“How do you want to celebrate?” he asked.
“Other than the champagne?” I sipped it, let the bubbles fizzle in my mouth and throat, coat my tongue with mellow flavor. Dom tasted like gold, and it was worth every penny of its exorbitant price.
He nodded. “This is sort of…anemic.”
Spoken like a true rock star. I took a moment to consider. I’d never really celebrated big writer career wins. My writer friends lived too far away, and nobody else really understood why it mattered, especially my exes. As for other types of milestones… The ones my dad had thought worthwhile had been celebrated, at his discretion, the way he saw fit. My preferences hadn’t been much of a factor.
I looked at Killian. He was gazing at me like he’d do anything I wanted—like I was the center of his universe, the reason for his existence. Something sweet and effervescent fluttering in my belly, I said, “I want to hear you sing…and dance with you.”
“I thought you didn’t really like music,” he said, surprised.
“But I like it when you sing. You were super-hot on that karaoke night.”
He finished the rest of his champagne in a couple of big gulps. “Well, if you insist…”
Rising, he extended a hand. I laid mine on it and felt his strong fingers close.
He sang a song I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t care. The husky timbre of his voice stroked my spine, sending shivers running up it. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and we moved to the sweet melody like we’d danced to his singing a thousand times before.
He’d been incandescent on the stage, the crowd going crazy for him. Now, with only me as an audience, his performance was intimate. He was singing only for me, his body against mine, his breath fanning the side of my neck as he crooned one love song after another, making my heart throb, my insides hot and liquid.
And I finally realized—and accepted—that I was in love with this rock star.
Chapter Forty
Emily
My phone pinged and buzzed nonstop. I ignored it while we had our champagne and danced. But eventually I had to take a look at what all those messages were about. They might be just a bunch of “congrats,” but they might be “Oh shit, something went wrong.”
Besides, I needed to contact Holly with the screencap Mom sent as proof. Since it was easiest, I texted her.
–Me: I won the bet against my dad. Here’s a screencap of me being number one on Amazon. Please have the ads go out this weekend. Thanks.
I then sat in front of the coffee table and checked my messages and email, responding to them as quickly as possible. The phone rang with a call from Dad. I smirked. Should I bother or not? Well…maybe I should answer. And gloat. It could be part of the celebration.
“Yeah?” I said, my tone all smug. But he deserved that.
“Welp, looks like you finally hit number one.”
I frowned. He didn’t sound angry. More like…self-satisfied. What the hell? “Yeah, you lost,” I said, in case he’d forgotten about the bet. Or thought he could wriggle his way out of honoring it.
“No, not really.”
“Oh yes you did. I’m number one, which you said I’d never achieve. So Holly’s going to use your money to put out those ads.” And Killian and I would be dancing with the ads spread out around us.
“I didn’t lose anything. I’m the one who made sure you could be the best you could be.”
What the hell? “How? With your fake nasty review team? Or with your very real nasty attitude?”
“Without me to motivate you, you would’ve been just a mediocre writer. Most novelists are lucky to make twenty grand a year. But thanks to me, you’re already a bestseller. Because I lit a fire under your butt and made you work hard!”
For a moment, I couldn’t even react. It was that ridiculous. But then, I should’ve expected he’d find a way to twist this so that no matter what happened he was still the winner. “So if I hadn’t hit number one, that’s when you would’ve lost?”
“No, because I would’ve won the bet.”
Heads I win, tails you lose. It pissed me off, but I knew the longer I argued with him, the angrier I’d get. And he would never realize or accept he was wrong. It was best to cut this short, because my inbox was exploding. They mattered more than him, which was sad but true. “You know what? I never needed you to be successful. So screw you and your idiotic justifications.”
He tsked. “Come on, now,” he said. “Credit where credit’s due.”
Of course. It was all him. All through my life, everything I’d accomplished was due to him, not due to my hard work. Suddenly, I was too furious. Just sick of his trying to steal the spotlight from every good moment in my life. “Fuck you,” I said between clenched teeth. “Don’t ever contact me again, because I don’t need your brand of motivation. And you know what? I’d be a lot happier and more successful without you and your toxicity in my life!” I hung up, a growl stuck in my throat.
My phone pinged again, jerking my attention from my rage. A text from Holly popped up.
–Holly: Congratulations, and thank you for the screenshot. I will have the ads go out as agreed.
I stared at the text, then let my lips twist with bitter triumph. It didn’t matter how Dad had tried to spin this. This weekend would be extra delicious, since I’d be at the signing to celebrate this with my friends. And Killian and I would have delicious, mind-blowing sex—again—on Sunday when I got back to Kingstree.
* * *
Killian
While Emily made sure nothing urgent required her attention, I propped my feet on a chair and picked up my phone off the dining table to look at her social media profile. Her team had to have posted about her topping the chart for the first time. I had a secret private profile that I used online, and I wanted to like the post and congratulate her there, although I’d already celebrated with her in person.
The graphic thanking her fans for their support in helping her hit number one was the first thing I saw. I liked it, then put “Congrats!” And because I couldn’t resist, I added three hearts and five stars as well.
I scrolled down to look at the pictures her team had been posting to promote My Fair Molly. I should probably buy a copy to support her, even though I wasn’t sure if I’d ever read it. No matter how much I told myself it was fiction, I couldn’t help picturing the real-life Molly and Ryan, people I knew, in the roles. And that wasn’t going to be good—
I went still. The next photo was of me and Emily at the dining table in my home. It was taken while Dev and his harem were in town, that meal when I’d said Emily’s books were perfect the way they were. The moment was etched into my brain because it felt that special. I was looking at Emily, and she was smiling, her fingers brushing a corner of my mouth. When I’d looked into her eyes, I’d felt a connection so deep, so intimate that the people around us didn’t matter anymore. Maybe that was why I hadn’t noticed anyone taking the picture. It also had her book The Very Bossy Engagement. Although it was in the corner of the shot, you couldn’t miss it.
I stared, then read the caption.
Be a rock star. Read Emma Grant.