No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (19 page)

Seamus slams the driver’s door, starting the car and navigating us into traffic. People in New Orleans forget how to drive when it’s raining. We pull forward a few yards, and then the car sits. It’s a constant jostling forward and then back.

Warm air blows on my feet and face, slowly calming my shivers.

I’m a mix of emotions. On one hand, I’m grateful not to have to walk home in the rain. It’s kind of Aaron to think of me and send his personal assistant to fetch me. On the other hand, I wish he’d come himself. I wish he hadn’t been at lunch with that girl. I wish I knew where I stood with him. This chaos isn’t good for my psyche.

Seamus passes my street.

“Umm . . . you can turn at the next stop sign. You should’ve turned back there.”

“I’m to bring you to the house.”

I catch the reflection of his blank stare in the rearview mirror. “I’m wet and would really prefer to go home. I’ll tell Aaron that I forced you. Do you mind?” I lean forward, hoping to use my girlish charm to persuade him.

“Sorry,” he replies, obviously more loyal to the guy who signs his paychecks. “Are you cold, Miss Landry?” He leans forward and fiddles with the air-conditioning control.

“No, I’m just fine, although I’m not particularly pleased with being kidnapped.”

“Or given a ride to see Mr. Knite on a rainy evening,” Seamus corrects me.

“Semantics.”

I think I make him smile.

He hits a button and the large iron gate next to Aaron’s house swings open. We turn down a narrow driveway that extends past the house where I spent the night. I lean to the center of the vehicle so I can see out the front windshield. The driveway goes straight through and there’s a street at the other end also blocked with a gate. To my right is another house with a smaller building outside of my door.

I don’t wait for Seamus to turn the car off before I grab my bag and exit the car. Confused, I’m not sure where to go. There’s a back entrance to the home Aaron’s bedroom is in. There’s a door in front of me that leads into the smaller house, which I think is the pool house, or I can turn to my left and go into the other building.

I turn to my right and walk towards Aaron’s house.

“Miss Landry,” Seamus calls. “He’d like you in the recording studio.”

Fortunately, he gestures toward the door in front of me. The pool house isn’t really a pool house, or it may have been at some point but now it’s converted. It’s actually Aaron’s recording studio. The door swings out, and I step into what looks like a living room. Plush ivory-colored leather couches line the walls, which are painted a pale shade of blue, reminding me of a Robin’s egg, just like my velvet couch.

I close the door behind me and turn to my left. The upper part of the wall is a glass window. Underneath it are dials, slides, and buttons that I can’t even begin to describe. A young guy, with a baseball hat turned backwards, sits in front of these controls. He’s wearing headphones and doesn’t acknowledge me, but his head moves to an unheard beat.

On the other side of the glass is Aaron. He’s dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, which looks anything but boring on him. His fedora has been replaced by can headphones. He stands in the middle of a room surrounded by walls made of foam with wave-designed panels running in opposite directions. His eyes are closed, and he’s singing into a mic that extends from the ceiling. His right hand keeps the beat on his thigh while he taps his left foot. I can’t hear what he’s singing, but whatever it is, it’s moving him.

I catch myself tapping my own hand in rhythm with his. Not wanting to disturb him, I sit down on the couch so I can watch, mesmerized.

After a minute or two, his posture relaxes and a half-smile pulls one of his cheeks higher, revealing a slight dimple.

The man at the controls says, “That was fucking awesome, Johnny. First take, and I wouldn’t change much.”

Aaron’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

The guy who I’m assuming is the producer replies, “Yeah. A girl just walked in. Need thirty?”

Aaron removes his headphones and rests them on the stool in the corner. He exits the room and doesn’t acknowledge me yet. He fist-bumps and snaps and all kinds of crazy handshakes with the other guy. “Come back around midnight?”

The other guy checks his watch. “Five hours from now?” He sounds incredulous.

“If that’s midnight, then I’ll see you then.” Aaron’s demeanor is cool, calm, but definitely in control.

The guy stands up, grabbing a leather satchel.

Aaron adds, “Seamus will take you wherever you need to go.”

As if Seamus was listening, the door opens, and the guy walks out.

