Talon (Ashes & Embers Book 4) (2 page)

"
I
'm
glad you're here, I have something exciting to discuss with you." My mother gestures for me to sit in the chair on the other side of the huge cherry wood desk she pretty much lives behind. Rolling my eyes, I flop into the red velvet chair and put my workboot-clad feet up on the front of the desk.

"Talon. Off." She glances away from her laptop screen for a second to glare at me and then goes back to typing, her red-tipped nails flying across the keyboard.

Standing, I walk around her office while she finishes whatever it is she's doing. Hundreds of books line the shelves of her office. Some written by her, some by other authors. I'm lucky enough to have a famous musician for a father and a best-selling romance author for a mother. Technically, that should make me a musical romantic genius, but I seemed to have only inherited the music gene, along with a monstrous appetite for sex.

The distinct click of her laptop lid closing signals she's finished and is ready to talk. "Honey, come back here and sit. Stop pacing."

"Don't you ever run out of ideas with this writing stuff?" I ask her, crossing the room to sit in her velvet guest chair again, flashbacks of sitting in this exact chair when I was younger and getting scolded for doing one bad thing or another popping into my head.

Her perfect eyebrows rise up. "How can I run out of ideas when love is involved? The possibilities of finding love are endless."

"Well, I haven't found it yet, so you might be wrong. I did find a hot little redhead last night, though, with legs for fucking days."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"The hot redhead?"

Shaking her head, she takes a sip of her lemon-laced water from her signature crystal glass. "No. Love, of course. Remember a few months ago you told me you were tired of all the one-night stands and meaningless sex?"

My long hair falls into my face as I shake my head, and I push it back with my hand. "Did I say that? Love just isn't in the cards for me, Mom. I'm too restless, and I love sex too much. Women want that from me, not love. I'm used to it now. Any time I've even started to have feelings for a woman, I find her blowing someone else. I'm just not the love type."

Opening a drawer in her desk, she pulls out a bright purple folder and lays it in front of her. "I don't believe that for a minute, Talon. All my boys have hearts of gold."

"Not me."

"You just haven't met the right girl yet. You've seen it happen with Asher and Storm. Your girl is out there."

"Well, if she is, then I've probably boned her already and she thinks I'm an asshole by now."

She waves her hand at me. "Hush with that. I've recently joined a team for an amazing project, and I think you are perfect for it."

Lighting up a cigarette, I lean back in the chair, tipping the front legs off the floor, and take a long drag. "Mom, where are we going with this?"

She slides a black marble ashtray across her desk toward me. This is the only room in the house I'm allowed to smoke in because, even though Mom technically quit smoking years ago, every now and then when she's either really stressed or excited about a book, she has a smoke. "I'm getting to it. A good friend of mine is a relationship coach, and she's written countless books on the dynamics of successful relationships. Now, she and a team of psychologists and a sex therapist are conducting a social experiment, and they've asked me to come on board and write a book with them based on the results."

I blow a perfect ring of smoke up into the air between us. "And this has to do with me how, exactly?"

Her gaze follows the ring as it floats and dissipates. "I thought you would want to apply to take part in the experiment."

Narrowing my eyes, I flick my ashes into the ashtray. "Apply? What's involved? I can tell by the look on your face there's a shit-ton you're not telling me. Spill it, Mom."

Smiling, she nods enthusiastically. "I was getting to all the details. You would marry a total stranger that the research group matches you up with based on questions they ask you. You have to commit one hundred percent to the marriage in every way for six months and keep a journal of all of your feelings and experiences. At the end of the six-month term, you give your journals over to the group, and you can either stay married, if the relationship is a success, or part ways. Each participant will also be given fifty-thousand dollars, but honestly, this is not about money. This is about committing to someone and not giving up. It's about finding out if the person who, in theory, should be right for you, really is. And if you can fall in love
after
marriage, rather than just before."

Her words spin around in my brain like a cyclone. "Are you kidding? That's kinda ass-backwards, isn't it? Marriage is serious shit. Not a fuckin' game."

A dazzling smile spreads across her face and she nods slowly. "Exactly. See? You understand it already. Can two strangers commit to a relationship, having faith that a group of experts has paired them with the right one? I think it's fascinating."

"Yeah, I'll give ya that. But what if it doesn't work? What if we want to kill each other? We get a divorce and walk away with a cash consolation prize?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"And how do we know if the other person is in it to meet the right person or just for the cash? People are greedy as hell. I don't need another fucking gold digger in my life. Been there, got the T-shirt."

Opening the purple mystery folder, she peruses the pages before glancing back up at me. "I agree, sweetheart. That's why each applicant has to go through rigorous questioning, to hopefully weed out people like that who aren't doing this for the right reasons."

"And you want me to do this?"

