Bo & Ember (9 page)

Bo and I looked at each other nervously, causing a quick calm to settle through the room.

“What is it?” Solstice asked, pulling in her eyebrows.

Regan cleared his throat and grabbed Georgia’s hand. “I won’t be joining them.”

The gasp from the group nearly sucked air from my lungs. “What?” they said nearly in unison.

“But you said—” Michael started, but was cut off by Regan.

“The deal Bo described is also the deal I was offered. But Yardley and I spoke at length, and I was able to negotiate a contract with one of her West coast projects. Same style of music, same amount of control. But … I don’t want to leave Georgia behind.” He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

“I told you you could go,” she whispered, blushing slightly as she seemed to try to hide her face in Regan’s shoulder.

“Of course I
can
, babe,” he grinned, “but I don’t
want
to. The deal I have is just as amazing. Sure, it’ll suck to be separated from those two,” he playfully pointed at me and Bo, “but I’d rather be with you. We’ve spent our whole first year and a half together seeing each other for a few days at a time at most. This is good.”

I walked to Regan’s side and put my arm around his waist while I addressed the anxious group. “While it sucks that after this tour we won’t be performing with him anymore, a year ago I’d have made the same decision.”

“I would have, too.” Bo grinned and winked at me, sending warmth through my chest.

Yes, it would certainly be bittersweet to leave Regan and the San Diego sun, but by the end of the meeting with Yardley, I was grateful that Bo and I were getting signed together as an act. Everything we did from here on out with music would be together.

As it should be.

The group in front of us broke into people congratulating Regan, and asking him questions about his deal, and hovering over me and Bo.

“Well done, son. Well done.” My dad shook Bo’s hand and gave Regan a hug before turning to me. “You amaze me, Baby Blue. Every day.”

Tears stung my eyes as I hugged him tightly. “Thanks, Dad. I never knew this would feel so good.”

I truly hadn’t. My love affair with performing was slow and unassuming. Sneaking up on me and slowly coming into focus the way rainbows do after a storm. Never all at once. Bo’s spot as my soul mate wasn’t revealed through chance glances or years of missed chances. It was inside of one song. In the music. It had thrown me full force into a life I’d tried to escape for years prior. I’d needed Bo to love the music, and the music to bring me to Bo.

Once the twittering of kisses, hugs, and congratulations subsided, Mags spoke up on practical matters.

“How’s the deal? Not money wise—that can always be negotiated. Creatively. What’s your control?”

I grinned. “We agreed to profit sharing. It’s a lower advance, but we retain more control and will get more money if certain songs or albums do well. Since we’re already somewhat established in our specific audience, there is less legwork they need to do in certain areas. We already have half an album recorded, thanks to Willow’s help, so that’s some cost savings for the label as well.”

Bo nodded in approval of my interpretation of the meeting. He and Yardley had gone back and forth a few times hammering out details and I’d made sure to pay close attention. My business sense had been exercised in the non-profit sector for years before, and the music industry was a far cry from a 501(c)(3) operation. There would be no tax exemptions granted since profit was definitely the name of the game. Thankfully, though, my focus was in grant writing, so I had to learn the language for all kinds of businesses, including multi-million dollar outfits.

While I’d met Bo during his work with his family’s non-profit, DROP, he was well groomed in all forms of business. His father had inherited a century-old New Hampshire newspaper when he was barely over the age of twenty. A well-educated man, Spencer Cavanaugh spent years learning the ropes, then carefully sold the company off in pieces, tripling his net-worth. From that point, he dabbled in several non-profit endeavors, which is something one can do when they’re worth over twenty million dollars. He used his experiences to guide his children in shrewd business negotiation. Bo formalized his training with an MBA, but, really, he was head and shoulders above most of his classmates long before diplomas were handed out.

“I know we have a show in two days,” Solstice silenced the small talk of contracts—which we still needed to have viewed by an attorney—with her sweetly authoritative voice, “but we should take tonight off and celebrate. Willow is DJing at the Iron Lady tonight, and while all of you were hugging and kissing I called and arranged to have a private room. It’ll be ready in an hour.”

