Page 26 of The Twelve Days of Christian
And her guard is down. I know it when she rises up on tiptoes, murmurs, “Thanks for everything, Christian,” and places a feather-light kiss on my mouth.
I can’t help but respond, my lips finding a home against hers, then I pull back gently. We’ll go there again sometime. But not tonight.
“Thankyou. For everything,” I say. “Goodnight, Haley.”
She peels away from me with a sweet smile and disappears to where I can’t follow—not yet.
I stand there in the hallway, stunned, watching the door close behind her, running my hand through my hair, still processing the events of the evening. Until the whimper of a dog draws my attention to the job at hand. I open the back door and Tully and Mularkey make a dive for the grass. I’m not worried that these two are probably going to be at me to go out half a dozen times before dawn. I doubt I’ll be sleeping much, anyway.
Chapter 13
Day Six
Rubbing at my achingeyes, I stare at the glare of my laptop. I inhale, sucking in a deep breath and huff out a resigned sigh, having found nothing in this one last sweep through all the contracts before Haley’s lawyer friend takes a look over them. I’m pinning all my hopes on Rachel MacDonald.
The moment the show was over last night and my phone blew up with texts and calls, I knew I needed someone else to help. But I can’t face Megan Lamont and all the other suits at the record company, or Vivi, our social media manager—not even Ewan, our laid back band manager. Every one of them will say the same thing: I’ve been stupid and only have myself toblame for this mess.
And while they’ll be quick to point the finger at me, I know when it comes to finding a way out of it, Megan will roar in like the captain of the cavalry and take control. She’ll have solutions, but they’re unlikely to be ones I can live with. It suits their purposes just fine to paint me as the bad boy of the band. This time I’m not having it. That’s why I’ve blocked the lot of them. I’m keeping them out of it. I’m going to fix this my way.
There’s a twist of a key in the lock, the front door swings open and the dogs are gone, like racehorses out of the gates.
I’m both expectant and nervous about Haley’s arrival home from work. We’ve talked lots today. I hope I didn’t get her in trouble with my endless texting, but even with the two dogs shadowing my every move, it’s lonely.
There’s been no mention of that kiss. Is it embarrassment? Or she doesn’t remember? Or is it, as I desperately want to believe, she’s OK with it because she’s taken another step towards the thing I hardly dare hope for—seeing me as more than just her brother’s friend? Something inside me balls up into a knot of nerves and anticipation at the thought of that conversation. It squeezes tighter, as I’m reminded that down track there’d be a conversation with Ollie to face, too.
A Scottish-accented voice calls out from the foyer.
“Hales? Are you here?”
There are clattering claws against the wood, the jubilant steps of the dogs’ exuberant welcome dance echoing from the hallway.
“Hello there.” I hear giggles interspersed with murmured endearments and kissy noises. The sound of prancing paws subsides, replaced by a slither of upturned bodies, the dogs presentingtummies for scratching. The happy rhythmic thudding of tails vibrates through the house.
Rachel is here. It seems all Haley’s friends have keys and come and go as they please. Hopefully, this one isn’t going to attack me.
I wander out, pausing to lean on the doorframe. A blonde-haired woman dressed in a business suit sits on the floor, wrestling the two wiggling dogs. Sensing my presence, she looks up, and her strong eyebrows converge.
“Ahhh,” she says, ice-blue eyes boring into me. “Christian Steele.” This one knows who I am—and from the small scowl tugging down her pretty scarlet bowed mouth, that may not be a good thing. “So, I would be correct in assuming Haley’s problem has something to do with you?” Her tone suggests she’s less than impressed with the disruption I’ve caused to Haley’s happy existence.
“Right first time.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Guess you’ve been watching the TV.”
“Yes,” she says, lips pursed in disapproval. “Well, that’s a right shit show.”
“You could say that.”
She rises to her feet, a tall woman, made even more so by a pair of towering heels that allow her to look me right in the eye.
“Lucky for you, I’m pretty good at getting people out of the shit. Make me a coffee and let’s get started.”
I like her direct manner. Certainly, from the way she’s dressed and the confident tone, there’s a small beacon of hope; I might get out of this mess after all. She’s older, too, mid-thirties, so I presume there’s actual legal experience there, not simply bravado. She’s very different from Haley. As I show her to a seat at my laptop, I’m glad of theirunlikely friendship, apparently grown out of a few girls going for drinks after a Pilates class.
By the time Haley arrives ten minutes later, Rachel is deep in legalese, peering through a set of studious glasses with a small divot between her brows.
“Hey there,” Haley says, “Seems you two have met. Sorry I got held up. A surgery went overtime.”
“Yes, we’ve met.” Rachel casts me a judgmental glance. I can see she’s only doing this for Haley. It’s probably fair enough she’s dubious about me. Anyone would be after seeing the crap on TV last night. Not to mention the shadow of those other lies about Waverley and me that seem like they’ll never go away.
“How’s it going?” Haley stands at her shoulder. “Anything jump out?”
