Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Crystal had encouraged his crazy dream to start working on some jazz tunes.
And there he went again, finding a way to think about Crystal.
He glanced over at Opal and considered sharing his dream with her, but it didn’t feel right. She was here to follow her own dreams, not counsel him on a possible career change. So, he held his peace.
As they drove and chatted, he had the uncomfortable realization that, despite Erin’s practical efforts, he was still heading to his house alone with an attractive young woman. If anyone saw them, they’d immediately get the wrong idea. He was normally so careful that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done more to protect Opal from the paps. Maybe it was because he’d come back to a corner of the world that felt safe from the intrusions of paparazzi and nosy people with smartphones willing to make a few bucks off a gossip site.
He’d have been much more careful if he’d been in New York or London or LA. He realized now that Erin’s alarm had been the right reaction, and he’d probably been too relaxed about this. The last thing he wanted was to taint Opal Dahlberg’s name before she’d even made one for herself.
One of the real downsides of fame was how everybody and their dog was interested in his business. Judgments about his life were based on a snap photo or a clip somebody picked up somewhere out of context. That’s why he’d been so relieved when Crystal’s friend had intervened at Ray’s club, when someone was trying to photograph him.
And yup, there it was again—all roads led back to Crystal.
Damien pulled up outside and tapped the remote that controlled the high iron gates, casting a glance around to make sure nobody was tailing him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but now that the thought had occurred to him, he couldn’t shake off how awful it would be if the media got wind of Opal’s arrival.
To his relief, there was no car, motorbike, or person in sight. Not even a dog. So he drove on and parked in the garage beside the house. He could tell Opal was already overwhelmed by the size of the place, but was trying to play it cool. He imagined how wild it all looked to a newcomer: the sports car in the space next to the truck, a huge house in the mountains, a professional recording studio. He’d worked hard his whole life to earn these things, but he never took for granted how lucky he was to get paid the way he did to do something he loved.
He hoped Opal was inspired by her surroundings and that she would find the peace and quiet she needed here to make the best music of her life.
He took her straight to the studio. He might have traveled the world, but there was no better feeling than opening these heavy doors and spending the day cocooned by its soundproof walls. A massive, custom-built mixing console sat at the center, surrounded by towering speakers that seemed to hum with potential. Guitars of every shape and size hung on the walls or rested on stands, their polished bodies glinting under the soft lighting. A vintage drum kit was tucked in one corner, next to a grand piano that had seen its share of melodies. In another corner, a vocal booth stood, its thick glass offering a view of the main room while keeping sound isolated. Scattered across the room were an array of pedals, synthesizers, and microphones, each carefully placed for easy access. A cozy, worn leather chair sat near the desk, where a laptop and mixing software ran side by side with lyric sheets and tangled headphone wires.
Opal walked around, her mouth drooping open. “This place is amazing,” she breathed. “I can’t believe you have all this in your backyard.”
He smiled. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to go inside and get us a drink. I’ll be right back. What can I get you? I have coffee, a bunch of teas, water, soda—”
“Water would be great,” she said, still taking it all in.
While he was in the kitchen, pouring mineral water and adding slices of fresh lemon, he texted Crystal one more time. He told her that he and Opal were about to work on some music and he’d love for her to meet Opal and vice versa. He kept the tone friendly, the way they’d always communicated, and he hoped that she might relax and actually respond. It wasn’t like he wanted to pester her, so he decided that if she didn’t reply to this one, he’d give it a rest and let things settle down.
Maybe, unlike him, she simply wasn’t obsessed with their kiss. Maybe she was just busy living her life. He hoped so, but somehow he didn’t believe it. He’d screwed up in some indefinable way and he needed to fix it. He needed his friend back.