"Yes, but only if it's something you think you can seriously commit to and be open-minded about. I think, inside, you
do
want commitment. But you hide it with your 'I'm just a player' attitude and one-nighters."

"Maybe that's all I'm good for, one-night stands."

"That's total crap. I've seen the way you look when Storm and Evie are around. I think you want that closeness with someone, even though you're too stubborn to admit it. I can see it in your eyes, though."

Leaning forward, I smash my cigarette into the ashtray. "I've never even been in love. I don't want to hurt some chick who's getting into this hoping to find a knight in shining armor. The chances of me staying in a relationship, or them wanting to stay with me, are pretty slim."

"I disagree."

"What if they put me with someone totally ugly or demented?"

"They won't. They'll match you with who they think is right for you based on their interviews with you."

I ponder this insanity in my mind for a few minutes. If someone could plop the perfect girl into my lap, you wouldn't hear me complaining.

"Do you get to meet the chicks getting into this? Or at least see their pictures and applications? Can you pick me a good one?"

"I might," she says vaguely. "So what do you think?"

"I think you're using me as a guinea pig. Does Dad know you're doing this?"

"Yes, of course. He thinks it's a great idea. And no, I am not using you. I just want to see all my kids happy and in love, and I think this might give you the little extra help you need."

"Do I get to fuck her?"

"Talon!" she exclaims. "For God's sake, your mouth!"

"Well, do I?"

"Of course. It's a real marriage. There will be a wedding, with real vows. You'll sleep together, live together, everything. I'd prefer you say make love, though."

Shaking my head, I laugh at her. "Says the woman who just wrote an erotic best seller," I tease. "Mom, this is seriously the most messed-up thing you've ever done to one of us, and that's saying a lot. I know you use us in your twisted little books, but this really takes the cake."

Leaning back in her chair and crossing her long legs, she smiles knowingly at me. "I know you, Talon. You're my youngest son. I spent more time with you than any of your brothers, and you were such a sweet little boy. You loved to be loved on. I know you must be a little bit intrigued with this, right?"

Actually, I am, but I have no idea why, because this has disaster written all over it. "Yeah, I am, I guess. If it works, it would actually be pretty cool. I'm tired of the bullshit that comes with dating and dealing with sluts and women who only want to be with me because I'm in a band."

"See? This girl will have no idea who you are. Not a clue."

"I like that idea a lot."

"If you get accepted into the program, you'd have to seriously commit to this in every way."

"I would."

"And you
cannot
cheat on her. I will not tolerate infidelity in this family," she warns. "If you're unhappy with her, you wait until the six months are up and you split up before you touch another woman. That includes groupies, fans, and psychotic exes. Is that clear?"

"Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

She tilts her head to the side. "You forget I married a musician. I know what goes on, believe me."

"Dad would never cheat on you. He loves the hell out of you."

"That's true, but that never stopped other women from trying to lure him."

My decision comes fast. "If your nutty little group can find me the woman of my dreams, trust me, I ain't gonna cheat on her."

"That's the goal, Talon. You just have to have an open mind and heart."

Squeezing the heart-shaped stress ball on her desk, I grin at her. "All right, Mom. You're on. Challenge accepted. Let's see if you can find the perfect chick for me."

I
'm
at my archaic sewing machine trying to piece together what's supposed to be a dress when Kat comes flying into my apartment.

"Your worries are over, my dear friend. I have found the most epic solution to your problem, and it literally landed right on my desk." She heads straight for my refrigerator and pours herself a glass from a pitcher of fruit-infused water I made the day before.

"Which problem might that be?"

She produces a wrinkled up piece of paper from her purse that's got scribbles and yellow highlighter all over it. "Your man problem," she says.

"Kat…no. I'm fine."

"You're not. You haven't gotten laid in three years, girl. You're twenty-five years old. As your best friend, I cannot let your vag suffer for another year."

Scowling at her in disgust, I pull the dress out from the machine. "My vag is fine, thank you very much."

"That material is fabulous!" she exclaims, fingering the soft, patterned dress. "You will have to make me something from this. And your vag is
not
fine; it’s a desolate black hole screaming for love and pounding."

"I'm pretty sure it's not."

"It is. I can hear it. But this—" she holds up the paper "—is going to change that. And so much more."

Rubbing my head as it starts to throb, I squint at the paper. "What is that?"

"This is the coolest social experiment I have ever heard of."

Anything with the word "experiment" in it cannot be good. "I'm already scared, but go on."

"Well, Dr. Hollister is heading up this project. I've been typing up all the notes and outlines for her, and I just got so excited, because this is the coolest thing ever. If I didn't have a guy already, I'd be begging her to let me join in on this."

"Dr. Hollister, your boss? The relationship expert?" Kat is basically a secretary and research assistant.

