Nightingale (33 page)

I jerked my head at the stage. Piper smiled and ordered us another round. I moved through the crowd, winding my way around tables and giggling groups of college co-eds, before reaching the steps that led up to the stage. A tall guy wearing an oversized Hawaiian shirt sat at a table in the corner, a headphone held up to his ear. On stage, a skinny guy with a rather large Adam’s apple and thick glasses crooned out a decent version of “Come Monday” by Jimmy Buffett. I headed for the guy in the Hawaiian shirt.

“Abby! What’s going on, girl?” Stanley Solomon said, grinning.
 

“Not much.”
 

“You going up on stage tonight?” he asked, sliding controls up and down on the board in front of him.

“You know it.”

Stanley had been overseeing the sound system at The Blues
for as long as I could remember. He’d been trying to fix that cursed amp the night of my accident, but I’d gotten zapped instead of him. As a result, Stanley never let me touch anything now. I couldn’t blame him. Honestly, I wasn’t sticking my hand near any amp again—ever.
 

“What are you in the mood for?” Stanley asked. “Some jazz, some R&B, maybe a little disco?”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m in the mood to rock.”

He smiled.

#

For the next half-hour, I sang song after song, pouring my heart out to the drunken patrons and anyone else who was listening. I did some Green Day, a few songs by The Killers, some classics by The Pretenders, all my old favorites.
 

“‘Time After Time’?” Stanley asked when I told him what I wanted to end with. “By Cyndi Lauper?”

I nodded.

A grin spread across his face. “Whatever floats your boat, Abby.”

That’s what I finished out the night with. More than a few people clapped as I took a short bow and walked off stage. I nodded and smiled, appreciating the applause. Even I thought I’d been pretty good tonight.

More important was how I felt—and the decision I’d made. Somewhere between the first drink and my last song, I’d decided to go for it. To tell Wesley, to tell Talon, who I really was. That I was his mysterious Wren—and see if he thought I could be his Nightingale too.

Piper was right. It was time to quit being invisible. Time to quit blending into the background. Time to make a stand, make some noise. Time to rock. Time to focus on what I wanted. And I wanted Wesley.
 

I just hoped he’d feel the same way too.

“You were awesome, Abby!” Piper said when I rejoined her at the bar. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m your best friend.”

I grinned. “I know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know? Usually, I have to browbeat you before you admit how great you were. So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? Or do I have to guess?”

“I’ll going to tell him. I’m going to tell Wesley everything.”

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Well, it’s about time.”

“But I’m blaming you if he hates me forever for lying to him,” I added. “So, be prepared.”

“I think I can handle it,” Piper replied.

She raised her glass, and I clinked mine against it. The sound was music to my ears.

PART THREE—ABBY

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next morning, I left Rascal with Chloe at the office. Then, I spent the rest of the day at the Bigtime Convention Center, ensuring that everything arrived on time and was put in place for the Weston event.
 

Burly guys hauled in cases of champagne, wine, and other spirits. Three women wearing shockproof gloves plugged strobe lights into hidden wall outlets. Still more men and women carted in tables, chairs, linens, and crystal.
 

Unlike the O’Hara event, I’d decided to have the business dinner and the after party here in the auditorium instead of serving the food in one of the other rooms. It was easier to oversee everything when it was in one spot. Plus, I’d gone all out for the décor. I didn’t want to split the effect by having part of it here, and part of it somewhere else. Wesley wanted to wow people, and he was going to get his wish.
   

Stanley moved from one side of the stage to the other, installing extra amps and wiring in the sound system. Melody clutched a microphone and followed him, doing sound check after sound check. Her voice seemed raspier today, but she gave me a thumbs-up.
 

I watched from the balcony as five men from Isabella’s Exquisite Ice rolled a dolly toward the orchestra pit, which had already been converted into a bar, complete with red vinyl swivel stools. A fifteen-foot-tall ice guitar with flames coming out of its sides perched on top of the dolly.

The movers had almost reached the end of the aisle when one of the men tripped over his own feet and fell against the dolly. The guitar sculpture rocked on its pedestal. I sucked in a breath. The other movers froze. The massive block of ice creaked back, then forth, before settling into its groove once more.
 

“Hey, buddy!” My voice boomed through the auditorium like thunder.
 

Everyone turned in my direction. I leaned over the balcony and stabbed my pen at the klutz who’d almost ruined my ten-thousand-dollar ice sculpture.
 

“You!”

The guy pointed at his chest. I gave him a sharp nod. He swallowed.

“You cause that to tip over, and I’ll put you on ice—permanently. You feel me?”

The man nodded and hurried down the aisle to join the rest of his crew. Slowly, carefully, they transferred the frozen block from the dolly onto the air-conditioned, checkerboard stand at the left end of the bar. The matching sculpture was already in place on the right side.
 

Once they finished, the movers looked up at me. I nodded in approval and checked
ice sculptures
off the three-page-long list on my clipboard.

The smell of bleach and cigarettes assaulted my nose, and Colt Colton moved to stand beside me. The maintenance man wore his usual uniform of gray coveralls and work boots, with his dark hair back in a low ponytail.

“Problems, Abby?” Colt asked.

“No more than usual. Why are you here? I thought you were helping Eddie hang the disco balls.”

“I needed a smoke break,” he said. “Eddie’s doing the last one now.”