I turned to Bo. “We should go back to the bed and breakfast to freshen up. The Iron Lady is north of there.”

It had been a long and emotionally exhausting day. A good shower was in order before celebrating the rapidly approaching next chapter of my life. Our life.

“We’ll come with you guys.” Georgia looked like she was dying for a little space. It had been an emotionally charged afternoon for her, as well. Until Regan could calm her down enough to show her that he wasn’t giving up any opportunity, I’d thought her head was going to explode.

Once we were in the car, the four of us exhaled in near-unison.

“Well,” Regan said as he drove us down the road, “that was one hell of a day, huh?”

“Can we squeal yet?” I bit my lip as a dumb grin erupted through my body.

Bo clapped his hands loudly, and then started drumming on the ceiling of the car. “Woo hoo! A record deal, baby!” He leaned over and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss.

It was a rare and beautiful sight to see Bo so animated. He was always honest with his emotions, but he was also very even-keeled. That was necessary, as far as being in a relationship with yours truly was concerned, but this was something I didn’t get to see very often. Bo Cavanaugh: Unglued.

I was willing to bet he handed out those smiles like candy in high school. But, by the time I entered his path, life had done a good job of training his guard. Funny, how I thought I was the guarded one. Watching his youthful glee during the discussion of our record deal showed me I still had a great deal to learn about the deep down hidden places in the core of my husband.

“I can’t believe I’m married to a rock star,” I teased, kissing his nose.

He licked his lips and a flicker of dangerous passion shot through his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m married to the hottest rock star the world has yet to meet.”

Regan eyed us through the rearview mirror. “Who are you two going to have look over your contracts?”

Ah, reality.

We had a deal. It was well written, emailed to us with the final details an hour after we left our meeting with Yardley. The I’s were dotted and the T’s were crossed, but it technically wasn’t signed. Yardley stated she’d have her lawyer give the deal a once-over and would be in contact with us by Tuesday. That gave us two days to find a lawyer and have them look over the terms in order to give the impression that we had our act together far more than we actually did.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Bo sat back and put his business mask back on, “I could certainly run it by the board at DROP, though none of them actually specialize in entertainment law, which is a whole different thing.”

“They might know someone else?” I suggested.

He shrugged, looking quite serious. “I suppose, but we need this done rather quickly.

My mind flicked through all the lawyers I’d been in contact with over the last several years. Like Bo’s dilemma, mine were far removed from the entertainment industry.

Except for one.

I shifted in my seat, hoping Bo wouldn’t notice my attempt not to mention him at all.

“No.” He shook his head as authoritatively as he spoke.

With an exaggerated eye roll, I began standing up for something I hadn’t even brought up. “Why not? You know he’s good. Christ,
you hired him
for DROP because you knew he was top-notch. If you remember his resume, which I know you do because you don’t forget a damn thing, he specializes in entertainment law.”

“Who’s the floating pronoun?” Georgia mumbled to Regan.

“I have no…” He looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened. “Ooh. That must be Adrian, Ember’s ex-boyfriend from college.”

“Not just college,” Bo grumbled.

I chuckled. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is two-year-old history, you wackjob. Need I remind you that I had to
work
with your ex-girlfriend
while
we were broken up?”

Georgia turned her head to the back seat. “Ainsley Worthington, right?”

Bo looked at me with an amused smirk, then to Georgia. “Yes.” He sighed.

Georgia winked at me, blew a kiss to Bo, and turned back around.

“Can we get back to planet Earth?” I urged. “I’ll call Adrian, ask if I can send the contract for him to look over this weekend, and that’ll be the end of it. If he says no, we’ll send it to your board.”

Bo cracked a full smile, shaking his head and growling. “I’m sorry. I hate when I have these visceral reactions. Call Adrian. I mean, if anyone is going to feel weird, it’ll be him. Right? I got the girl.” Bo winked and grabbed my hand, kissing it softly.

“Christ,” I joked. “It was never a love triangle. Just a jumbled mess of chaos.”

“Um, it was definitely a triangle,” Georgia shot to the back seat.

