Page 124 of Need You

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She sat at her dressing table and motioned for him to take one of the chairs. He preferred to stand but sat anyway so as not to tower over her. Someone knocked and she curtly told whoever was on the other side of the door to come back later. She seemed so brittle, like she could snap at any minute, and he wondered if she’d always been that way and he’d failed to see it.

Clearing her throat, she leaned forward in her seat. “How much do you want?”

He jolted at her bluntness, having expected her to play the woe-is-me card. “I want an explanation. I want an apology.” Colt had also wanted to ask if she had ever loved him. But oddly, standing here, seeing her now, it didn’t matter to him anymore because he felt nothing for her. Not even a stirring of nostalgia.

She glanced at her watch. “My hair and makeup people will be here soon. Name your price, Colt.”

“You mean to shut me up? There’s no price. Why’d you do it, Lisa? Why’d you steal my song?”

“You gave it to me.” She actually had the gall to say it with a straight face.

“I wrote it for you. There’s a difference.”

A tear ran down the side of her face and she swiped it with the back of her hand. “I was desperate, okay? ‘Lonesome Night’ went platinum and I was finally a star ... everything I had worked for. You don’t know what that’s like, Colt. Arenas filled to capacity with adoring fans. All the music executives, who before wouldn’t give me the time of day, kissed my ass. Musicians I idolized wanted to collaborate. The fame—there’s nothing like it. But I was going to lose it all, be relegated to a one-hit wonder without another hit. And ‘Crazy about You’ . . . Well, it was perfect for me.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you could’ve asked me if you could perform it and give me a writer’s credit? As the singer, you still would’ve gotten the glory.”

“You were so angry with me, Colt. You would’ve said no just to spite me.”

He was ashamed to admit it, but she was probably right. “So you took it and claimed it was your song?”

More tears ran down her face and a sob escaped her. “It’s nominated for a CMA. If you out me now it’ll ruin me. I’ll never work in Nashville again.”

He stared at her, finding it hard to fathom how she could steal from the person who loved her to get adoration from people she didn’t even know. People who would drop her like a hot potato if she didn’t get enough radio play. He tried to hate her, he really did. But all he could summon for her was pity.

“I’m not going to out you,” he finally said, and realized that what he’d needed was to face her. Look her in the eye when she told him what he’d known all along. “You’ll have to live with the lie while the people who care for me know the truth. At least give your next royalty earnings to charity.”

With that he walked out of her dressing room, out of the arena, into the parking lot, feeling a cool blast of evening air and infinitely lighter than when he’d gotten there.

* * *

The condo was a short sale, which meant Delaney could get it for a steal. At least for Venice Beach, where real estate cost a bundle, especially a home set on the beach. It had endless windows of white-water views, twenty-four-hour concierge service, a master closet as large as Hannah’s shop, and was less than seventeen miles from her warehouse. Karen had a lead on an office building that could serve as corporate headquarters and studio space only a few minutes away.

Walking through the modern apartment, appreciating the gleaming hardwood floors, she took a moment to exhale. After back-to-back emergency meetings over the last four days it looked as if the publicity from the fashion show may have saved her ass as far as the court’s appalling clarification. Her marketing people were confident she could simply change the labels on her Delaney Scott shoes and handbags and still keep the same price points as long as the consumer knew she was the designer. Of course, the labor involved would be a major financial hit. The whole fiasco had convinced her it was time to move into the role of running her business.

Hiding out in Glory Junction, leisurely working on her designs, had been a luxury she simply could no longer afford. It was time to focus. Time to name her company and time to come back to the real world.

“For this price, it won’t stay on the market long.” The real estate agent’s voice echoed across the empty living room.

Delaney nodded, knowing the truth of that statement. “I’d like to at least sleep on it.” And call Colt. She needed to tell him what was going on.

When she reached him that afternoon from her hotel room it was on his cell and she could hear road noise in the background. “Where are you?”

“Driving home from Portland.”

“Oregon? What were you doing there?”

“Long story,” he said. “How’s it going in LA? Will you be able to recuperate from the setback?”

“I think so, as long as the investor money comes through. I looked at a condo today.”

He was quiet, then finally said, “Yeah, I figured you’d do that. Are you even coming back?” She heard the tension in his voice, but they’d talked about this. She’d always been upfront about returning to Los Angeles.

“Of course I am,” she said.

“Right. I guess I’ll see you whenever.”

“Colt, you’re acting childish. I hoped we could have a real conversation about this, work something out.”