Smoke break? Yeah, I could have figured that out without my supernose. Colt reeked of tobacco. Filthy habit. Even if Colt had asked me out before I’d met Wesley, I still would have told him no. I didn’t date guys who smelled like a smokestack.

A harsh clang of metal caught my ear, and I looked up at the catwalk circling the auditorium. Eddie stood a hundred feet above me. I watched as he lowered a five-foot-wide mirrored, silver sphere over the edge of the railing. The disco ball joined the others that ringed the area. Eddie tugged on the line a couple times. Then, he stepped back and stared at the ball. When he was sure it was secure, he gave me a thumbs-up. I waved back and checked
disco balls
off my list.

“You coming back for the event later tonight?”
 

I nodded. “Yep, coming back and staying until the bitter end.”

“Maybe we could get a drink after you’re done,” Colt suggested.
 

I looked up to find him studying me with his dark eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”
 

I couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight. In less than twelve hours, I was planning on telling Wesley that I was really Wren. I wasn’t going to be stuck in a bar with Colt.

“You know I told you I was getting over a bad relationship?”

He nodded.

“Well, it’s back on now.”

His eyes darkened.
 

“I’m sorry—”

“That’s okay,” he said, cutting me off. “I always seem to be a step behind these days. Later, Abby.”

“Later, Colt.”

He strolled toward the stairs, opened the door, and disappeared. An uneasy feeling ballooned in my stomach. That was the second time in less than a week Colt had asked me out. I couldn’t figure out why. He couldn’t think I was that hot. Could he?
 

I shook my head. Maybe Piper was right. Maybe I only thought I was invisible. Or maybe Colt was just desperate.
 

The
tinkle-tinkle
of breaking glass caught my ear, and I leaned back over the balcony. One of the workers crouched on her hands and knees, trying to scoop up the shattered remains of a champagne flute. She shot frantic looks over her head, hoping I hadn’t noticed the telltale noise. As if. She could have dropped a pin, and I would have heard it like a nail being pounded into a board.

“Hey you!” I yelled. “You with the butter on your fingers! You drop another one of those glasses, and I’ll make you eat it for lunch!”

#

Once everything was in place, and I’d yelled at just about every single person on the premises, it was after five and time to change clothes and come back for the event.

Piper called right as I finished up and insisted I meet her at Oodles o’ Stuff. Pronto. I checked my watch and muttered. A little more than ninety minutes before the party started. Another few hours after that I was going to tell Wesley everything. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to pick up Rascal, go back to Piper’s apartment, restock my Party Vest, and try to make myself as presentable as possible.
 

Usually, I didn’t care too much about what I looked like, but tonight, I wanted to be at my best. I’d even resigned myself to wearing a dress—and heels. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to show a little cleavage and leg when I bared my soul to Wesley.

Because I was pressed for time, I grabbed a cab and told the driver to make a beeline over to Oodles o’ Stuff. He pulled up the department store about fifteen minutes later. I paid the driver, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed Piper’s number as I walked to the entrance. She picked up on the second ring.

“I’m here,” I said, pushing through the revolving doors. “Where are you? I have things to do tonight, you know. Like tell the man of my dreams I love him.”

Piper laughed. “Relax, Abby. I’ve taken care of everything. I’m on the first floor next to the evening wear.”

I squinted against the glare of the lights. Clothes, clothes, and more clothes crowded the first floor.
 

“And where would that be?”

“You know your way around that dark, dank, convention center, but you have no idea where the gowns are at Oodles? Your priorities are so skewed,” she chided.
 

“You’re not helping.”

“About five hundred feet to the left of the front doors,” Piper said. “Hurry up.”

I walked in the appropriate direction, skirting the shoppers blocking the aisles. I spotted Piper standing next to a tall, blond mannequin that reminded me of Fiona. Piper had been one of the five hundred people on Wesley’s guest list, and she was already dressed to the nines in a long-sleeved, shimmering gown made of silver fabric.
 

“So what’s the emergency?” I asked. “What was so important I had to meet you here?”

She beamed. “Your makeover, of course.”

I blinked. “Makeover?”

#

Piper led me into one of the fitting rooms, where a dazzling blue dress hung on a metal rack. Matching shoes, a small purse, and a host of other accessories sat on tables on either side.

“What are you doing?” I asked Piper, staring at the display.

She grabbed my hands. “I’m going to get you ready for your Prince Charming. Or Prince Superhero. Or whatever you want to call him. You want to look great when you tell him who you really are, don’t you?”

I hesitated. “But you know that I did the same thing for Ryan. That I tried to turn myself into a different person just to please him. It didn’t work with him. What makes you think it will work with Wesley?”

“Because you’re not changing yourself,” she replied. “You’re just looking your best. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, Wesley already knows you—the
real
you. We’re just putting a little icing on the cake tonight. Come on, Abby. Let me help you. Let me do this for you. It’ll be fun.”

Then she gave me that look—that hopeful, pleading look I could never ignore. I sighed.

“All right, but you know I can’t wear that dress,” I said. “I have an event tonight. I need my equipment, my supplies. I need my vest.”

“I thought you might say that.”
 

Piper sighed and jerked her head. My Party Vest draped over a chair in the corner of the room.
 

“And before you even ask, yes, I restocked it with your usual gear,” she said. “You can wear it during the event, but you are taking it off when you talk to Wesley. Agreed?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now strip.”

I went behind a black plastic partition and took off my clothes. Shivering, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Underwear too,” Piper commanded. “You can’t wear granny panties under this.”