Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(83)

My cellphone rang from the nightstand, jarring me from my thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Kacey Dawson?” asked a woman’s voice.

“That’s me.”

“Ms. Dawson, I’m from Sound Addiction magazine. I was wondering if you had any comments about the recent shake-ups in your former band, Rapid Confession?

I frowned. “What recent shake-ups?”

“Word is the tour is in danger of canceling shows due to squabbles between Jeannie Vale and the new guitarist, Elle Michaels. Is this true?”

“I have no idea.”

“There’s also talk of a messy lawsuit with a club owner. Fans are griping that the live shows aren’t as solid as they were when you were on stage.”

“Well, shit, that’s nice to hear.”

“Given the fact that your replacement, Ms. Michaels, is now reportedly on the verge of quitting—or being fired, depending on who you talk to—I wonder if you’ve given any thought to returning?”

I smiled. “Not one second.”

“That’s interesting, Ms. Dawson. No one’s been able to get a comment from you about your own departure from the band. Would you care to now?”

“No, but thanks for the call.”

I hung up and punched Lola’s number. Voicemail.

“Lola, it’s me,” I said. “What the hell is going on? I just got a call from a mag about the band canceling shows? Call me.”

I ended the call and stared at my junky old laptop. I only used it to watch makeup tutorials on YouTube. With a few keystrokes into a Google search bar I could get answers to my questions, but now I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know. My days as the lead guitarist for Rapid Confession seemed far away now. And I liked it that way.

A text came in from Lola: Can’t talk now. RC is hurting w/out you. Jimmy wants to talk. Just FYI.

Shit, the last thing I wanted was my old life coming to intrude on my new one. Aside from occasional phone calls with Lola, I’d left the band in the rearview. Money was tight, and I wasn’t anywhere close to having even one decent song under my belt, but…

I was happy.

I texted back, Tell him to forget it.

No answer. Lola was either busy or getting on a plane, but hopefully she’d pass on my message. I thought about texting Jimmy myself but that was like taking a ball peen hammer to my little glass bubble of happiness.

“No chance,” I muttered. I checked the time. It was nearing lunch. I put together sandwiches and salads and took them over to the hot shop.

Jonah came outside as I got out of the car. “How are you?” I called across the small parking lot.

“Done,” he said.

“Done?” I said, confused.

Tania had come out as well. She threw her arms wide, echoing, “Done.”

“You’re finished?” I said. “The installation? All of it?”

“Done,” Jonah said. “With nine days to spare.”

Tania let out a laugh. “I need to hug someone—besides the boss, here—or I’ll burst.”

“Me,” I cried, breaking into a run. I hugged the hell out of Tania, then turned to fling my arms around Jonah’s neck.

“Holy shit,” he said. “It’s done.”

All at once, I didn’t like that word. All at once, the ground disappeared beneath my feet. Swamped with a thousand emotions, I held Jonah close, pulling him tight against me, strangely afraid to let go. Afraid of something I couldn’t name yet.

Done.

Finished.

I pulled away far enough to search his eyes. “Are you happy with it?”

“I think I’m still in shock. I’ve been at it for so long…” He blew out his cheeks and gave a wobbly smile. “Eme says she’ll send a truck around for the last pieces and all the stuff that will be for sale.”

“I can’t believe it.” I took his face and kissed him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said, yet his eyes seemed to mirror the foreign emotion clogging up my heart. His bewildered gaze held onto mine as he slowly shook his head. “It’s done…”





“Jonah,” Eme Takamura said, shaking my hand. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”

The curator of the Wynn Galleria was crisp and smart in a dark gray, pin-striped suit, impeccably tailored to her petite frame. She was business head to toe, but for a red silk hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear giving an artistic burst of color.

“This is so exciting,” she said as we walked through the lobby. Her voice was warm and slightly accented. “My team is in the space, awaiting your guidance to assemble your masterpiece. Your assistant faxed over the sketches and the diagram, and Wilson—he’s our team leader—tells me the specs are right on the money. A perfect fit.”

“That’s great. Really good news.”

“Are you well, Jonah?” she asked, glancing up at me. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m nervous as hell,” I said with a short laugh. “I want it to not suck.”

She laughed, a prim, delicate sound in the back of her throat. “Yes, I would prefer it not suck as well. But from the pieces I’ve seen—still in the boxes, mind you—I believe you’ve avoided that fate.”