Page 40 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

The door opens again, and Key reappears. “Noblar, what the fuck?”

I bite my lip then jut my chin forward, indicating for her to lead the way out the open door.

“Come on, Al needs us over by the stage.”

“I’ll be right there,” I say.

When Key gives me a look of annoyance, I hold up my hands. “Promise, I’ll be right over. I want to grab a beer.”

Key turns away to walk toward the drop, and I turn back to Isabella. Only she’s not there. She’s gone. Looking around, I search for her brunette hair and that red dress, finally spotting her heading for the door.

“Izzy!” I call. I can’t let her leave like this. Maybe I could explain or at least try and make it right.

Almost to the door, I catch her by the arm to stop her and she spins to look up into my face, but now that I’m here and she’s looking at me, I realize I have nothing to say. How can I possibly tell her everything? How can I explain the promise to James? Or the fact that I’m terrified falling for her will ruin everything, just like it did before? I stand staring at her, my jaw flapping like a fish gasping for air.

“What?” she asks, a note of annoyance creeping into her voice.

I swallow, and my mouth is as dry as the desert. Really wish I had that beer right about now. “I just—I’m . . . I—”

“Bella! There’s my little tamale.”

From out of nowhere this blond-haired dweeb with a terrible mustache slides right up to Isabella, throwing his arm around her shoulder. Who the fuck is this? And what the fuck is he wearing? The guy looks like he wandered in from shooting an ad for JC Penney. Does Isabella know this douchebag?

“Oh, hey man,” the guy says, and holds out his free hand to me. “Simon Cranmer.”

My eyes flick between his outstretched hand, the way Isabella is frozen, and up at the smug smile on his face. “Hey, man, you lost?” I ask, pointing to his attire and disregarding his open hand.

Discreetly, he tucks it away and opens his chest up a little further. “No, man. Just never been to a metal concert before. You guys were great though. I mean, I assume. Metal’s not really my thing.”

Isabella tries to shift away from Simon, but I see the way his fingers tighten on her arm.

“Then I’m not sure why you’re here,” I say, trying to bite back the venom in my voice.

He laughs. A stupid, high-pitched laugh. “Just came for an inside scoop. Bella and I both work for theStoneman Press.”

So he knows her from school. They’re classmates, colleagues. Okay, maybe punching this guy in the face isn’t such a good idea. But why does she look so uncomfortable?

“No one asked you to be here, Simon,” Isabella says, her cheeks turning a splotchy kind of red. Not the pretty way they color when she blushes. No, there’s something up here.

Mercifully, he lifts his arm off of her and holds both hands up. “Calm down. Randall just wanted to make sure the release was properly covered in case you got . . . distracted.”

His index finger trails down her exposed shoulder—the one I autographed, and she jerks away with a horrified look.

“Simon—” she gasps.

But before I can hear what she says, I step between them. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

He merely chuckles, the smug grin on his face widening. “No harm meant,” he says backing up. “Was just here to fact check some things anyway. You’re Dave Noblar, correct?”

I don’t say anything, my jaw is clenched too hard.

“Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, other than hot tamale here and a blonde with legs for days, there’s no decent women around, so what’s the point in staying, am I right?”

“For someone in journalism, you should know it’s pronounced tamal. No need for thee.”

Izzy’s head whips toward me but I don’t take my eyes off him. He laughs again, and it makes me physically sick to my stomach to think that this guy shares a work space with Isabella. Does he harass her at her job like this, too? Did he follow her here?

“Right, well, I’m out of here,” he says.

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