Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(55)
“Uh… sort of?”
“Sort of, as in it looked like he wants to be more than just your guest,” Caleb says, his face scrunching up. I see a flicker of hurt there, hidden in his dark eyes, and it makes my stomach somersault.
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
Jade frowns. “Do we know him? Kind of rude of you to be dating and not tell us.”
“No, you—”
“It’s that singer she’s obsessed with,” Caleb cuts in, shooting me an amused look. “James something. You know, the one who was on the Sexiest Man Alive cover a couple of years ago?”
She just stares at him.
Sighing, Caleb rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Jade, you’ve got to join us in the twenty-first century.”
Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulls out a quarter, and chucks it at him; it smacks his chin, dropping into his lap, and she sashays away to the front counter.
Rubbing the spot on his forehead, Caleb looks at me and sighs. “Seriously though, Angel. You’re practically family at this point. I want to spend Thanksgiving with you.”
My chest tightens. “I’ll think about it.”
He watches as I slide from the booth, slinging my laptop case over my shoulder, apprehension lining my insides like sticky venom.
“You’d better,” is all he says, and I leave him there with both hot chocolate mugs, half expecting to be accosted the second I step foot from the diner.
The snow is falling a little heavier now, a light dusting covering the ground, but I don’t see anyone outside.
Don’t hear the crunching of footsteps or feel the heat from my stalker’s body.
There are no gray eyes piercing through the winter air, locking in on me like they can’t stand to look anywhere else.
For the first time in days, I’m completely and utterly alone.
27
“Okay, and if we bring in the harmony here, the transition to the bridge is a lot smoother… son, are you even listening to me?”
Blinking, I sit up straight, my hands falling to the electric guitar in my lap. One single pawnshop in this backwater tourist town, and the only instrument they had was a black Viper. The irony has stuck with me since I bought the damn thing, returning to my rental before this virtual meeting with my father.
Thoughts of snakes have me looking up, casting my gaze across the lake to where Riley’s cabin is still dark. She’s been out all day, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s avoiding me.
Like she thinks she can escape.
“…seriously, earth to Aiden? Good God, you’re worse than your mother.”
The mention of Callie has my eyes snapping to the computer screen in front of me, sitting forward. “You talked to Mom?”
“Not recently, no. Every conversation with her turns into a screaming match, and since I’ve got about a thousand conferences next week to go over your reintroduction to the world, I’ve been trying to save my voice.”
“Well, I bet if you tried not cheating on her, she’d be more receptive.”
“Christ, that was years ago, and we—” Cutting himself off, he reaches up, rubbing a hand over his bearded jaw. “You know what? Not worth arguing with you over again. Why are you asking about her, anyway? Has she not contacted you?”
I snort, leaning over my guitar. “She was barely speaking to me before I left.”
In truth, a canyon-sized rift opened up between us when the accusations of my sexual misconduct were leaked. And even though I’ve maintained my innocence and provided countless hours of testimony and evidence disproving the claims, she still looks at me like I’m evil.
My thoughts drift back to Riley, the way I finger fucked her in front of her friend yesterday, just because I could.
Maybe Callie sees the truth, and that’s why she stays away.
Maybe I am a monster.
“You sound disappointed, but trust me. The only thing you’re missing out on is the number of times she calls me hijueputa in a day.”
“Yeah, well. Looks like I should’ve appointed you manager after all.”
“Tried to tell you. There’s a reason Calliope Santiago doesn’t perform anymore, and it’s got nothing to do with me.”
Rubbing at the pair of wings inked on my left wrist, I sigh, readjusting the guitar in my lap. “Did the label listen to the demos I sent?”
“They did. Two of the three tracks were approved, but they think the last one is a little dark.” My father cocks an eyebrow. “Even for you.”
“We branded my entire act around grit. Now they don’t like it?”
“It’s not that, it’s just… very niche. Harder to market. I think they want to make some tweaks, is all.”
My fingers tighten on a tuner, and I frown. “I’m not interested in reworking the song.”
“Aiden, be reasonable—”
“Complete creative control is written into my contract.”
“Yes.” Sitting back, he smooths a hand over his red tie and pushes his reading glasses higher up his nose. “And so is the clause about Symposium having final say on what gets put out.”
Violence swims through my veins, but I bite my tongue, not in the mood to negotiate. Besides, when my father’s made up his mind about something, there’s very little that can be done to change it.