Spotlight by Eden Finley Page 0,17
If you could stick to that one, I’d be grateful.”
Lyric’s lips curve up at the sides. “Can I make you anything for lunch? I have mad sandwich-making skills.”
“I usually have a frozen meal for lunch and do the home-cooked meal thing for dinner.” I go to the freezer. “There’re heaps in here if you wanted something other than peanut butter.”
“You live on Lean Cuisines?”
“They’re easy and healthy and tasty.”
“If you enjoy the taste of cardboard,” he mutters. “I’m good with PB and J, thanks. I told you I’m basically like a child. My eating habits also reflect that.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I throw my meal in the microwave and lean against the counter as I watch him finish the sandwiches.
Damn it, why does blowing off work to spend the afternoon in here with them sound more appealing than doing the very thing I begged the label to let me do.
I wanted to go back to work because, after two years, not only did I want a break from parenting but I missed music. I missed being in a studio and creating art. Even if Lyric thinks what I do isn’t considered art.
Music is an outlet that’s good for the soul and should be about emotion, and while we didn’t get a lot of that in Eleven, that doesn’t mean I don’t have notebooks full of “real” music I want to record or produce one day.
One day when Kaylee’s old and married.
When the microwave beeps, I move toward them and sit at the table.
Lyric shoves bread in his mouth. “Enjoy your cardboard.”
Kaylee looks confused. “Daddy isn’t eating cardboard.”
“Mmm, vegetables,” I say and take a bite.
“Eww, gross,” Kaylee says.
“High five.” Lyric holds up his hand, and Kaylee doesn’t hesitate.
“Part of your job is to get her to eat her vegetables, you know,” I tell him.
“That’s okay. I have a trick.”
“What’s the trick?” I ask.
“I can’t give away all my secrets.”
“PB and J!” Kaylee yells. “No vegetables.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t torture you with veggies,” Lyric promises, but he winks at me.
My stomach flips.
At a fucking wink.
I definitely made a mistake in hiring him, but do I regret it? Not one bit.
I force myself to go back to work after lunch because I get the feeling Lyric thinks I’m checking up on him. Which, okay, technically I was, but that’s not the point. I wanted to be out there for more reasons than just my daughter’s safety, and that’s not okay.
I knew hiring him was a risk because of how drawn to him I was the day we met, but I thought it would be easy to compartmentalize. Clearly, I’m a dumbass.
When I finally manage to put it out of my mind, I get lost in what I need to do and then lose track of time.
It’s not until Lyric knocks on my office door and I blink out of my stupor that I realize it’s dark outside the single window in this part of the house.
“Shit, what time is it?”
“Seven thirty. Kaylee just went down.”
“Sorry I kept you. You should’ve come to find me at five.”
He shrugs. “Overtime, right? And I didn’t want to disrupt whatever you were doing in here.”
“Thank you, and yes, you’ll be paid for your time. I’ll set an alarm or something so I don’t go over tomorrow. I’ve been working on this album for Cash Me Outside, and—”
Lyric’s mouth drops open. “Cash Me Outside? As in Cash Kingsley was here? In this room?” He glances around as if saying his name could summon Cash.
His excitement is cute. “Fan?”
“A little … Okay, a lot.”
“You want to hear it?”
“Fu—dge yes.” He throws himself in the seat next to mine.
“Kaylee’s asleep. You’re allowed to say fuck.”
“I’m trying to break the habit. Not just for Kaylee but for Chase.”
“I should probably try that. The other day, Kaylee threw her shirt across the room and said, ‘It fucking itches.’ I mean, it was kind of adorable, and part of me was proud she got the right context, but you know, it’s not so great for school.”
“We could start a swear jar.”
“I would go broke,” I mutter.
“You could probably pay my wage right into the jar.” Lyric smiles, and that’s dangerous. Because he’s so goddamn gorgeous it’s not even funny. Or fair.
And now I’m staring.
Shit. Stop staring.
“Okay, the song.” I unplug my headphones so it will play through the speakers.
“Am I allowed?”
“Are you going to record it on your phone and leak it before it’s out?”
“Fuck no.”
“Dollar in the jar.”
“Fuck.”
I laugh. “We’ll start