I stay planted on the couch, not sure what to do. Was the producer guy getting tossed because of me? Why am I here? Surely Aaron didn’t have me summoned because he wants another piece of me. The girl at lunch pretty much killed any dreams he may have had.

After Seamus shuts the door, Aaron turns and offers me his hand. I take it, and he helps me to my feet and then gives me a yank so I stumble into his chest. One of his hands wraps behind my back and the other around my neck. When his lips slam against mine, I can only say that it’s a kiss of desperation. His tongue is forceful and demanding.

Aaron’s spit must contain some sort of poison that paralyzes my brain because I forget all about Jude and pour the three days of not hearing from him into this kiss. I’m rough and so needy for more that it borders on embarrassing. I’m still blaming the poison.

His hands, which were on my back, make their way to the button of my dress slacks.

Apparently the antidote for brain paralysis is sneaky fingers near my vagina, because that’s when I come to my senses. Sidestepping, I break our kiss and his hold on me.

“What are you doing?” I yell. “Do you really think you’re getting back into my panties after I saw you with another girl?”

His eyes narrow. “I let you into mine after you went on a date with someone else,” he says, so cold that I shiver.

Ouch.
I’m dumbfounded, but I guess he’s right. That’s exactly what I did, but it wasn’t like that. I begin to defend myself. “Tripp’s a friend. And we had those plans for Grandmother’s party for a long time. And it would’ve been rude to cancel. Besides, I didn’t know you were going,” I stammer.

He smirks and folds his arms over his chest. “And Jude’s my daughter, and she was worried about me so she took my plane to come and check on me before her final weeks of classes.”

Daughter . . . did he just say daughter? Like he’s a dad? Before I realize what I’m doing, I drop to the couch behind me. Of all the scenarios I’d worked through in my head, Aaron being the father of the young blonde wasn’t one of them.

I’m stunned. Shocked. Unable to catch my breath, I repeat the word, “daughter.”

He raises his voice. “That’s why I told you to Google me. Goddammit, MK, if you’d quit being stubborn you’d have known that instead of assuming I was fucking her.”

I can see the family resemblance. She has his large mouth and full lips. She has his blue eyes and blonde hair.

I’m so ashamed. My eyes stare holes in the carpet. “I . . . I’m sorry.” How happy am I that when I came by for operation: dress retrieval he was gone? That would’ve been awkward.

Aaron slides next to me and pulls me tight against his ribs. Tiny kisses dot my forehead and hair. “Look, sweetheart, there’s so much you need to be aware of about my life. Let’s order you some dinner, and we’ll talk.”

Nodding, I lean back with him and snuggle against his chest. I’ve missed this spot so much.

“Chinese okay?”

“I don’t care.” Food is such an afterthought.

He pulls his phone out of his jeans. “Seamus, order Chinese for MK and me. Get us my usual.”

As he ends the call, I whisper, “Is it going to be children’s food?”

He pulls back and smiles. “Why?”

I look up and him through my eyelashes. “Because everything you had Seamus bring to my apartment is marketed to children.”

He laughs. “It’s been pointed out to me once or twice that I eat like shit.”

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Oh God! Life lesson confirmed. If you have the opportunity to be tacky or classy, choose classy!

We walk to his house, bypassing the pool and entering through a set of French doors. Aaron explains he purchased the two homes about five years ago. They were built in the late 1800s and both were still in decent shape, even after Hurricane Katrina. He hired a local architect to further restore the homes, covert the pool house to a recording studio, and connect the buildings via the long driveway. Apparently, a lot of his artists have lived here and recorded their albums. He rattles off a list of songs, which is probably supposed to impress me. I recognize maybe two of them.

The rain has stopped, so we walk slowly to the house I’ve been in before. “Why didn’t you buy one of the mansions?” I ask.

He smiles. “Who wants a large antebellum home when you can have a purple house, green recording studio, and blue guest house?”

Point well made.

I follow him into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and a few cabinets, as if he’s searching for something. He motions for me to sit at the dining room table. I walk over and choose the seat closest to the head of the table and near the exterior wall.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve got nothing to offer you.”

I crinkle my forehead. “What?”

“I don’t have any wine. I’ve kept a couple of bottles here, but Jude got rid of them.” He pulls his phone out of his jeans.

