Relief flooded through her. It didn’t wash away the heat still flooding certain parts of her body—which she shouldn’t be thinking about—but it was a start. “Well, it’s a father and daughter. I haven’t met them, but Greg and the dad go back. Like, I think, to high school. Now he’s some bigwig at a financial firm and has some local investors interested in getting into the movie business.”
“Greg said the daughter wanted me specifically to be there. Any idea what that’s about?”
Tru had an idea but wasn’t going to voice that here. Starfucker might almost make her sound jealous.
Although he was probably used to that, with all the groupies.
She’d never understood that mentality. Sex certainly wasn’t sacred, but she had to at least know the guy a few days to want to get in bed with him, not just think he was hot.
“The daughter works for one of the local newspapers, so I’m assuming that’s her angle.”
“What? You haven’t had their backgrounds checked and fingerprints run through the national database?”
She stiffened but . . . he was right. She totally would’ve done that if Greg hadn’t specifically told her not to.
“Greg told me they were good.”
“And Greg’s word is law.”
She didn’t hear any snark in his tone, but her back went up anyway. It was an immediate response to anyone who dissed Greg in any way. Yes, she knew she was way too sensitive, but the man was a legend for a reason.
“Well, it is his company. And a damn good one. And he’s a damn good guy—”
“Tru, stop. I wasn’t dissing the guy. You know I think he’s amazing. I was just . . .” He stopped and uttered a short, sharp snort. “Yeah, I guess I just wish I wasn’t so fucked up sometimes.”
The bitter tinge of self-hatred in his voice stopped her cold. “Sebastian, what—”
“Aw . . . fuck. Christ, forget I said that. I don’t know why— Look, I’m just talking out of my ass. So, you look fu—freaking hot, Tru. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than work clothes or jeans.”
Head spinning, she realized two things at once. First, he was trying to deflect. And second . . . she lit up like a Christmas tree when he called her hot.
Her stomach tightened into a ball and her skin felt tingly and flushed. And, holy hell, her thighs clenched and she actually got wet.
God, she couldn’t breathe. But she had to say something. Couldn’t let him think she didn’t appreciate his words.
“Thank you. You look pretty—amazing, too.”
He laughed. “Is that code for ‘I can’t believe you wore a suit’?”
“No. I . . . I . . . just . . . I’ve never seen you in a suit.”
“Shocked, huh?”
She huffed. “You’re determined to piss me off, aren’t you?”
He stopped laughing immediately. “Actually, no. Sorry. I’m trying not to be a prick, but obviously, I can’t help myself.”
“No. That’s not it.” In the dim light from the dashboard, she saw his jaw flex. “You’re not being a prick, and I’m not trying to get a rise out of you. Truce, remember?”
Baz slid a quick glance her way. “Yeah. Truce.”
“So . . . tell me about this car. My dad would love this, by the way.”
“Then your dad has damn good taste.”
Baz started to talk in a language she didn’t understand but that her dad definitely would have. Something about headers and engine block, and she nodded as he spoke about his car almost as eloquently as he did about music.
She realized, after a couple of minutes, that she was listening more to the sound of his voice than what he was saying. His voice held a bit of a rasp, like he smoked way too much. Or screamed every night for a living.
But she knew he didn’t smoke, and he hadn’t stepped on a stage in almost a year. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he missed it.
He eventually wound down his one-sided conversation about his car and slid her another glance. She let her gaze connect with his for a second and saw his narrow before his mouth twisted with a wry grimace.
“Sorry. I tend to get carried away when I’m talking about music or muscle cars.”
“Do you miss performing?”
The question escaped before she had time to censor herself. She sometimes wondered if the reason he was so pissy was because he missed his band.
He sucked in a short breath, like she’d smacked him. She almost felt like she should apologize for prying, but she honestly wanted to know.
And she was sick of fighting with this man, sick of wondering whether they’d start bickering the second he walked in the door in the morning. It’d become almost routine. He’d say something, she’d say something, and it would go to hell from there.
“Yeah. I do.”
His voice was almost too soft to hear, but it didn’t seem like he didn’t want her to hear. It sounded like he was talking to himself.
“Then when are you going to see your bandmates again? I understand you write with your singer.”
He nodded, a quick dip of his chin. “We wrote our first album in my basement. The second we wrote on the road. I write most of the music. Nik writes most of the lyrics. Trev and Jase write together, too, but they don’t click as much as Nik and I do.”
“And what about . . .” she had to think for a second, “Zach?”
He shot her another look, this time with raised eyebrows. “I never woulda guessed you’d know the names of my bandmates. Then again, you know everything.”
Was that a compliment? It almost sounded like it. Then again—
No. Don’t overthink things.
“I’m paid pretty damn well to know lots of things. And I’m good at it. I always have been. Pisses off my sister to no end.”
“There’s another one of you?”
He sounded horrified, but the smile he flashed her made it clear he was teasing.
And she couldn’t help but smile back. Then totally had to think about what he’d said.
“No, there’s definitely only one Violet.”
“Violet, huh? Where the hell did your parents get your names anyway?”
“Purple is my mom’s favorite color, but she didn’t want to name her daughter Purple. So . . . Violet. Since my mom got to pick Violet’s name, my dad got to pick mine. I’m named after my grandfather.”
“So you don’t have any brothers?”
“Nope, just me and my sister.”
“She calls you Trudy, doesn’t she?”
“Of course she does. She knows I hate it.”
“So why does Greg call you Truly?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not telling. Mostly he does it to piss me off.”
“Greg’s too smart to piss you off on purpose. You’re basically his right arm.”
His words lit that warmth in her belly again. This time, she didn’t try to contain it. She let it sweep through her.
So dangerous. And pointless. And really, really stupid.
“I love what I do.”
And she did. Even though she’d never imagined she’d have a job like this when she left Nebraska for Hollywood.
She owed Greg more than she could ever repay him. Then again, she was damn good at her job and he relied on her. And trusted her. She’d never want to do anything to abuse that trust.
And this stupid, constant fighting with Sebastian was not conducive to a productive work environment.
Wow, maybe her sister was right and she really was a stuck-up priss with a God complex.
“Tru? Hey, Tru, we’re here.”
His words registered as her door opened.
Gathering her wrap and her purse, she took the parking attendant’s hand to help her out of the car, then waited for Sebastian to shake hands with the young guy, who not only fawned over the car but recognized Sebastian and asked for his autograph.
Sebastian’s smile was a revelation. His eyes, more blue than green tonight, sparked with pleasure and his face transformed from the frustrated intensity she associated with him lately to one of pure joy.
She’d never seen him like this. So . . . happy. Almost carefree.