Wicked Grind (Stark World #1)(89)

Thank God, Cass was going to fill in. She'd agreed to come by for a short session tomorrow morning at eight, but it wouldn't be the same. Her energy was different. Her presence. He was shooting images with a theme in mind, and she just didn't fit.

He'd make it work-hell, he had to make it work. But it was no longer the show he'd dreamed of. It would do okay. It would get decent press. But this show wasn't going to launch his career. Wouldn't prove to anyone-much less himself-that he deserved the Segel name.

It would make a tiny splash in a very big pool. And that would be that.

God, he'd been a fool. He'd feared she wouldn't see it through that night at X-tasy. And he damn sure should have listened to his gut.

She'd walked away once before and destroyed his life.

This time she was walking away and destroying his career.

He was a fool, all right. He'd gone with his heart instead of his head. And now he was paying the price.

With a deep sigh of regret, he leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the railing as he watched the sun sink low over the Pacific. He had a cooler full of beer next to him, and he'd already downed three. If he sat here all the way until sunrise, he might even work his way through all of them.

The bell over the rooftop door chimed to indicate that someone was at his front door, but he really didn't give a shit. Kelsey still hadn't been to his house, so it wouldn't be her. He wasn't expecting any deliveries. And his friends knew to text before coming over.

He reached down, grabbed another bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a long swallow. Then another and another, until the bottle was drained. Because what the hell. He was already sore from the knife she'd stuck in him. Might as well anesthetize the wound.

A moment later, the door behind him creaked open, and he sat bolt upright, the bottle held tight by its neck, as if that would do any good against an intruder.

Except this intruder was one he could probably take-Anika Segel-and she was looking at him with such a mixture of concern and irritation that he almost laughed.

"Three stories," she said. "And no elevator. I'm eighty-five years old, young man. Answer your goddamn door."

He tossed the empty beer into a nearby bin and was on his feet in an instant, dragging a chair toward her. "I had no idea it was you. Sorry. Why didn't you call me? I would have come down."



       
         
       
        

She snorted. "I managed, didn't I? And we need to talk."

"You heard what happened."

"I made Damien tell me. Don't be upset with him. That boy may have more clout than God, but I'm an old woman with an agenda, and that trumps most everything. So," she continued, "our Kelsey was going to be in your show and got cold feet."

"That pretty much sums it up," he said.

"You know, I do miss Carlton."

It was such a non sequitur that he froze in the process of dragging his chair over by hers. "My dad?"

"He was always a breath of fresh air. Always had a perspective other than this ridiculous bubble we live in." She patted his arm. "Our Kelsey's a bit like that. Although I suppose if we keep encouraging her to audition for dance numbers, she may lose that."

"You think she shouldn't audition?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. What did he care anymore whether she auditioned or not?

"I think it depends on what Kelsey wants," Anika said.

"She wants to dance. She wants the stage. She's scared of it." He held up his hands. "That's a big part of why she bolted."

"Mmm. And what are you scared of, baby boy?"

He hadn't heard the endearment from her in years, and it warmed him enough that he considered the question honestly. And then actually answered it. "That I'm never going to live up to Grandfather. Or Mom. Or you."

She waved his words away. "Listen to you. What a load of nonsense. What have I done? Nothing except working a job I loved and raising a family I adore."

"And you had an incredible public life," he pointed out.

"True. But that's only the surface story. Pass me a beer, Wyatt. Where are your manners?"

He pressed his lips together so he wouldn't laugh, then complied. "Surface story?" he repeated as he twisted the top off. "What do you mean?"

"Just that, yes, I lived in the spotlight, but I like being the center of attention. It suits me. And so I went for it. And I did okay, if I do say so myself. But what if I'd never gotten my break? Been born into another family? I don't know, but I think I'd still be acting. Maybe not in movies. But on a small stage in Kansas. Maybe playing the nurse in Romeo and Juliet. Or perhaps I could be in The Little Foxes. I always adored that play."