

  They enter the men’s washroom with Nick and me following them with our gazes. “You think he got butt fucked?”

  “No. Eva is missing some of the key ingredients for that.”

  He gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “Strap on?”

  “I really hope not.” The thought makes me swallow hard.

  “Imagine losing your v-card to a bossy hooker who makes you take anal?”

  I shake my head. “He’s never going to forgive us.”

  Leo comes back first, looking like he’s annoyed as he slumps into the chair across from me.

  “Well?” Nick asks.

  Leo shakes his head. “I don’t kiss and tell.” We both make a face, earning a dirty look from him. “You know what I mean? If he wants to talk about it, he will. You nosey bastards need to leave him alone. Him and his bum.”

  Finally Simon comes out of the bathroom looking a little more relaxed. He sits, cautiously, and when it obviously doesn’t hurt, he sighs, looking relieved.

  “I have to know what the hell that was?” Nick asks loudly.

  Simon’s face is red instantly. “We had a bath and she put the wrong oils in and burned us both. It’s been chafing against my jeans. Leo gave me an ointment that takes away feeling.”

  “Where’s your underwear?”

  Simon’s face actually looses color instead of getting redder. “She asked for them to remember me by?”

  Nick and I exchange looks. He shakes his head. “Hookers never ask for my underwear. You must be some kind of beast, Simon.”

  I fight a chuckle, but Nick lets his go. He’s almost crying, “Shit, man, I thought she hurt your ass with a dildo.”

  Simon doesn’t laugh or smile, just gives Nick a deadpan stare. “Really?”

  “It’s not so bad. When they stick their fingers up there it’s called milking the prostate.” Nick shrugs but I grimace, grateful Simon didn’t get tortured in there, at least not enough that he didn’t enjoy himself.

  Nick looks at Leo. “You carry ass ointment in your carry-on?”

  “No. I have a soothing balm that’s for burns in my pocket. I got one on my arm making tea yesterday. It’s called a coincidence, pervert.” Leo rolls his eyes and lays his head back on the seat.

  Simon still looks mortified.

  When we finally land in LA, I am nearly in a coma. I need some sleep. A car picks us up, taking us directly to the Hilton in West Beverly Hills. We stumble into our rooms and I pass out on my bed, face down and fully dressed.

  When I wake I’m having a dream about someone banging a board with a hammer, and I’m in a hallway but I can’t find them.

  I open my eyes to see the room is complete
ly dark and the banging is on my door.

  “James, open up!”

  I blink and lick the drool off my lip, pushing myself to standing. I stagger to the door. Lana is holding a huge bag of clothes. “Seriously, take your time. It’s cool. I got this.”

  She’s got attitude, that’s what she’s got.

  I take the bundles of clothes and bags and drop them on the other bed. “What are you doing here?”

  She stops, giving me a look like that was the wrong thing to say, but I’m exhausted and a little nauseated.

  I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into the bed, curling myself around her. “I need sleep.”

  She spins around, facing me and kissing my nose. “You had sleep. You’ve been sleeping all day. Come and meet everyone else. I heard that my ex, Bryce, is here. So I just wanted to make sure you were prepared to be called my latest boy toy—” I put my hand over her lips. “Sleepy.”

  She makes a sound like she’s annoyed but I’m dying.

  I must have passed out again, because when I wake it’s five thirty in the morning and I’m wide awake and alone. The sun is rising and filtering in between the curtains.

  I send her a text, certain she’ll be sleeping but she responds instantly with a meme of Mark Walberg and Ted (the bear in the movie Ted) giving the camera the middle finger.

  I sigh and roll over, looking at the massive bundles of clothing she brought in.

  Simon texts me a moment later asking if I want to go for breakfast at six.

  Everyone is awake with jet lag. The time difference is annoying as hell.

  I shower, dress, and am in the hallway walking next to Nick by six. He rubs his eyes and moans. “This time difference is shit.”

  I moan in agreement.

  In the elevator he smiles. “Lana came to my room last night.”

  I turn and stare him in the eyes, attempting a badass Chuck Norris stare down that wills him to tell me why.

  He rolls his eyes. “She just wanted to give me my wardrobe selections. She and Leo have been busy.”

  “Wardrobe?”

  “Apparently, we don’t get to wear our own clothing.”