Call On Me. Roni Loren

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      “The Bridgerton Academy.”

      “Whoa. That’s the fancy one downtown with all the ivy on the fences, right?”

      “Yeah. She has a partial scholarship. It’s still crazy expensive, but it’s the best thing that ever happened for Reagan. She has some extra needs, and she’s made so much progress since I moved her there. She’s finding her confidence.”

      “That’s awesome.” He shifted on the couch to fully face her. “So ready to get this stuff done or do you want to sing for me first?”

      She grabbed her cup of coffee and lifted it in a toast. “Work comes first. This caffeine’s only going to last so long.”

      “I see how it is. You’re into making a guy wait.”

      She smiled sweetly. “Endlessly.”

      He narrowed his eyes at her and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. “Sadist, huh? I can work with that.”

      “You’re flirting again.”

      “So are you.”

      “Am definitely not.” She totally had been. It was like a goddamned reflex around him. “Talk to me about rehearsal schedules.”

      “Slave driver.”

      They worked for a little over an hour, Pike talking fast and her jotting down as many of their half-formed ideas as she could manage. Once Pike got started, his brain seemed to work faster than his mouth. Full-on creative mode. The energy rolling off him infected her, too, getting her heart beating quicker than the coffee ever could. This was the part she missed about the industry she used to be in.

      She didn’t miss the bullshit, the business, or the backstabbing, but she missed being around artistic people who ran on the fuel of their ideas and passions. She missed being in that flow with others and creating art. Music.

      “Maybe we could see how expensive it’d be to get the rights to record some cover songs. If we tell them it’s for charity, we might be able to get permission,” Pike said, almost talking to himself. “Or maybe the kids want to do all originals. I guess that depends on how strong the originals are. We’d need at least one anchor song that has solid hit potential. Something people can really sing along to. And we could do a YouTube video with the kids—something fun. Morning shows will eat that up. And how many kids are in the program, not just in the music one, but all of it? A choir of kids in the background of a song can sound killer. You know, like the kids in John Lennon’s ‘Happy Xmas’ or even like the crowd singing in 30 Seconds to Mars songs. It makes it anthemic. Or—”

      “Whoa, slow down, speed demon,” she said, raising a hand and forcing Pike to take a breath. “You’re spinning ideas faster than I can write. I should grab my laptop.”

      He nodded. “Yeah, do that. We can share notes better that way anyhow.”

      She went into her room and unhooked her laptop from the docking station, double and triple checking that the window for the call service was closed, and then brought it into the living room.

      Pike continued bouncing ideas with her, and the clicking keyboard filled the spaces between sentences. But she was watching the clock closely. When it hit 9:50, she set the laptop aside and stretched her arms above her head. “I think we’ve gotten more than enough done for tonight. Next week, we can look at the songs they have already first, and you can see what direction we need to go.”

      Pike pulled his phone from his pocket. “Is it that late already?”

      “’Fraid so.”

      “Damn. Well, guess it’s time for you to sing for me.”

      She shifted on the couch cushion. No way was she singing that song in front of him. It’d be like standing in front of him naked. “It’s too late. Maybe next time.”

      “Come on, I’m sure you can stay up a little past your bedtime? It’s just one song.”

      His tone was gentle, cajoling. Part of her really wanted to give in to him. But that was the same part that also wanted to crawl across the couch and run her hands up his T-shirt while she discovered what his mouth tasted like. She knew not to listen to that part. “I really can’t. I have some other stuff to do before bed.”

      He frowned, considering her. “The same stuff that made you run out of the restaurant last night?”

      Her heart ticked up a beat.

      “You know how I said I have a thing about honesty?” he asked, setting aside his pad and pen.

      The question caught her off guard. She swallowed past the tightness seizing her vocal cords. “Yeah.”

      “Well, I have a little confession to make. Last night when you left the table, I accidentally answered your phone.”

      Her stomach dropped right through the floor. Boom. Crash. Catastrophe. “You what?”

      His gaze didn’t waver. “It was a complete accident, and I’m really sorry. We have the same ring and I wasn’t looking. I just grabbed it. A guy asked for Sasha.”

      Her pizza was going to make a reappearance. She could feel it burning the back of her throat. “So a wrong number.”

      “Was it?”

      She’d gone clammy all over, like all the interrogation lights in the world had just turned onto her, glaring in her face. “Well, that’s not my name, so yeah.”

      Pike blew out a breath and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Okay. I just wanted to let you know that it happened. I’m not into secrets.”

      “I—I appreciate you telling me,” she said, her words coming out as nervous as she felt.

      He stood and she followed suit. But instead of turning toward the door, he stepped over to her, standing far closer than any two co-workers had any business doing. He put a knuckle under her chin to guide her face up to his. “Also, I’m not into judging. Or telling other people’s secrets.”

      His eyes were going to be the death of her—those long, dark lashes framing eyes that changed color with his moods. Right now they were golden brown, penetrating. But she couldn’t give him the honesty he wanted. She gave him a tight smile, ignoring her twisting insides. “Good to know.”

      After a long few seconds, where he held her solely with the power of that searching, steady gaze, he stepped back and grabbed his keys from the coffee table. “I left a name and number on the kitchen counter. You call that guy and tell him I sent you. My band’s playing a big festival in Fort Worth next Saturday and he’ll get you tickets. You and Reagan should come. I think she’d like it—even if my band’s a little more hard rock than punk.”

      Oakley opened her mouth to protest, but he was already at the door.

      He turned back to look at her, as if he wanted to say something else, then his gaze flicked to the coffee table where her phone sat. He put his back to her again. “G’night, Oakley. Don’t stay up too late.”

      When the door closed, she sank back СКАЧАТЬ