Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
The doors opened and he entered the foyer, stopping short at the wall of silence, Ernie nearly mowing him down from behind. “Octavia?” There was no one in the opulent living space or the home gym, so he took the staircase to her office.
The moment he stepped through the entry, he knew something was wrong.
Octavia sat at her desk staring straight ahead, her face white as a sheet.
Instinctively, Beat fumbled for his microphone’s battery pack and turned it off, apologizing to Ernie as he locked him out of the office.
“Mom.” Frowning, Beat strode over and placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing back when she flinched. “What’s wrong?”
She shook herself, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not right away.
After a bracing breath, she pointed at the screen of her laptop. “The Today show . . .” She wet her lips and started again. “Obviously I was pissed when Fletcher Carr ambushed you and Melody live on the air. I don’t want that man anywhere near the two of you, not that the Today show is required to consult me. Still, I called a producer friend because I felt like complaining. And she sent me . . . she just sent me this . . . recording.”
The hair on the back of Beat’s neck stood straight up. “What recording?”
Finally, Octavia looked up at him. “After the live segment, you had a conversation with Fletcher.” His mother looked at him like she’d never seen him before in her life. “Your microphone was still hot.”
Beat’s temples pounded, his mind sluggish while processing that information. He couldn’t remember the conversation word for word. He could only remember the parts about Melody. He could only remember the horrible things he’d said to her afterward. “Mom . . .”
“How long have you known he’s your father?”
His lungs emptied like he’d been socked in the stomach. Holy shit. He’d dreaded this moment so long, he couldn’t believe it was happening. Finding his voice was next to impossible, but he finally managed it. “Five years.”
Octavia closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”
Beat’s first instinct was to comfort her. He started to kneel beside her chair, so they could talk through the situation together and God, he hated upsetting his mother, but the relief of having this secret exposed was like emerging from a locked room after being imprisoned for half a decade. His blood rushed in a new direction, legs rubbery.
Before he could say a word, his mother’s housekeeper walked into the room. “Mrs. Dawkins, I—” She spied Beat standing beside the desk and sniffed. “I’m sorry, I was having a necessary moment in the bathroom or I would have informed you of your son’s arrival.”
“It’s fine,” Octavia said dully, dropping her head into her hands.
“But I’m afraid more guests have just arrived, Mrs. Dawkins.”
His mother’s eyebrows knit together. “Who?”
“It’s me, you old bitch,” Trina Gallard said, sailing into the office. “Before you ask, no, you’re not dreaming. I actually still have the body of a twenty-two-year-old.”
“Trina?” Slowly, Octavia rose to her feet, her eyes round in shock, fingers trembling where she planted them on the desk’s surface. “You . . . what are you doing here?”
“Livening up the place.” She sauntered around the office, leaving boot impressions on the white rug. “Jesus, Octavia, your home is the official Museum of Boring.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know taste if it bit you on the ass.”
“Taste did bite me on the ass once. Wasn’t he the bass player from Infinite Jesters?”
“My goodness, you haven’t changed at all.”
“My goodness,” mocked Trina, pretending to clutch at some invisible pearls. “Does the mistress of the house require her smelling salts?”
“You require some manners. This is my home you’ve invaded. Uninvited!”
“I’d have turned to dust waiting for that invitation!”
“Why don’t you bite the dust instead, you vulgar, backstabbing hippie wannabe?”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from—”
Melody walked into the room behind Trina.
The air around Beat’s head turned to glass and shattered, his heart breaking into a sprint. Oh . . . God. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. “Mel,” he said hoarsely, his feet carrying across the room before he could think better of his actions. Or before he could analyze the consequences. He went because he was compelled. Because he had no choice but to get her into his arms, by any means necessary.
She made a shaky sound as he swept her up off the ground in a bear hug, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent like it would revive him, a dead man—and she did. Life rushed back into his limbs, his fingertips, his chest, the simultaneous effect nearly sending him to his knees. “Beat,” she whispered into his neck.
“Mel,” he said again, more adamantly.
She’d know what it meant. She would understand.
He was convinced they would continue in this embrace for the rest of time, because he felt like their organs would tumble out without it, but Melody wedged a hand between them and broke their contact. She pushed until there was distance between them. But it was too much. Inches felt like miles and his hands were in fists to keep from drawing her back in, harder, permanently. She wanted to be held by him—her desperate gaze on his throat told him that loud and clear—but she was fighting the need.