December 11
As Melody Gallard walked into the office, Beat was reminded why he’d never called. The feeling that swept through him was so fierce, he launched to his feet at the sight of her without thinking, hastily buttoning his suit jacket. Wow. He’d always wondered if his memory was playing tricks on him, but no. That same urge to protect her that he’d experienced at sixteen was still alive and kicking inside of him at thirty.
Beat swallowed hard and mentally shook himself, stealing a few seconds to look at her, this girl who had grown up in roughly the same conditions as him. She’d been hounded, asked questions, lived with outrageous expectations on her shoulders. Unlike Beat, she’d been scorned for not being what the press considered perfect. During puberty. He could still remember the time a photo of Melody dealing with an acne outbreak had gotten shared six thousand times on Twitter. Brutally unfair.
If the press only knew about his nocturnal activities. He should be thanking his lucky stars that the blackmailer didn’t know, either, or he’d never get out from under his thumb.
Funny how the weight placed on his shoulders by the threat to his family seemed so light at the moment. In the same way it happened fourteen years earlier, something clicked into place as soon as Beat and Melody were breathing the same air. It was almost alarming, this invisible net that cast itself around them, dragging them into their own world that no one else would understand.
The woman was beautiful as hell. Had been fourteen years ago and still was, in a softer, more polished way. But she hid that beauty well. Underneath a wool skirt, huge-ass sweater, and thick-rimmed glasses. If he undressed her, if he tugged her long, golden-brown hair out of that bun, she would be the kind of hot that men noticed a hundred yards away.
He found himself grateful for the loose-fitting clothes. Why?
It wasn’t as if Beat could or would be taking them off her. No, he had certain . . . tastes that ensured he kept his sex life private. He catered to them with willing parties behind closed doors, then he got the hell back to reality. The two aspects of his life never intersected. In deference to his mother’s fame, he’d been raised to be fiercely private, and his life experiences along the way had only hammered home how important it was to trust himself—and himself only.
Bottom line, Melody’s clothes and how they looked on her body were exactly none of his business. He’d brought her here today to formally ask her if he could open a giant can of worms. While he didn’t yet have the full details of the project, the possibility that a reality show could affect Melody negatively bothered Beat enough that he hadn’t slept last night. Somewhere around three A.M., he’d given up and gone to the gym.
Even now, he had the urge to carry her back to the elevator, apologize profusely, and send her on her way. Back to Brooklyn where she lived a normal life, as far outside of the spotlight as was possible, given their last names.
Instead, Beat could indirectly drag her into something she definitely wanted to avoid. Attention. Because no matter how many angles from which he viewed the situation, he couldn’t figure out a way for Applause and Danielle to accomplish the reunion without Melody’s name coming up at some point.
It just wasn’t possible.
“Mel,” he said gruffly, his smile feeling heavy.
“Hey,” she responded, her voice barely above a whisper.
And he hadn’t planned on hugging her, but as soon as that single, husky word was out of her mouth, he couldn’t stop himself from crossing the office and wrapping his arms around her. His eyelids drooped involuntarily, because she fit against him as well as he remembered. Like she was meant to be there all along. A star-crossed best friend.
Melody dropped her giant purse onto the floor and hugged him back—and that made him feel more important than any press coverage or birthday party in his honor. It was instantaneous. Honest. How had he missed her like this when their acquaintance had been so brief? It made no sense, but there it was. His reaction to her at sixteen hadn’t made a lot of sense, either. It just was.
“Thanks for coming,” he said into her hair. She smelled of gingerbread and wind.
“You’re welcome.” Her amused reply was muffled by his shoulder. “Someone has to try and talk you out of this.”
His smile turned lighter. He squeezed her. Just a little more.
“Miss Gallard,” said Danielle gently from behind her desk. “I’m so glad you could make it. I hope the subway commute wasn’t too much of a hassle on a Monday morning.”
“Um . . . it was fine, all mystery substances considered.” Slowly, Beat and Melody disconnected from each other, and she seemed to realize for the first time that she’d dropped her purse, the skin of her cheeks pinkening slightly as she stooped down to retrieve it. “It wouldn’t be a New York commute without at least one unidentified substance congealing on the seat beside me.”
