"I'm getting real tired of you ducking me. I'm trying to make moves for you and I'm getting voicemail when I call. What's wrong with you?" 

I sat up, swinging my feet to the floor, groggy and disoriented. I'd been at the studio for days, working my ass off. I finally felt like I could sleep, so I came home, just barely making it to the couch. I was still in the clothes I'd worn the day before. My beard was thick and unruly and there was a taste in my mouth that resembled roadkill. The phone, my actual house telephone, woke me up.

It wasn't until Eric called me at the house that I realized I didn't have my cell. I'd turned it off at Big Wangs and probably left it there. My Apple Watch, which was supposed to be my backup and failsafe, was dead. I hadn't gotten in the habit of charging it and hadn't bothered to put it back on its stand.

"Uh... hey, Eric." I rubbed what felt like gravel from my eyes.  "Sorry... I've been a little out of touch, I guess."

"A little? You'd better get your head out of your ass."

Eric bitched a considerable amount but his bark was worse than his bite. Besides, he worked for me, not the other way around. There was a limit to what he could say or do. I just... wasn't in the mood to put him in his place. I couldn't even find my shoes.

"So, be ready in an hour," he was saying. "I need you showered and shaved."

"Wha-" I cleared the frog from my throat. I was starting to come to. "What are you talking about? Where are we going in an hour?"

"You didn't get any of my messages? We're meeting Rex at The Ivy for lunch."

"What... today?"

"Yes, today. You would have known that on Monday if you'd been paying attention. Get your ass up and get moving. It's Rex Luther; I'm not rescheduling this meeting."

>>||<<

An hour later, Eric pulled into the valet lane in the Ivy's circular driveway. A gaggle of paparazzi was poised, cameras held aloft to catch the arrival of A-list stars and their B, C and D-list counterparts. Eric was dressed like he managed an A-lister- dark suit, crisp white shirt, tie and pocket square to match, even in August LA heat.

I was dressed considerably less A-list, in a white t-shirt and dark jeans with converse sneakers. He'd rolled his eyes when I opened the door, slipped on my shades and said I was ready to go.

"I'm not changing," I'd told him.

"It's the Ivy, JC. You have to wear a jacket."

I grumbled and reached into the front hall closet for the first jacket I could lay my hands on. "I'll put it on when we get there."

Since we were approaching the front door, I slipped my arms into a navy blue jacket that still smelled like cologne from the last time I'd worn it. We were shown to a table in a far corner of the restaurant. Rex and his entourage had already arrived.

He looked the same as he'd always looked-- black t-shirt, black leather pants, black boots. His jet black hair was combed back from his face. A pair of shades hung from the collar of his shirt and his nose bore a black pearl earring. He was missing the black lipstick, but I supposed it was a little early in the day for full makeup.

He stood as we approached the table, however there was only seating for two. "Your manager can sit over there with my folks," he said, nodding toward a group of men in dark suits a few tables away.

"No way," Eric started. "No deals get signed unless I'm-"

"Eric." I gestured toward the table and grabbed the back of a chair. "I'll call you over when we're ready to talk numbers. Go," I goaded, when he hesitated. He slowly made his way over to the table and insisted on sitting where he could see me.

Rex sat, spreading a black linen napkin across his lap. He grinned up at me, his blue eyes glinting. "I love putting my team at a table a few spots away from me. It reminds them that they're peons that work for me."

 "You play a lot of games with people. Mind games. Heart games. Don't you ever worry that it will backfire?"

"Not really," he answered, so flip and nonchalant, it pissed me off. "You think you're smarter than me, Mr. Boyband? That you can get one over on me, teach me a lesson?"

He reached for a half glass of water with lime and sucked down the remaining liquid. The ice sloshed around in the glass. Then I realized it wasn't ice water.  I propped an elbow on the table, cupping my chin. I eyed him for a few moments. "It's 12:30. Just barely afternoon. Are you drunk?"

"Getting there," he answered with a slapass smile, then clapped his hands together. "But don't worry. I'm totally alert. I'm ready to talk about this song you're going to write for me. It's going to be a hit, the girls are going to love it, the guys are going to hate it but they'll buy it anyway and me and you will make a ton of money."

I pulled a notebook out of my satchel and flipped to a page.  I turned it around so he could read it. "After listening to your catalog, I'm wasn't sure how well a ballad would fit. I brought something that's a little rocky, still peppy with that sweet note you're looking for."

"Let's see what we have here," he mumbled. He squinted, making face. "I can't... what does this say?"

"Let me read it to you." I flipped the notebook back around and read the lyrics aloud.

