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At night, after Noah was in bed, she played her guitar in the library with the French doors between it and the office closed. One night, I went in to catch up on some work and heard her working on a song. I knew shit about music, but I could tell it was new because she kept playing the same bit over, trying different chords and rearranging the lyrics. While I wrote an email negotiating whether an artist would have Evian or Fiji water in their dressing room, I heard the melody unfold, coaxed from the ether by the magic of her mind and voice.
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned back in my chair and listened for a few minutes, until the gentle melody stopped and I heard the floorboards creak as she crossed the room. A second later, she pushed open one of the French doors.
“Am I bothering you?”
I opened my eyes to see her framed in the doorway. She was wearing sweatpants and an oldVeronicast-shirt. She was barefoot, and one foot was balanced on the other, as if the floor was too cold. “No,” I said simply, and leaned my head back again.
“You stopped working.”
I closed my eyes. “You’re not bothering me, Quinn.” It was on the tip of my tongue to add that she was never bothering me, but that wouldn’t be true. In reality, she always was–just not in the way she meant. It wasn’t her fault that I’d rather listen to her play than do my job. It wasn’t her fault I wanted to take advantage of the situation she was in and take her to bed, even if it made me as bad as Jason Cain.
The thought of that asshole reminded me. I opened my eyes and looked at her again. “I think I might be able to come to an agreement with Jason.”
Her eyebrows went up into her hairline. “You’ve been in contact with him?”
I nodded. “A little. I talked to him on the phone a few nights ago, and he emailed earlier today.”
“Heemailed? That’s so civilized of him.
It hadn’t been a particularly civil email. Two short lines about how if hedidallow her to do the private performances without him there, she’d better not try to fuck him over. Every dollar still went to himorelse.
“What can I say? I’m good at my job.”
Quinn smiled without a trace of irony. “You are.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the admiration in her eyes. I hadn’t told her to impress her. I just wanted her to know that this situation we were in wasn’t going to last forever. Even if the thought of that didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should have.
I stood up abruptly. “Good night, Quinn.”
Her mouth tugged down in the corners at the formality in my tone. “Good night, Callum,” she mimicked it.
I climbed the stairs, feeling like I’d dodged a bullet.
But wondering if it might be worth the pain.
CHAPTER 13
QUINN
The next evening was just like old times. Me, Renee, Mia, and Joanne gathered in the basement with our instruments, arguing over lyrics and chord progressions. On a lark, they’d all brought over their instruments for an impromptu jam session.
I relaxed back on the sofa, strumming idly and waiting for them to work it out. Noah was sitting right next to me, his face filled with avid curiosity. He was supposed to be doing his homework, but his red folder lay unopened on the table in front of us.
“Hey buddy, you need help with math?” I offered, nudging the corner of it with my toe. Math had never been my subject, but I was fairly confident I could handle the first grade curriculum. Maybe. I was still relieved when he shook his head though. His eyes were still fixed on my fingers as they moved lazily over the strings.
I stopped strumming. “You want to try?”
“I don’t know how.” His little boy voice sounded aggrieved, like at the age of six he’d already dropped the ball on something critically important.
“You don’t have to know how. Just play around.” I helped him balance the guitar, then showed him how to use the pick. His small fingers looked too tender for the biting strings of my Fender. He used it carefully, letting each note ring out and listening until it had faded away. He went through each string, then started again.
“This is all?” he asked. “Just six strings for all the music?”
“There are twelve-string guitars, too, but you can do a lot with six strings.”
He looked amazed, like I’d told him all the secrets of the universe could be summed up in one short equation. That he could do it all along.
“How do you know how to put them together?” he asked when the last string had died down.
