Rock the Boat (29 page)

I don’t have to be off the ship until all the passengers are gone, but I’m up before the sun rises, anyway. Call me a glutton for punishment, but I want to see Lark one last time before she’s gone. I’ve watched passengers come and go enough times to know when she’ll be disembarking and the route she’ll be taking.

I sat on the balcony most of the night, wondering what Lark was doing and how she was feeling. Twice I almost went to her in the middle of the night, but I didn’t know what I would say once I got there. I couldn’t take her rejecting me twice.

Ten minutes later, I get a small glimpse of the answers I was searching for. She and Noelle stand in a long line of people, waiting for their turn to exit the ship. Lark’s listening intently to something Noelle’s saying, even laughing a few times, but the happiness seems fake—like she’s a million miles away despite standing beside her best friend. It’s selfish of me, but I’m glad. It would have hurt ten times worse if she was acting like I never happened. Like we never happened.

I only get about fifteen more minutes with her until she swipes her sea pass card for the final time, officially ending her cruise. Before she leaves the gangway, she glances over her shoulder one more time like she’s afraid if she doesn’t she’ll forget the last week of her life. It’s a split second, and then she’s gone.

“Why didn’t you go talk to her instead of standing here like a creeper?”

I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to explain myself to Dom. “I have my reasons.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one going separate ways this morning. None of these couples came together, it may have worked while they were living in the same place, but once they go back home, it won’t be that easy. Real life is going to get in the way.”

I want to tell him it
could
be easy if they both wanted it enough. That’s the thing though, you have to want it. Lark made it clear she doesn’t. “I hope it works out for Lane. Noelle’s good for him.”

“Gina thinks Lark’s scared because of what happened with her ex. I don’t know the whole story, but from the little I’ve heard, I think she might be right. Sounds like that guy did a number on her.”

“He did. Maybe that’s who she wants. I wasn’t enough to take his place apparently.”

“Na, man. I don’t think that’s it. Neither does Gina. She said Lark’s too smart to run back to him, but we only have about a half hour to eat before they kick us out of here. Are you coming?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

I follow Dom to the café one last time, wondering how time managed to go by in the blink of an eye. Almost a year ago to the day, we were stepping on our first ship. I was depressed, Dom was looking to hook up with the first chick he saw in a bikini, and Lane was—well Lane was Lane. I never can tell what he’s thinking. By the time the rest of the band caught up to us, even some of our crew decided to become shippies instead of roadies, our dysfunctional family was reunited. That was the day they became my brothers because anyone who would give up their life to follow me, especially when I was down and out, had my full respect.

“Do you think I made the right choice? You’re ready to go home?”

“Relax, East. We have a good plan in place. Midnight Fate will be back in the spotlight in no time. Stop worrying so much.” It’s easy for him to say, he’s taking Gina home with him today. He didn’t have to leave her behind. I can’t hold it against him though, not when Gina’s like a sister to me. She’s been around for so long, it would be weird without her.

“You realize I’m homeless.”

Dom sets his fork down and I can almost see the lightbulb flash above his head. “That reminds me.” He stands up far enough to dig a piece of paper out of his pocket and lays it down on the table in front of me. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s vacant. You can get your stuff out of storage and be in by tonight if you’re interested.”

“Do you think the landlord can handle Midnight Fate all living in the same building?” The condo is on the same floor as Dom with the rest of the band all living one floor above. Before I moved in with Shay to take care of her, I had planned on getting this exact place which is why I’m shocked it’s even available. Something tells me Dom had everything to do with it.

Dom laughs and says, “I sort of own the building. Your landlord is cool as fuck now.”

“I fucking knew it.”

“Relax, you told me to find something to invest my money in. Old man Larson was going to retire because he couldn’t keep up with the business side of things. But you know as well as I do, that man was born to fix shit. This way, he can take care of the building while I’m on the road and Gina can manage the books while we’re on the road. It’s a win for everyone involved.”

“Gina’s cool with it?”

“Ecstatic. She loves helping with the band, styling and all that, but she needs something to invest her time in—something for her. Chick even has a degree in accounting. Can you believe that?”

“Seems a little boring for someone so colorful, but as long as she’s happy. I guess I know what I’m doing tonight.” Tonight I move in to my new place. Tomorrow, I work on smoothing things over with our manager. I have so much ass kissing to do, I’m going to need some new Chapstick.

It’s time to face the music.

One month later . . .

“Lark, you’ve been running the same figures through the same program all day long. Nothing is going to make this deal happen. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to take our business elsewhere this time. That doesn’t mean we won’t be back, but for now, we have to cut ties,” Mrs. Evans tells me. Her account is one of the biggest I have. I hate losing her just because my boss is being unreasonable, but there’s only so much I can do without having his full support.

To say the last few weeks have been stressful would be like saying the world isn’t round. They’ve been impossible. Between trying to get back into the work flow, close a few new deals, and stay on top of the world of public relations, I’m exhausted. It doesn’t help I’ve heard from Grant every single day since I got off the ship.

The first night, I settled into my apartment, opened some wine and worked on unpacking. Within an hour of being home, he was knocking on my door. First, he came with flowers. When that didn’t work, he upped the ante with chocolate the following night. Along with a box of letters he wrote each night I was gone. Those were tucked inside my mailbox on day three.

It would be so easy to run back to him—to thank my lucky stars he’s finally putting in the effort I always wanted from him. However, I didn’t go away to come back home and fall into old patterns. I shouldn’t have to break up with him for him to realize he doesn’t need anyone else.

Grant’s persistent though—a quality I used to adore. After days’ worth of rejections, I thought he would be sick of the chase by now. Then again, he always was an overachiever. Why settle for one girl when you could have two? Why move in with one when you could keep both?

All of that coupled with the frustration of not being able to present a package appealing enough for a current client, makes me wonder why I was so ready to come home.

After I hang up with Mrs. Evans, I move to my e-mails, hoping they’ll be an even better opportunity for representation awaiting me. The first two don’t appeal to me, but the third catches my eye. I’m about to reply to a woman with exceptional credentials as a curator for one of the largest museums in the area when an e-mail from my boss interrupts me—again. In true overbearing fashion, he’s scheduled a meeting for me to meet with a new client during my lunch hour. I wouldn’t care if I had time to eat breakfast this morning, but after dealing with Grant until all hours of the night, I overslept. I was lucky I had enough time to take a shower and dry my hair.

What I wouldn’t give to be on that damn ship again.

True to his word, my door opens promptly at noon. Like nails on a chalkboard, I wait for his nasally voice to start shouting demands. It only takes him five seconds. “Clear your schedule, Lark. You’re about to become a very busy woman.”

“Yeah? Did you change your mind about the deal, Mr. Cooper?” I finish typing the last sentence in my e-mail to the curator before turning my head to address him. All the blood drains from my face.