“No,” Kace says, his tone cool, rather than heated. “And no. You make a fortune off me, Nix. You don’t need the tour money. You’re just being greedy.”
“We make a fortune on the tours. And everyone with an agent needs a greedy agent. If they don’t have a greedy agent, they’re up shit creek with a fucked-up boat. I’ve made you a shit ton of money. You’ve made me a shit ton of money. But I get it. You inherited a fuckload of money from your parents. You’re rolling in cash. You don’t need that schedule. You write hit songs. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
Kace inherited a ton of money? I try to remember anything I’ve read about his parents but the answer is, not much. It’s like they existed outside his world.
“And on a separate note,” Nix says. “that stock you hooked me up with killed it, and I mean killed it. I made a fortune.”
He and Kace begin talking about that stock and Becca leans my direction to whisper, “Forgive Nix. He’s got a dirty word in his mouth every second of every day.”
“I live in New York. The f-word is just another version of ‘hello’ or ‘good morning.’”
She smiles and for the next forty-five minutes, we all drink wine and fall into a surprisingly easy conversation, everyone telling me funny stories involving Kace’s years on tour. I end up liking Becca quite a lot and as for Nix, him, too. Mostly.
“It’s time for us to head out,” Kace says, sliding his hands over his knees and turning serious. “I’m out, Nix. Don’t commit me to anything tour-related or we will have a problem.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“You’ve done it before.”
“Not when I know it’s really not what you want. Write me some songs. Let me sell them and make us some more money.”
Kace nods and we all stand up, but he isn’t quite done. “One more thing,” he says. “If you get a lead on anther Stradivarius, I want it.”
My attention perks up at this unexpected turn.
“What happened to the one at auction you were attending?” Becca asks.
“It was a knock-off,” Kace replies, and eyes Nix. “I’m on the hunt.”
“I actually can come through for you.” He pulls a card from his pocket, leans over the table to write something on it, and then hands it to Kace. “Call him. He did a bad trade that burned him. He wants to sell. He needs the cash.”
“Once again you come through, man,” Kace says, shaking his hand.
Becca and I exchange numbers and a few minutes later, Kace and I are bundled up again, back inside the Escalade, with Nelson already driving us toward the airport. Kace hands me the card. “Make your buyer happy.”
I blanch and turn to him. “What?”
“You lost a sale when the violin at Riptide was a fake. A big sale. But you’d better get ten percent of the process which will make you rich. If you don’t get that from your buyer, I’ll buy it and pay you ten percent.”
I study him, searching for answers in his face. He’s given me a gift, because, no, I don’t’ have a real buyer, and guilt stabs at me over that lie between us, but yes, I can find a buyer. It’s dangerous for me to connect myself to a Stradivarius, but it would allow me to fund a real search for Gio. His offer is incredibly generous. “Why would you do this, Kace?”
He folds me close and lowers his voice for my ears only. “My money isn’t going away, baby. If you have your own, you won’t feel as uncomfortable with mine. It’s the freedom to do anything you want to do. Anything we want to do.”
I’m stunned by his generosity. “You are like no other man I’ve ever known.”
He cups my face. “And you, Aria, are like no other woman I’ve ever known.”
I don’t know what is happening between me and this man, but I know I can’t walk away. And I know I can’t go much longer without telling him who I am. Who I really am.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The plane is luxurious with tables, couches, and leather recliners. As the only guests on board, Kace and I are free to choose our seats and we settle into a couple of the recliners near the rear of the plane.
“It’s later than I’d hoped,” he says, eyeing the silver-rimmed face of his watch, the thick leather band so very rock star-ish, but then, everything about this man has become a rock star to me. “We’re going to be lucky if we get to the hotel by eleven,” he adds, “but we have sandwiches in the fridge, chocolate, and,” he twists open a mini bottle of Bailey’s and pours it over ice for me, “something to calm your nerves.”
“I darn sure won’t turn it down, either,” I say. “Did flying ever bother you?”
“I was all over the place so young it was like riding in a car, but here’s how I know you can beat this.”
“I’m glad one of us knows. I’m listening eagerly.”
“Control freaks fear what they can’t control, but they also insist on finding a way to control what feels uncontrollable.”
I snort. “I’d have to become the pilot to make that happen and then I’d worry about the engine.”
“You have to find a way to conquer your own mind, not the plane.”
The engine roars to life and I down the drink. “More, please.”
He laughs, and God, the man has such a deep, sexy, masculine laugh. And nice lips. I really like his lips. He unscrews another mini bottle and empties it into my glass. “Talk to me and keep your mind off of the takeoff.”
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll give this a try. When is the show?”
“Seven tomorrow night. And unless you’re in a rush to get home, we can spend some time in Austin on Sunday and fly back late.”
“I’ve never been to Texas. I’d like that.”
His lips curve, his eyes warm. “Then it’s a plan. You and me and Austin.”
“Yes,” I say. “You and me and Austin.”
And oh so easily, Kace August has become exactly that: my plan. But my plan for what? Too much, too soon, I think. Not enough, I amend. I don’t think I can get enough of this man. The plane begins to burn a path down the runway and I set my glass in a cup holder. Kace reaches over and settles his hand on my belly. “Easy, baby. We’ll be up and steady in no time.”
I grab his arm and squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth. We lift off and my gaze lands on his arm and all the colorful red, blue, and green of the musical notes there. My eyes meet Kace’s. “When did you get them?”
“The minute I turned eighteen.”
“The minute no one could stop you.”
“Exactly,” he confirms.
The plane sways left and right. “I could assume they mean your music is a part of you, and you it, but you don’t seem that simple of a man.”
He arches a brow. “Is that right?”