Page 40 of Art of Love

Chapter Twelve

“The very last day for you to get me the lyrics for your music video is Tuesday,” James Lyle reminded him.

“I can have them to you by then,” he agreed, rubbing his forehead. He loved writing, singing, recording, and performing. What he hated was the technical aspect of his career. Meetings, promotions, filming videos, and of course, all the events where he had to kiss ass.

“Great. Are you sure you can’t head into the studio before Max returns?” James asked again.

Abe held in a sigh.

“Three more weeks,” he said. “Then I’ll head straight into the studio for however long it takes.”

“But you are still attending Friday night’s gala?” James asked. “I have everything arranged for you. I’ll send you the flight info and I’ve already booked your usual suite. Plus, there will be a car ready to take you to the party.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” He tried to hold in a groan. He didn’t really want to go to the industry party that weekend. Sure, it was just one night, but that would be one night away from here and away from Dylan. Then he smiled. “Add a plus one for me.”

James was quiet for a moment. “Is there something I should know?”

From the moment he’d signed his first contract with James, the man had seen to his every need.

“No,” he answered and quickly asked, “How are Reba and Mason doing?” hoping to change the subject to the man’s wife and one-year-old son.

He and James had been friends long before he’d signed his first record deal. Reba and Kara had been best friends, having met in college, and James and Reba had gotten together thanks to that connection. Two months after meeting, they’d tied the knot in a lavish wedding that had been in all the tabloids, thanks to Reba’s family’s power and James’s hot career.

“Good,” James said quickly. “Rumors have it you’ve been seen with a pretty auburn-haired woman up there? Is she the plus one? Are things getting serious?”

“No,” he answered, slightly frustrated that James couldn’t move on. Especially since Tony Carson, his PR manager, was on the line with them. Tony would try and use the relationship with Dylan to boost his next album, if he thought it was serious. After all, nothing sells music as well as the rumor of a budding romance. Well, nothing but heartbreak, at any rate. “Dylan and I are just… figuring things out.”

“Dylan?” He could practically hear James frown through the line.

“She’s just a new friend,” he added quickly, “and off limits.”

“Leave the man alone,” Tony broke in. “If he says it’s off limits, let’s respect that decision.”

Tony had always been on every call James and he had. After a little snafu a year ago, when someone had leaked details about his relationship with Kara. He figured both men wanted to watch his back.

James had a one-year-old and was no doubt sleep deprived, which is probably why he was quiet most of the call.

At this point, by Tony’s thinking, coming clean about his and Kara’s relationship and exposing his heartbreak about her death might boosted sales for his next album.

Especially his new song “Lost in the Dark,” a song that he’d written for Kara.

James wasn’t too keen on the idea. Abe no longer cared at this point. The truth was bound to get out sooner or later.

But this time, what he had with Dylan, it was different. He didn’t want what he felt for her to be a tool to sell more records.

Abe’s fingers curled into a fist on the arm of his chair. “Dylan Beck is not to be used as a PR stunt,” he said clearly, each word clipped, cold, for the benefit of both men.

The silence that followed was tight.

Finally, James cleared his throat. “Of course not. Just covering all angles.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have other business to get to,” Abe said, rubbing his forehead again. The dull throb there had grown into a full-on pulse. He leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The thought of the cold turkey sandwich waiting in his fridge filled him with more irritation than hunger. He really ought to get some of those pre-made meals at the store. He was tired of cooking. Tired of… well, everything at the moment.

“One last thing,” Tony broke in. “I’ve got a handful of new advertising opportunities. I’ll email you later today. Make your choices. Let me know. All of them are good and will help with your new album. Also, I’m working on your next tour and will let you know dates and venues.”

“Thanks,” Abe said flatly, already reaching for the button to end the call. “See you on Friday.” He didn’t wait for their goodbyes.

The moment the call ended, he pushed to his feet and stretched his arms above his head until his spine popped. The walls of the room felt smaller after that two-hour conversation, the air stale with the scent of leather, electronics, and ego. He needed space. Something real. Something alive.