Danielle laughed, gesturing to the side-by-side chairs facing her desk. “Very true. Please. Have a seat.”
Beat held out Melody’s chair and did his best not to inhale her scent as she sat. He forced himself to park his ass a good foot away from her, as well. To give himself time to come down from their hug and prevent the strange impulse to continue touching her in some way.
When they were both seated, they went right on looking at each other for several moments, like they were the only two people in the room and Beat started to wonder if seeing her again was an even worse idea than he’d originally thought. Why did he have to like her so much? What was it about her that made him feel normal almost instantaneously?
He forced himself to break their stare. It took him effort to focus on Danielle, but once he did, he couldn’t miss the producer’s keen speculation. And she was pleased as punch over whatever she’d witnessed. Why? Did she think his distant-but-potent relationship with Melody would be an entertaining angle for the show? Because Melody wasn’t going to be involved. Not directly. No way would he let that happen, especially since he had an ulterior motive.
To make enough money to pay off his blackmailer.
“Okay. First of all, wow. I did it. I got you two in a room together and that’s a victory in itself,” Danielle started, clapping her hands. “But I digress. You both have busy lives and I won’t waste your time. In fact, we have no time. Applause wants to reunite Steel Birds and bring the public along for the ride. If we’re going to move on this, it needs to be fast.” She gestured at Beat. “During our phone conversation, Beat made it clear that he is volunteering as tribute. He will be the only one participating in the project.” She transferred her focus to Melody. “However, because of your proximity to the band, Melody, he won’t do it without your consent.” She folded her hands together on the desk. “Unfortunately, due to the time crunch, if you’re going to give your approval, it needs to be today.”
Beat’s pulse started to thrum faster. “We’re going to need more details first.”
Danielle nodded. “Essentially, we need to strike while the iron is hot,” the producer continued, splitting her focus between them. “‘Rattle the Cage’ is number one again on Billboard. Thirty years postrelease. The hashtag #BringBackSteelBirds has been trending on and off for weeks on various social media platforms. A new generation is demanding a reunion of this band that wasn’t even around when they were born. I’ve never seen anything like it. If there was ever a time to consider bringing Octavia and Trina back together, it’s now, when there is a shit ton of money on the table and enough demand for a possible tour.”
Silence fell heavily in the room. Beat’s heart pounded in his ears.
“I was promised beignets,” Melody said.
He laughed. It shot out of him like cannon fire, unexpected and . . . real. When was the last time he’d laughed for real? And not because it was expected?
Melody grinned over at him. “Well, I was.”
“So you were,” Danielle said, visibly amused. She picked up her phone and punched a button, speaking briefly to the assistant on the other end, before hanging up. “Forgive me.”
“I’ll think about it,” Melody teased while crossing her ankles, Beat doing his honest best to ignore the way her calves flexed. How palm-sized they were. Quit looking, man. “So . . . you are asking Beat to meet with our mothers on camera to try and convince them to reunite? You want to film the process on the off chance it works out? That’s all?”
Danielle tilted her head. “If it were that simple, it wouldn’t make for good television.”
“Gulp,” Melody said.
Beat got trapped between the urge to laugh again and the need to end the meeting, because the more information Danielle revealed, the more intrusive the whole idea sounded.
Could he simply walk away from this chance to pocket a million dollars, though? If he didn’t come up with the blackmail money, his parents would become internet fodder. Laughingstocks. If he had a way to prevent that outcome, he should do everything in his power. Shouldn’t he? They’d given him a life of privilege, everything handed to him. This was the fucking least he could do. “Mel.” He turned in his chair to face her, once again tamping down the urge to hold her hand. “Did you read the email from Danielle?”
She shook her head, looking between them. “I’m pretty sure I deleted it.”
Beat hummed. “Applause offered each of us seven figures to do this.”
“Seven?” she choked out. “As in, a million?”
“Yes. A million exactly.”
“Not to interrupt,” Danielle chimed in with a cough. “But the million is contingent on the reunion actually taking place.”