“I don’t need anything. It’s fine.” No need to tempt him, but I am curious why his daughter felt the need to pour them out. He used the word
rid
which makes me think she didn’t drink them.

He dials anyway. “Miss Landry would like a bottle of . . .” He pauses and looks at me expectantly.

“I’m fine,” I say again.

“Just grab a bottle of good red.” He hangs up and tosses his phone on the counter. “Since you will not Google, I’m going to have to share, and you’ll need wine.”

I nod, and a thought passes through my head.
Instead of running far, far, away from this man with a past that could be a novel, I’m sitting in his dining room hoping the story doesn’t take long so we can make love. What’s wrong with me?

He sits down to my right at the head of the table and takes my hands. “I’m not sure how to begin, so here it goes. Jude is my eighteen-year-old daughter. She turns nineteen in a few weeks. I wasn’t married to her mother. She was conceived during a break at the bar that ACE got their start in. Her mom was a waitress. She was hot, had big tits, and was my biggest fan when no one thought we were any good. We weren’t in a relationship but I fucked her every chance I got. She told me she was pregnant when she was about five months along. It was too late to have an abortion, which I’m not sure I could have done, and I delivered Jude in her trailer house because she was so high she didn’t realize she was in labor.”

Where’s that wine?
My eyes are wide and I want to weep for the beautiful girl I saw earlier. Licking my lips, I squeeze his hands and stand to sit in his lap. I want to touch him and let him know that it’s okay, but he stops me.

“Just let me finish. This isn’t easy.”

I sit back down, inhaling a deep breath. His face is blank, and his voice is even. A warning bell sounds in my head.
Why isn’t he more emotional in the retelling?

“Fortunately, I was able to get Jude and the person who birthed her to the hospital in time. She was born drug-addicted, which is one of the most awful things a parent can witness. Jude’s a fighter. Anyway, I filed for full custody of her and the woman who birthed her signed all the papers, giving up her maternal rights. Of course, when ACE made it big, she stirred up all kinds of trouble wanting money and back into Jude’s life.”

“Bitch,” I mumble, hating a woman I’ve never even met.

Aaron laughs, and it’s the first emotion he’s shown. “You have no idea. But she’s dead now. The two times I sent her to rehab, it didn’t work, and she ODed when Jude was twelve.”

“I’m so sorry. How did Jude handle it?” My head shakes back and forth and my mouth is partially open. I’ve lived such a charmed life—I have a mother and father who love me and who have provided me with everything I needed. Poor Jude. The kid entered the world at a disadvantage.

“She never met her. Fortunately, I was always able to keep her away from Jude, but that’s beside the point. The point is, I have a beautiful, smart daughter whom I love very much and who’s my number-one priority. She’s a freshman at Vanderbilt. She earned her way in without a phone call or donation from me. She’s on the equestrian team and so far earned all As and Bs her first semester away from home while her dad was in rehab, so I consider her my greatest success.”

“Can I see a picture?” When I met her earlier today, I was so focused on Jude being the other woman that I didn’t really look at her as a person. I want to see his precious daughter for who she actually is.

Aaron takes out his phone and swipes for a moment before he shows me a picture of them, probably on Christmas morning last year. Her long hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. They have on matching cheesy reindeer pajamas. They’re both sitting by a huge, stone fireplace. She’s laughing, and Aaron’s holding up a coffee mug that reads
World’s Best Pop.
“She’s so pretty.”

He looks at his phone and smiles fondly. “You know, ACE would only play Thursday, Friday and Saturday night gigs. I was a dad Sunday to Thursday morning.”

“Who watched her when you toured?”

Aaron seems more relaxed and animated now that he’s done sharing about Jude’s early life. His fondness for his daughter makes him just that much more attractive. “My sister, Grace, and my mom took turns helping out, but I never took her on tour for more than a couple of weeks.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and a darkness clouds his eyes. “Kids need stability. My mom and sister gave that to Jude.”

“Wow.” I lean back against the chair and try to absorb all of Aaron’s story. It’s so much to take in. He’s a dad—like, he’s responsible for another human life and I don’t even have a fish. Our lives couldn’t be more different.