He brought her down gently, easing his fingers out of her slowly as she sighed. Wiping his hand on his jeans, he reached for his T-shirt and slid it over her head, grinning as she sleepily let him move her around. “Better?” he asked, kissing her gently.
“Much.”
He tugged the covers from beneath her and tucked her in. “Unexpected,” he said.
“What was?”
He smiled softly. “You, Cerys. Unexpected.”
“I take it that’s a good thing.”
“Yeah. It’s a good thing.”
He crawled off the bed, kicked off his shoes and socks, and climbed in next to her, pulling her into his embrace. “Let’s sleep for a little while.”
“But don’t you need some—?”
“Shh, sunshine. You’re keeping me awake.”
He felt the curve of her smile against his bicep. And it was the only thing he needed.
12
The following day, Cerys pulled up outside her father’s home. Wanting to catch him before he headed to the studio, she’d driven over to the fancy Ann Arbor home with its large stone-gated entrance. Barbs tightened around her chest when she considered that she’d been here a month and a half and hadn’t received an invitation to his house.
There were three cars in the driveway, each one splashier than the last.
No wonder he’d had a Mercedes to loan her.
As she pulled up to the gate and pressed the button to announce herself, she wondered why a single man needed so many bedrooms with likely as many bathrooms.
Like, how many people needed to pee at one time?
Her hair was under control for once, her makeup subtle to highlight her blue eyes, and the new dress had been an investment the week before she’d not yet had the chance to wear. The fact it was buried beneath a thick puffy coat and partnered with her boots was neither here nor there. If she never got as far as taking her coat off, it didn’t matter. Because she’d know she was wearing something power-inducing beneath.
“Hello?”
“Jimmy. It’s Cerys.”
“Come in,” he said, and she heard the mechanical rattle of the gate as it ground open.
After parking, she approached the door and was just about to knock as Jimmy answered. Her father looked tired, and for once, his age.
“I wondered if I could speak to you before you head to the studio.”
“Come in. I should have had you over here before now,” he said, letting her step into the marbled hallway.
She fiddled with the slender gold bracelet her mum had sent her for her birthday.
My sunshine.
She thought back to Jase’s comments yesterday, when he’d taken care of her, and she wondered how the world could see her one way, and her father not see her at all.
“Let’s go sit in the east wing,” he said, gesturing to the left of the sweeping staircase to the upper level. She rolled her eyes at the idea he had a house with wings. A multimillion-dollar home with cold modern art and half the furniture it needed to feel lived in. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” They passed through a large kitchen with a marble-topped island that could sit ten people, and a cavernous space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a grand piano situated right in the middle.
When they finally stopped, it was in a bright room furnished comfortably. Large doors looked over a deck surrounded by a manicured rockery.
She slipped off her coat and took a seat on a wide chair in lush peacock-blue velvet. “I need to ask you something. Not as the guy currently producing Sad Fridays. Not even as my dad. It’s killing me not knowing what you think of the song. Because I know I EQ’d it quickly, but I was focused on his harmonics and making sure—”
“Cerys. Stop.” Jimmy sat on the edge of the sofa and placed his head in his hands.
This had been a bad idea. But she couldn’t let it go. It felt like completing a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle only to realise a piece right in the middle was missing. It was a thread, one that if she tugged on it, would make everything fall apart—the everything being her faith in herself and her skills.
She should get up and go. Call an Uber. Leave the Mercedes in his driveway.
Her father reached for a controller on the coffee table stacked with black and white books. The drum intro for “Am I Him?” flooded the space. Neither of them moved.
Did it mean something that he had it cued up ready to play? Had he guessed she might swing by?
Jase’s voice kicked in and she was reminded of all the hurt he’d suffered and was still processing. And how, in spite of that, he’d trusted her. And how they were dancing on the dizzying precipice of love and sex and all the joy it could bring. How much joy it had already brought.
How despite feeling ready to dive in with both feet, he’d done nothing more than kiss her and hold her and make her feel loved and special until she knew she wanted everything with him.
And she’d left him asleep in her bed with a note, so she could come here to fix things, instead of telling him that she was ready for more.
As the song came to a close, Jimmy looked up. “I’ve played it about fifty times since I got home last night. And about as many times as I’ve heard it, I’ve thought about something you said to me in my office.”
“What was that?”
“You’re regarded as one of the world’s best producers, but you aren’t acting like it. That’s what you said, right?”
Cerys cursed, wishing she’d been able to curb her emotions. “I’m sorry for the way I phrased that.”
Jimmy smiled softly. “But you aren’t sorry for saying it.”
“I meant it, but I should have said it in a kinder way.”
Jimmy got up and walked to a wall of photographs, looking carefully at one of them. “No. You should have said it exactly the way you said it. I don’t think anybody has told me to get my head out of my ass quite so succinctly since a sweet Welsh backing singer a quarter of a century ago or so.”
Cerys took a deep breath at the mention of her mother.
“It’s really fucking amazing, Cerys.”
Her eyes flashed to his. “What? I—”
“You heard me.”
“I think I might need you to say it again.”
The corner of her father’s mouth twitched as he looked at her. “It’s really fucking amazing, Cerys. You have a gift. Some of the comments you’ve made at the studio bugged me because they were things I should’ve picked up on. I’ve become complacent. Jaded, maybe. I think I might need to take some time out from constantly working and fill up my creative well again.”
“You liked my suggestions?”
“That it’s a shock to you shows just how badly I screwed up. I should have thanked you. For the suggestions. For the way you handled Young Punk’s team. For this. You’re right. The edge in this song, this is how Sad Fridays should sound. And somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten whose side I’m on. I started as an artist’s producer, and yet, somehow, I’ve become the label’s.”
Thoughts came into her head too thick and fast to process them beyond one: He loved their song.
“We can fix it, right? There’s time. We threw this together in two days. The band still have session time with us. We can figure out the story. We can re-engineer the sound. What they’ve done so far has made them doubt themselves.” Cerys stood and walked towards him. “We can get them in this afternoon. We can talk them through it. It will be—”