Beat had seen that coming. In fact, he’d instructed his accountant to start formulating a secondary option, in the very likely event that he couldn’t make the reunion happen. A loan appeared to be his only choice besides winning the million dollars—but God, borrowing that much money from the bank was not his preference. It made him nauseous. Looking at Melody helped settle that roiling sensation, though, so he kept his attention locked on her. “I would never bring you into this on purpose. I’d ask them to do everything possible to maintain your privacy, but if the show is successful, there’s a good chance you’d get the blowback attention.”
“The plan is to reunite them on Christmas Eve.” Danielle jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Right here in Rockefeller Center during the annual holiday show.”
Melody wasn’t moving.
“Mel?” Panicked by her sudden, frozen silence, Beat cupped a hand around her shoulder and squeezed. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just . . . so soon? This Christmas Eve? As in, two weeks from today? And if the reunion happens, Beat makes a million dollars.”
“That’s right,” Danielle confirmed quietly, her eyes narrowed on Mel in a way that made Beat want to pull Mel into his lap. “For clarity’s sake, if the band reunites, Applause will own the rights to the reunion footage and easily recoup the cost of Beat’s prize. Otherwise, they won’t. Mere participation in the project will earn him a decent payday, but without their appearance at the Christmas Eve show, it’s nowhere in the neighborhood of seven digits. More like five.”
“No pressure,” Mel muttered.
Beat’s mouth arranged itself in a lopsided smile.
After a long stretch of silence, Danielle leaned forward. “Like I said, we have to act while they’re hot. We could wait until next year when they don’t have a viral hit and public fascination has waned.” Now she zeroed in on Beat—and he got the sudden sense that Danielle had buried the lede. “Or we can pull the trigger on a new form of entertainment I’ve been dying to play with. A reality show in real time. Unedited, unfiltered. Streaming live from the network’s social media accounts, twelve to fifteen hours a day. We would also dedicate several hour-long slots throughout our conventional television programming to The Parents’ Trap. That’s what I’m tentatively calling it.” She paused to smile. “My goal would be to broadcast this journey into every household worldwide. Live.”
Beat’s stomach was in the vicinity of his loafers. He should have known better. How many times had he agreed to participate in some behind-the-music special about his mother only to have the producers dive straight into his off-limits topics, like his parents’ marriage or details about the 1993 Concert Incident? The goal would always be entertainment value, no matter the cost. Did he really think this was going to be easy? And now he’d brought Melody into it, too? “This is the first time you’ve mentioned the show being a live stream,” Beat said, keeping his voice even. “I assumed any footage would be in editing for months afterward, the final product to be approved by approximately sixteen lawyers.”
Danielle didn’t bat an eyelash. “I wanted to wait until you were in my office to give you the full scope of the project.”
“Why?” Beat stood without waiting for an answer, hastily buttoning his suit jacket. “I’m sorry about this, Mel. Let’s go. I wouldn’t put you through something like this.”
“I know,” Mel said automatically, before shaking herself. “I mean . . . it’s a lot to take in.”
“Too much,” Beat agreed.
Danielle remained serene. “If I could just—”
“Beat,” Melody said, standing, looking at him as if through fresh eyes. “Could we speak somewhere privately?”
Being alone with you isn’t a good idea. Why was that his first thought?
Something about this woman magnetized and fascinated him, but surely he could refrain from asking her out long enough to have one conversation. “Yes. Of course.”
“There is a cafeteria on the fourth floor. They have coffee. I’ll have my assistant prepare the table.” Danielle smiled. “I’ll wait here until you’re ready to talk again.”
Beat gestured for Melody to precede him. “If we decide to talk again.”
The cheerful-looking receptionist chose that moment to enter the office with a tray of beignets, which Melody intercepted before the girl could set it down on the desk. She held it out to a bemused Danielle so the producer could snag a few, then carried the rest of the baked goods out of the office while Beat followed in her wake. And it didn’t make any sense, but as they rode downward in the elevator chewing on beignets and staring at each other, he wondered if he’d been missing Melody his entire life.