You feel like it's all gonna change

It's written on your face

But girl don't be afraid

Let's talk about us

And the promises we made

How they still mean the same

The questions in your heart can't be erased

You say I won't come home

And that I'm leaving you alone

But you'll always be with me wherever I go

Close your eyes

Hear what my voice says

It all comes down to making choices

Can you hear me now?

Do you know how much you mean to me?

I'm just a heartbeat away

So girl don't be afraid

See time goes by so slowly

In my heart you're the one and only

And I can't wait for you to hold me

"Okay, that's enough of that." Rex mused, sucking down his second glass of... whatever he was drinking in record time. "You boy banders like things mushy and lovey, don't you?"

I smiled, taking the criticism in stride. "Women want to see female singers be strong and self-sufficient. That's why Kelly Clarkson and P!nk get the play they get. In male singers, they want to see vulnerability. The more of your heart you can show, the more they swoon. The more you let go of the macho, the bigger the hit."

"Is that right?" He slurped another mouthful, then focused his gaze on me.  "Is that how you get so much snatch?"

I tried to hold my smile, but it didn't work. "Look, I know you're used to referring to women-"

"Bitches."

"--as cunts and snatch and other colorful terms. Do your fans like that kind of thing?"

"They eat it up." He shrugged a shoulder and sucked down another swallow. The smarmy grin on his face made me want to punch him in it. He dug and poked and prodded and pushed buttons until a person snapped.

I was about there.

"So the song," he said, leaning onto his folded arms. "It's sweet for me. I'm not much for writing but it needs to lose a lot of sap. If you wanted to share co-writer credit, I could move some words around-"

"Dalton."

A familiar voice sent familiar tingles down my spine. I turned in my seat to find Lena standing behind my chair. The maître 'd rushed to the table and gripped her arm.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Luther. She slipped in and bypassed the staff. I'll get rid of her-"

"No, no. It's fine. Go." Rex waived away the little man in glasses and gave Lena a huge grin. "Lena Sandoval. Very long time no see. You're looking well-fucked."

I gripped the edge of the table and started to stand. "You know what... I'm about three seconds from-"

"JC." Lena laid a hand on my shoulder. Something about the look she gave me made me back down.  Reluctantly, I settled into my chair. Lena grabbed a chair from another table and slid it across to ours.

"I wish I could say it was good to see you, Dalton."

"You of all people know my name is Rex."

"Come on, now. Let's be real. It's Dalton. Dalton Brock Richards. You didn't grow up on the mean streets of anywhere-you're from Greenwich, Connecticut. Your parents are firmly upper middle class. You played lacrosse and baseball. You're a fucking blonde. You didn't learn to play the guitar until you saw KISS on TV and thought they were cool. That's where you get all your inspiration for this..."

She leveled a hand at his attire. "This look you have going. It's a good thing you were some kind of prodigy. You play well enough that your band only has to cover for you a little bit. During live shows, you play with a backing track. I bet no one even knows the difference."

Rex was beet red, first from the alcohol, then from the filleting he was getting from Lena. "Whatever, bitch," he said, in what must have been his normal speaking voice. It was so ordinary. "I'm riding this image all the way to the bank."

"An image I created for you. Everything you are, everything you have, everything you ever will be, you owe to me. And this is the thanks I get?"

He snorted, then emptied his glass and shook it at a passing waiter. The waiter nodded and rushed away to bring him a fresh glass.

 "JC, there's something you should know," she said, turning her attention to me. "Unfortunately, as great as this opportunity sounds, I don't think Rex was planning to hire you. I think he found out about you and me and decided to fuck with me one last time. Using money. And fame and notoriety."

"Oh bravo," said Rex, sarcastically clapping. "You still think you're smart, don't you? No, I wasn't really planning to buy a song from him. You figured it out... so what?"

He nodded his head toward the notebook, which still sat in the middle of the table. "The song, though. I didn't expect it to actually be good. I could use it, if you're really selling it."

For a few moments, I said nothing. I leveled a glare at Rex and stared until he glanced away.  Finally, I said, "The song was never for sale."

His gaze quickly shot back to me, his expression reddening. "What the fuck-your manager said-"

"I wrote a song," I explained. "Took two days to write it. Burned the midnight oil last night, in fact. But I was never going to sell it to you. The song is for Lena."

I glanced at her and watched a tiny gasp of surprise fall out of her mouth. 

"What I wanted was for you to see what knowing a woman like Lena is supposed to do to a man. I wanted you to see what I was willing to leave behind for her. I wanted-"

I paused, moving my focus to Lena. "Scratch that- I wanted you to see that I'm falling in love with you. And if walking away from this job proves that to you, okay. But that's not why I'm doing it. I wanted Rex to see what he threw away. I wanted him to know that you found someone that loves you. That treats you well, that appreciates you. Someone who is..."

