still held her hand. “We go our separate ways. Again, no harm, no foul.”
“Fine.” They shook hands, and he brought the back of Emily’s hand to his lips. He barely brushed her skin, and gave her a slow smile.
“Now, go get dressed, because we have things to do today. I’ll even take you out to lunch.”
He was right. She had to know he was right. It would work for both of them. How bad could it be, anyway?
Chapter Five
----
“C OME ON, SUGAR ,” Brandon shouted up the staircase. “Time’s a-wastin’.”
“Chill out,” Emily yelled back, and clutched her head. Ow. She moved as quickly as she could. Some people had no respect for the recently concussed.
She stepped into a pair of flats . No high heels today, she thought mournfully as she surveyed the destroyed Italian leather boots lying on the bedroom floor, a constant reminder of how much those damn things cost.
The ponytail she’d gingerly brushed her hair into might disguise the stitches. She swallowed a couple of pain killers before pulling on a pair of pants, a soft yellow silk and cotton sweater, and a strand of pearls. She spent fifteen minutes searching her bathroom for the silver circlet of hearts ring she wore on her left middle finger. She had misplaced it somewhere.
She was off to rehearsal, whether she felt like it or not. Of course, this brought another argument with Brandon.
“You are not going,” he told her. “You are going right back to bed.”
“I have to be there, even if I don’t think I can sing.” She pulled the car keys out of her purse. He took them out of her hand.
“You are not driving. Are you nuts? Did you even listen to the doctor?”
“This is my job. I—”
He cut her off, as usual. “I’ll take you. If you insist on going, we’ll go, but if you get worse, we’re going back to the emergency room.” He glanced down at himself. “We’ll need to stop at team headquarters so I can change my clothes and pick up my car, too.”
“Fine,” she said. She shut the door hard, even if it hurt. Door-slamming hadn’t been her preferred method of communication since junior high, but right now, it was working for her. She heard the soft sound of his laughter in response.
She knew he was just trying to help, but she hadn’t had to answer to anyone but David regarding her life and her schedule for a while. Perhaps she could be a little more gracious right now.
Brandon wore a playful smile as he stood in the entryway of Emily’s house. “There she is,” he purred as she made her way downstairs. He’d evidently forgotten the argument they just had. “Shall we?”
“Absolutely.”
She was still sore from yesterday. The headache was under control, thanks to her new best friend Mr. Ibuprofen, but nobody could tell her she had wimped out by not showing up at rehearsal this morning. She grabbed her handbag. Brandon pulled the front door open, they walked out onto the porch, and she heard, “Miss Hamilton!” Emily saw flashes and TV cameras— what the hell was going on? She reached out for a handful of Brandon’s t-shirt.
“Where did all of these people come from?” she asked as his arm slid around her waist.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“Brandon, why are they here?”
“I have no idea,” he insisted, but he wouldn’t look at her. He looked at everything (and everyone) but her. He was lying.
Emily pretended like she was cuddling shyly in his arms. She said into his ear, “Did you call someone?”
His lips grazed her cheek. “My agent may have had something to do with this.” She tried to bring her shoe down on his toes. He was too fast for her. “Be nice, sugar.” Reporters were approaching them.
“Congratulations, Brandon,” one of the reporters called out to him. “Another one bites the dust, huh? How about a smile?”
His arms tightened around her. “Do you know Emily?”
“Hello,” she said to the people currently sticking microphones in her face.
“Miss Hamilton, Shelly
“Fine.” They shook hands, and he brought the back of Emily’s hand to his lips. He barely brushed her skin, and gave her a slow smile.
“Now, go get dressed, because we have things to do today. I’ll even take you out to lunch.”
He was right. She had to know he was right. It would work for both of them. How bad could it be, anyway?
Chapter Five
----
“C OME ON, SUGAR ,” Brandon shouted up the staircase. “Time’s a-wastin’.”
“Chill out,” Emily yelled back, and clutched her head. Ow. She moved as quickly as she could. Some people had no respect for the recently concussed.
She stepped into a pair of flats . No high heels today, she thought mournfully as she surveyed the destroyed Italian leather boots lying on the bedroom floor, a constant reminder of how much those damn things cost.
The ponytail she’d gingerly brushed her hair into might disguise the stitches. She swallowed a couple of pain killers before pulling on a pair of pants, a soft yellow silk and cotton sweater, and a strand of pearls. She spent fifteen minutes searching her bathroom for the silver circlet of hearts ring she wore on her left middle finger. She had misplaced it somewhere.
She was off to rehearsal, whether she felt like it or not. Of course, this brought another argument with Brandon.
“You are not going,” he told her. “You are going right back to bed.”
“I have to be there, even if I don’t think I can sing.” She pulled the car keys out of her purse. He took them out of her hand.
“You are not driving. Are you nuts? Did you even listen to the doctor?”
“This is my job. I—”
He cut her off, as usual. “I’ll take you. If you insist on going, we’ll go, but if you get worse, we’re going back to the emergency room.” He glanced down at himself. “We’ll need to stop at team headquarters so I can change my clothes and pick up my car, too.”
“Fine,” she said. She shut the door hard, even if it hurt. Door-slamming hadn’t been her preferred method of communication since junior high, but right now, it was working for her. She heard the soft sound of his laughter in response.
She knew he was just trying to help, but she hadn’t had to answer to anyone but David regarding her life and her schedule for a while. Perhaps she could be a little more gracious right now.
Brandon wore a playful smile as he stood in the entryway of Emily’s house. “There she is,” he purred as she made her way downstairs. He’d evidently forgotten the argument they just had. “Shall we?”
“Absolutely.”
She was still sore from yesterday. The headache was under control, thanks to her new best friend Mr. Ibuprofen, but nobody could tell her she had wimped out by not showing up at rehearsal this morning. She grabbed her handbag. Brandon pulled the front door open, they walked out onto the porch, and she heard, “Miss Hamilton!” Emily saw flashes and TV cameras— what the hell was going on? She reached out for a handful of Brandon’s t-shirt.
“Where did all of these people come from?” she asked as his arm slid around her waist.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“Brandon, why are they here?”
“I have no idea,” he insisted, but he wouldn’t look at her. He looked at everything (and everyone) but her. He was lying.
Emily pretended like she was cuddling shyly in his arms. She said into his ear, “Did you call someone?”
His lips grazed her cheek. “My agent may have had something to do with this.” She tried to bring her shoe down on his toes. He was too fast for her. “Be nice, sugar.” Reporters were approaching them.
“Congratulations, Brandon,” one of the reporters called out to him. “Another one bites the dust, huh? How about a smile?”
His arms tightened around her. “Do you know Emily?”
“Hello,” she said to the people currently sticking microphones in her face.
“Miss Hamilton, Shelly
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