Page 48 of A Way Out
With his eyes on his phone, Parker said, “Lacey says Maria is talking to the venue right now. They want to add a Monday show. Holy shit. Are we in?” He glanced up.
Oz swiped his hand over his face. This was what was supposed to happen, right? This was what he signed up for. And he’d known there would be a possibility they’d have to stay longer if Bridgette came through with booking shows for the following weekend.
His mother had insisted she and the kids would be fine. “Catch those dreams, mijo,” she’d said the morning he and Maria headed to the airport.
“Oz?” Parker asked. Apparently, everyone else had already agreed.
“Yeah,” he said, trying to hide his trepidation, “I’m in.”
By the time they finished golfing and were heading back to the lodge to get cleaned up for the rehearsal and dinner, they had five new concert dates booked. Three of them were sold out already. They were small venues, but whatever. Sold out was sold out.
Everyone but Travis, their drummer, had their instruments with them, so they were going to have to figure that part out before the show in Phoenix next weekend. And they didn’t have a big enough playlist for a full show, but they could fill in with Panic Station covers, which would make the fans happy.
Even Chaz was offering up advice, pro bono, smacking Parker on the back as he said, “Hey, when you all are ready to start giving a share of your income to a manager, I hope you’ll call me first.”
The fact that the manager was coming to them spoke volumes.
This was happening.
They were going to make it.
And Maria deserved a large portion of the credit.
She also deserved an apology, because Oz had been an ass this morning, and the guilt was riding him hard. It didn’t help that she’d stepped into the role of publicist, despite the way he’d treated her. Hell, knowing her, she’d probably volunteered.
He really needed to apologize.
Before he stripped and showered, he knocked on the bathroom door to her bedroom.
“Come in,” she called.
He opened the door to her sitting at the vanity, touching up her makeup. Her hair had been braided and coiled into a smooth bun at the nape of her neck, a few tendrils curling around her face and over her shoulders, which were bare save the tiny straps holding up the bodice of her dress.
He had such an intense urge to stride over and brush those curls away, drop kisses onto her skin, he had to grip the doorframe to keep from lurching forward.
She glanced over at him, blinking those wide eyes. “Hey,” she said softly.
He cleared his throat. Several times. “Um, where’s Riley?”
She returned her focus to the mirror. “Downstairs with Sam’s mother. It doesn’t take her nearly as long as it takes me to get ready.”
He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to do anything at all. She was the most beautiful woman in the world when she woke up next to him this morning, fresh-faced and glowing after an energetic evening of sex. Instead, he said, “Do you have a minute?”
“Are you going to fire me already?”
“What?” He shook his head. “No. Why would you say that?”
One delicate shoulder lifted, then dropped while she lined her eyes with a dark pencil. “Probably the wrong way to say it, since I’m not currently getting paid.”
“Yeah, you’re literally giving us money while you’re doing all the work.”
“I’d argue that you all are doing all the work, but I know it would be pointless.” She swapped the pencil for a mascara wand.
Right. “I…” Jesus, why was this so hard? It’s not like he hadn’t apologized before. When he’d first taken over the kids’ care, he’d apologized every time he raised his voice, because he’d been so afraid of traumatizing them further.
“I want to apologize for this morning.”
She arched her brow and stared at him for a long moment. “I suppose I should be grateful you aren’t apologizing for last night.”