I twisted my lips and playfully slapped the back of her seat. “Traitor. Mind your business.”

Once we were back at the bed and breakfast, everyone headed for the door.

“I’ll hang out here to make the call.” I waved my hand to everyone, and they continued on their way.

“You have his number?” Bo asked.

“Google,” I called over my shoulder as I walked to a bench at the edge of the parking area.

It was late in Massachusetts, but that meant nothing as far as Adrian’s work hours were concerned. His clients tended to keep later hours due to performance schedules, so his office hours followed suit. If his secretary wasn’t in, I’d just leave a message and then call his personal line. You can only delete numbers from your phone. Not your brain. Adrian had had the same cell phone number since we were in college, long before I even owned a cell phone. I’d dialed that number from landline phones over a thousand times.

Still, I thumbed through my phone, Googling his law firm and dialing the listed number. As it rang, I started to feel guilty for calling. Adrian and I hadn’t spoke for over two years, and I was going to dial in a favor? I volleyed between asserting that we were adults and could handle a business conversation, and condemning myself for a seemingly selfish act. Before I could change my plan, someone picked up.

“Turner here.”

Oh, of course he’d answer.

I wasn’t given a second wave of emotional barrier by speaking to his secretary. I could have hung up, but my label of “adult” prevented such actions.

“Adrian,” I spewed out with a dash of over-enthusiasm, “it’s Ember … November Harr—Cavana—. It’s Ember.” I rolled my eyes at myself. Ember would have sufficed.

I took his extra-long pause as an opportunity to clear my throat. He cleared his in response.

“Hi. I’m surprised … how are you?” He sounded decidedly older and more mature as he seemed to struggle with exactly what to say.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile away the rest of my jitters. Crunching from the gravel driveway as a car pulled into the lot did little to pull me out of my nervousness. “I’m really good. Listen, I’m sorry to call out of … the blue … but I have an entertainment contract I need help looking over. I’m not asking for your official representation or anything—”

“Is this for you?” His voice brightened, and for the flash of an instant, I pictured the twenty-year-old lacrosse star all the other girls at Princeton drooled over.

“Mm-hmm.”

I took a few minutes to give Adrian the basics of the contract. Several times through the conversation I thought we should have just sent the paperwork to DROP’s legal team. But, mixing Bo's non-profit funds with professional endeavors would undoubtedly cause a major problem for someone.

“So,” I wrapped up, “if you’re willing, I can email you the file as soon as we get off the phone. Make sure you bill me for however long it takes you.”

I could hear the long exhale of Adrian’s deep breath before he answered. “I’d be happy to do it, Ember. Congratulations on your marriage. Sorry that’s a little late.” He chuckled and I echoed.

I didn’t ask him how he’d heard. Sometimes it’s better to not know something.

“Yeah, well … life, huh?” I bit my lip and looked down. In that moment I wanted to race up to my room, wrap my arms around Bo’s neck, and thank him for taking me back.

“Yeah.” Adrian’s voice went somewhere far enough away that I didn’t want to go with him. I was glad the conversation was almost over.

“So,” I started.

“Right,” he interrupted. “Just send the contract over and I’ll have it back to you by the morning. From what you said, it sounds pretty standard. A damn good deal, but uncomplicated. I’ve heard good things about the way Yardley Honeywell does business.”

“You have?” My ears perked up

“She’s no-nonsense and has a hell of an eye and ear for talent. Comes from money but doesn’t leave her wallet open. From what I’ve seen from some of Pace’s clients, she likes to develop long-term business relationships. Definitely not fly by night.”

I grinned, as I always did at the mention of Pace. “I thought he was in real estate.”

Adrian huffed. “He’ll follow money wherever it’ll take him. He’s a hell of a lawyer, though. I’ll give him that.”

It seemed the Pace boys’ rivalry wouldn’t conclude anytime soon based on the half-praise, half-envious tone Adrian always seemed to carry when discussing his older brother.

“Anyway,” Adrian continued, “you’ll be in good hands with Grounded Sound. Do you have a manager?”

“Not yet, though we’re working on it.”