"She prefers relationship coach, but yes. So what they're doing is meeting with a bunch of single people like yourself and putting them through this crazy-ass interview process, and then they match you up with the perfect partner. Then, you marry them and live together for six months—like legit marriage, a wedding, all that shizz."

I stare at her in horror, completely dumbstruck by the mere idea of this, but she ignores my expression and continues. "During that time, you have to keep a detailed journal of everything that happens, even the juicy stuff. At the end of the six months, you can either stay with the guy, if things are working out, or you get a divorce. And, are you ready for this?" She steps closer to me. "You get paid
fifty-thousand dollars
. Asia, this could change your life. You might find an amazing husband,
and
you will finally be able to get out of this fucking ghetto! Either way, it's a total win."

Cringing at her ghetto comment, I stand up and carry my dress over to my worktable in the corner. "Or I could end up heartbroken. Or pregnant. Or with a total asshole. Or murdered, cut up, and left in a freezer somewhere. Seriously, it's a crazy idea."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Please. This is run by a team of psychologists and experts. Everyone will be evaluated before they are chosen. Dr. Hollister is very serious about her work. She's not going to let a bunch of freaks participate in this and cause her embarrassment."

Fifty-thousand dollars. That kind of money is the equivalent of living on Mars to me. It will seriously never happen. But if it did? Holy crap, I cannot even fathom how different my life could be, to have some financial stability. To live somewhere safe. To not worry about how I'm going to feed myself and my cat.

But even more so, what if they really could find me the perfect husband? Someone who would love me and care about me, and let me love and care about them. Someone to grow old with. Is it possible, with the help of some kind of love coach, that I could meet—and actually marry—a guy who's perfect for me?

And, hopefully, who I'm perfect for?

Is that even possible?

Kat stands there with a smile as I mull this all around in my head. "I see you thinking about it, Asia. And yeah, it’s a pretty wild idea, huh?"

"Okay, a little…but scary too. Marrying a stranger? Do you have any idea how awkward that would be?"

She grabs on to my arm excitedly. "But what if it's like this amazing love-at-first-sight moment? What could possibly be cooler?"

Shaking my head wildly, I fold up the dress so I can get back to it later when she's gone. "No. It's unnatural and dangerous."

"Arranged marriages used to be very popular."

"
Used to be
being the important part of that sentence."

Crossing her arms, she taps her foot against my chipped tile floor. "Asia, I want you to think about this. I talked to Dr. Hollister about you and she thinks you would be perfect, but she would love to meet you for a preliminary interview. She said you're the exact kind of woman she wanted for this."

Geez. What the heck does that mean? "Um? What kind of woman am I?"

"One who is supersweet, intelligent, pretty, normal, but just cannot meet the right guy. The only issue is your financial status. They need to be sure the applicants aren't in it just for the money."

I glare at her, annoyed with her incessant digs at my unfortunate lifestyle. Not everyone is lucky enough to be born into a great family that doesn't abandon you at seventeen with no money or place to live. The fact that I'm not dead, working a pole, or turning tricks is something I'm actually proud of.

"Well, I apologize for having to live on ramen noodles, Kat, but it is what it is. I can't hide it. And if they are so worried about people getting involved in the experiment just for the fifty G's, why are they even offering it?

She shrugs and lays the piece of paper with her notes on my wobbly kitchen table. "Compensation, I guess."

"Marrying a great person should be compensation enough."

"Well, there ya go. You're perfect for this, just as I knew you would be."

I throw an infinity scarf at her that I made from the fabric she was just saying she loved. "I made this for you earlier. Please don't make me choke you with it," I tease.

She squeals over it and hugs me. "You're the bestest friend ever! I love you!"

L
ater that night
as I'm soaking in my bathtub reading a paperback I've read about ten times already, my mind keeps wandering back to Kat's insane idea about my getting involved in that marriage experiment. As scary as it sounded, if it really worked, and they actually found me the right man, it would be amazing. No more bad dates. No more wondering if I'm ever going to meet the right guy. No more spending every night alone. No more watching other people get engaged, get married, and have kids while I'm still alone. No more having no one to snuggle with.

But if it didn't work, it could be devastating. What if I fall in love with him, but he doesn't fall in love with me? Being rejected by a guy who is supposed to be my perfect match will hurt way worse than some blind-date rejection. Where can I go from an expert failure? I think at that point I would have to throw in the towel and admit I am just not relationship material for anyone. I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of reality dose.

An old favorite song of mine comes on from the small radio in the corner of the bathroom. It's a slow, sexy rock ballad, and the guitarist plays with so much raw emotion that every time I hear it, it gives me chills and I have to close my eyes and let it take over my senses. I want a man who can make me feel like this song does, someone who makes me lose myself in the way he can make me feel. Closing my eyes and sinking deeper into my bath, I wonder if I can put that on my application for the marriage experiment.

Give me a man who makes me feel like the guitar solo of "Hope Dies Last."