Wicked (Somerset University #2) - Ruby Vincent Page 0,84
ends now.
Slipping out the door, I padded downstairs, got in the car, and pulled out of our drive.
My grip tightened the closer I got to Cottonwood. She’d be there bright and early. Playing the happy employee like she played me for a year.
I should thank Meyer. Something came out of that endless filing after all.
I parked haphazardly, shooting out and storming inside. Paunch said something to me that I barely heard. I was singularly focused on one person.
The elevator spat me out on the A and R floor. I rushed through the hall, belting out her name.
“Jaxson?”
Twisting around, I landed on her as she poked her head out of the conference room.
“Hey. Am I dying?” She laughed. “Why are you hollering for me?”
My jaw clenched so tight I was slow to answer. “We should talk, Gwen. Don’t you agree?”
“Sure.” She motioned to come inside. “The floor is meeting first thing to decide on a get-well gift for Mr. Meyer. I’m putting out cups and snacks. Help me out while we talk.”
I followed her inside, eyes fixed on the back of her head. She fussed with a stack of cups, separating them on a tray, and chattering the entire time.
“—saw him yesterday. The next thing I know, I’m getting a text that Mr. Meyer was in an accident. He has a wife and three kids. I can only imagine what they’re going through right now.”
“It’s terrible,” I murmured.
Amazing. She actually sounds like a normal human being who feels real emotions. Nothing to reveal the true twisted psycho inside.
“I was thinking that instead of flowers, we pitch in for a stack of his favorite movies to watch while he’s recovering. Ditto for a bag of treats. Something to brighten his day. What do you—”
“I’m sorry, Gwen,” I broke in. “I’m not one hundred percent sure how we do this, but I’m betting small talk isn’t it.”
“What?”
“I think the apologies should go first,” I continued. “So, I’ll start with mine. I’m sorry, Gwen. Sorry that I snuck those recordings out of the studio and was responsible for your brother’s album getting leaked.”
Gwen went rigid. The water pitcher hung from her fingers almost comically, recalling memories of Greek statues. Their tales were tragedies too.
“Controlled Chaos. Guitarist and songwriter, James Sandoval. I didn’t know his last name until I read the file.”
Gwen shifted ever so slightly—her face cloaked in shadows.
“You still don’t know anything, Jaxson.”
“He’s your brother, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have an excuse for what I did, Gwen.”
“But you didn’t do it, did you?” Gwen’s rasp slipped into my ears and stood my hair on end. “Signing that contract was James’s big break. He worked his ass off. Turned down good-paying jobs. Poured everything he had into the music and it finally paid off.
“Then their raw, uncut songs hit the internet and people trashed them. Their career hadn’t started and it was already dead. James just... gave up. He signed your stupid contracts, quit the band, crawled back home and took over our father’s feed store. Four years later and he’s still the most miserable bastard I know.”
“I remember them,” I said. “Even those rough tracks were light-years ahead of people doing this for decades. I can still make this right, Gwen. End this—here and now. And your brother can have his dream.”
“You make it right? Why should you?” she asked. “My second day of knowing you and I realized you’d never purposefully hurt the label. The songs were leaked by someone else, and I can guess by who.”
“That’s why you went after Val.” I swallowed the distance between us. “You’re not in love with me. You’re just smart enough to have everyone looking for an obsessed stalker while you hide what this is really about.”
“Went after Val?” She dropped the pitcher, finally turning to face me. “What are you talking about?”
I had to give it to her. She put on a hell of a confused mask.
“We’re done playing games, Gwen. You ran her off the road. Busted up her car. Put those art skills to use with that sick flipbook. Tried to break us up and attacked Serena after the show.”
“How could I have attacked Serena?” Gwen’s normally cheerful face wiped blank. “I wasn’t in New Orleans.”
“Last I checked, planes still take off and land there every day.”
“I see,” she said, folding her arms. “So, four years after the fact, I came here on a desperate mission to kill, sabotage, and land myself in jail. All to get vengeance for my brother.”