I shook my head. "Really sorry he fell for this stunt and hurt you. I will never step over you to further my career. I will never turn my back on you for money or notoriety."

"JC..." She laughed and her eyes slid closed for a few moments, long lashes brushing her full, reddening cheeks. Her voice was husky and low, catching at the back of her throat. "Thank you for the song. What I heard of it was beautiful. But I've been doing a lot of thinking and Rex...Dalton... whatever the fuck he's calling himself these days...he doesn't matter to me. When I found out that he knew about you, I knew exactly what he was doing. I came to warn you, but not about what you think."

She leaned over to me, resting a hand on my thigh. The heat from her palm burned through the denim to my skin. I hadn't touched her in what felt like forever. I laid a hand over hers and squeezed. She squeezed back.

"I want you to sell the song, JC."

"You want... what?"

"Sell the song," she repeated. "I don't care anymore about my past with Rex. He's nothing to me, as of right now. But, speaking as a publicist, this is business. If Rex can make it chart, it means not just money but a name for you. You could be big again, if that's what you want. I'm not going to stand in the way of that."

"Listen to her, man. This goes big, you could be on top.  An A-list celebrity." Rex smiled like that that was a goal I'd set to achieve.

"I've been there. I'm not in a hurry to get back there. Lunch at the Ivy, four guys in suits following me around all the time, not having any privacy. Losing the respect of someone that means a lot to me." I shook my head. "No. I want the life I have. I want to come home to you and Barksdale and go for walks at Runyon and go to the movies and make dinner and go places with the dog. And... you know, the Mustang is always revved and ready."

Lena burst into giggles, then realized where we were. And who we were with.  She slapped a hand over her mouth.

"So is the song for sale or isn't it? Co-writing credit. If it charts, we both win and you can buy Lena some diamonds or some shit. What do you say?" Rex extended a hand across the table. "Partners?"

I grabbed the notebook and flipped the cover closed, then slid it back into the satchel. "Like I said, Dalton, the song was never for sale."

"You dick! She said you could sell the song!" Rex stood knocking over his glass, his hands curled into fists. "I'm not leaving without it."

"Looks like you are. It's not for sale. I'm going to finish it, then record it and Lena will have the only copy."

I pushed my chair back and stood, then offered a hand to Lena. She took it and let me lead her out of the restaurant, in front of every eye in the place. I saw Eric get up and follow us out.

He would very likely be pissed at me. I walked away from millions of dollars and what might have been a whole lot of fame, but I didn't care. I had Lena and I was never letting her go.

Outside, Lena came to an abrupt stop, which meant I stopped, too. "JC, are you sure about this? Really, really sure. He will never, ever ask you for music again. Once you turn him down, you've burnt your bridge."

I stepped in close, sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. "Lena, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. If you forgive me and take me back, I will happily never entertain another deal from that guy. How ‘bout it?"

She huffed, but she was hardly serious. "Well, I'm still pissed at you."

"I figure you'll be mad at me for a long while and I deserve it. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll take Dog Shit Duty for the next 6 months. Starting tonight."

She smiled, though she was trying not to. It was her most hated task, so I knew it was tempting. "I... suppose I can be pissed at you and still make dinner."

"I can't wait." I dipped my head toward her, but stopped before I reached her lips. If she was still too mad to kiss me, I had a lot of work to do.

But she tilted her head up so our lips met and brushed them against mine. I took that as my cue and hungrily claimed her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip. Lena moaned into my mouth and pressed herself into me, cupping my chin with both hands, using her thumbs to stroke my cheeks. It wasn't until we heard the pop pop pop of cameras that we realized we were still standing in front of the Ivy. I started to pull away, but Lena held me close to her. 

"We're going viral right now, honey."

 "I don't care. Did you mean what you said in there? To Rex... about me?"

"Every single word. I'm in love with you and I want a life with you. The question is, do you want me? Do you want that life too? I'm just a guy that did some stuff that people remember from a long time ago, but if I'm too much of a celebrity for you-"

She stepped back, winding her arm around mine and pulling me toward her SUV in the self-park lot. "There's someone at my house that doesn't care how much money you have and if you drive a Mercedes fucking AMG and how many people know your face. He misses long walks and belly rubs and ear tugs. He has looked for you for days and days and I'm very interested in reuniting the two of you."

"I mean, I miss Barksdale too, but-"

"And then I'm very interested in reuniting the two of us. We have some time to make up for." She winked, then walked around to the driver's side of the car. "And I miss the Mustang."

"That's what I'm talkin' about," I muttered with a grin and climbed in on the passenger side.