His expression melts into irritation. “Once again, very mature, Hattie.”
“Glad I could be of service,” I say as I stick my box in my car and open the driver’s side door. “And for the record,” I say loud enough in case anyone wants to listen. “You’re terrible at giving oral, you couldn’t find my clit if it knocked you on the nose, and your penis is crooked, and not in a good way. It felt more like trying to wrangle a bent pencil in my vagina than getting pounded by a beefy salami.”
“Oh, fuck off.” He points his finger at me. “I made you come every goddamn time.”
“It’s called faking it, Matt.” And with that, I turn my car on and drive off, his steaming face in my rearview mirror.
Task number one of making him feel inferior, done.
Now, task number two . . . get him fired.
Chapter Two
HAYES
I forgot how quiet it was here.
I’ve been on the go for the last goddamn year with the tour, interviews, and promotions with all my sponsors that I forgot what it meant to sit in a quiet spot and listen to nature around me.
I arrived back in Almond Bay yesterday and stopped by to see my grandma first thing. As expected, she was as happy as she ever is. Just as I thought, she’d lured me back to Almond Bay, knowing damn well I was done with my tour. I probably would have come back anyway. I enjoy the calm, and I need calm right now with my label breathing down my neck.
When I arrived, she gave me her signature hug and kiss, and then we sat down on her balcony that overlooks the town while her aide brought us tea. I offered to grab it, but she told me to sit down—and I listened to Gran bitch to me about the Peach Society for two solid hours.
Gran has NEVER gotten along with Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr. Something about stealing her man back in the day. She won’t go into it because it makes her too upset, and Gran makes it a point not to rage—she says it brings on too many wrinkles. She also doesn’t like how Ethel claims the top celebrity card in Almond Bay because, as Gran says, I’m more of a household name than Ethel could ever dream.
I made sure Gran was comfortable, spoke to her aide, Roseanne, and then headed back to my place, about ten minutes up the coast. Just far enough away from Almond Bay to offer me my sought-after privacy.
I purchased the coastal home a few years ago and renovated the entire thing, swapping out the bright white palette for deep grays, blacks, and greens, along with concrete floors and sophisticated leather furniture. I designed the entire renovation, focusing on bringing darkness to the tall windows and nature inside with fresh plants that I pay my buddy Abel once a week to water. At first, he wouldn’t take payment, but after a month of heading to my place, he changed his mind. Not like the man needs money as the doctor and owner of the pharmacy in town. He’s sitting pretty. But he’s not a fool. He’s not going to perform a task for free for over a year.
He also keeps a close eye on my grandma while I’m gone and makes biweekly checkups to make sure she’s doing okay.
A light wind blows through the tall bushes surrounding my porch as I lean against my black Adirondack chair. It feels good to take a break for a second, step away from the tour, and be back in Almond Bay, even though more tragic than good things have happened here. My childhood wasn’t anything a child should experience.
Yelling.
Emotional abuse.
Abandonment.
I had to grow up sooner than any child should, and I truly believe I’m where I am today because of the one person who wouldn’t give up on me, my gran. It’s why I bought a house here, so when I was taking a break from the fast life, I could come back, visit with her, and have a place just outside of Almond Bay to relax. So why did I need to be persuaded to return this time?
Probably because I’m so fucking lost, I don’t even know what I need in my life to be happy—but let’s not get into that.
Even though I’m here to write some songs, there’s a household full of boxes and mailings that have to be sifted through, organized, and dealt with. A task my assistant would have taken care of, but unfortunately for me, I fired him this morning for stealing. He tried to claim I needed to keep him on because he had to support his girlfriend, who had just failed out of school and didn’t have a job, but I told him to take his sob story somewhere else.
Which has put me in a tough situation.
My phone chimes, and I glance down at the screen. Ruben.
Fucking hell, I can’t escape it. Not even for a morning.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hayes, I just received a complaint from Matt that you fired him. Is this true?”
“He did not fucking call you.” The balls on that guy.
“He did. Begged me to put in a good word for you. Claims he has to support his girlfriend or something? What’s going on?”
“Said the same bullshit to me,” I say. “And the answer is no. The fuck was stealing from me.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“Ninety-nine percent positive,” I say. “I have camera footage of him and a girl leaving my house one night. I noticed my Grammy was missing after that. I didn’t want to assume it was Matt, but he was the only one with access to my house. I decided to watch him carefully, and that’s when I noticed things going missing. Tequila, shirts, hats. Pretty sure he was collecting the shit to sell and make more money.”
“Do you want me to press charges?” Ruben asks.
“No, but tell the fuck that I will if he keeps bothering us. Tell him he’s fucking lucky it’s me he’s dealing with and not someone else.”
“I’ll take care of this, don’t worry.” Ruben clears his throat. “Are you in Almond Bay now?”
“Yeah, saw Gran yesterday. She’s looking good. Plan on catching up with Abel later.”
“And maybe there’s some writing going on as well?” Ruben not so nonchalantly presses.
“Dude, I’m going to fire you if you keep pressuring me.”
“We just need something. A scrap of something. Anything to hold over the label.”
“I know.” I drag my hand over my face as a red car pulls into my driveway. “I’ll work on it. Hey, someone is here. I have to go.”
“Okay, keep me updated, and I’ll take care of Matt. Want me to look for his replacement?”
“No,” I answer right before hanging up.
I set my phone down on the armrest and remain seated as I watch the car door open. Because of the bushes lining my sidewalk, I can’t get a good look at who it is until a box is hoisted in front of the person, and they start walking toward me.
Her tan, toned legs come into view first.
Pristinely white sneakers.
Olive-green spandex shorts.
An oversized sweatshirt.
Her face is blocked, but I do notice a long, honey-blond ponytail swishing back and forth.
I stay seated, observing as she sets the box in front of my door . . . and that’s when I get the first look at her.
Holy shit.
Fucking Hattie Rowley.
What the hell is she doing here?
Pretty sure her brother would have a goddamn heart attack if he knew she was at my doorstep.
Can’t remember the last time I saw her, but hell, she’s grown up, that’s for damn sure. Filled out in all the right places, her hair slicked back into a tight ponytail, an effortless glow to her cheeks, and long, black lashes framing what I know are intense green eyes. All the Rowley kids have them.