Danielle blew air into one cheek. “He didn’t not say it. But the fact that he contacted me about the reunion speaks for itself, right?”
Odd that Melody should feel a tad betrayed that he’d changed his position without consulting her. Why would he do that? He didn’t owe her anything. Not a phone call. Nothing. “Wow.” Melody cleared her throat. “You’ve caught me off guard.”
“I apologize for that. You’re very difficult to get in contact with. I had to dig quite a bit to find out where you worked. Then I saw a picture of your bocce team on the bookstore’s Instagram. Thank goodness for location tags.” Danielle gestured with a brisk, gloved hand to the general area. “I assure you, I wouldn’t have ventured into Brooklyn in twenty-degree weather unless I had a potentially viable project on the table. One that, if done correctly, could be a cultural phenomenon. And it would be done correctly, because I would be overseeing production personally.”
What was it like to be so confident? “I’m afraid to ask what this project entails.”
“That’s why I’m not going to tell you until we’re in my nice, warm office with espresso and a selection of beignets in front of us.”
Melody’s stomach growled reluctantly. “Beignets, huh?”
“They piqued Beat’s interest, as well.”
“They did?” Melody’s breathless tone hit her ears, cluing her in to what was happening. The tactic that was being employed. “You keep bringing him up on purpose.”
Danielle studied her face closely. “He seems to be my biggest selling point. Even more than the money the network is willing to pay, I’m guessing,” she murmured. “If I hadn’t mentioned his name, you never would have stopped walking. Surprising, since the two of you haven’t maintained any sort of contact. According to him.”
“No, I know,” Melody rushed to blurt, heat clinging to her face and the sides of her neck. “We don’t even know each other.”
And that was the God’s honest truth.
Fourteen years had passed.
However. Beat was a good person. He’d proven that to her—and he couldn’t have changed so drastically. The kind of character it took to do what he’d done . . .
About a month after they’d met in that humid television studio, she’d passed through the gates of her Manhattan private school, expecting to walk to class alone, as usual. But she’d been surrounded by buzzing girls that morning. Had she seen Beat Dawkins on TMZ?
Considering she avoided that program like the plague, she’d shaken her head. They’d cagily informed her that Beat had mentioned her during a paparazzi ambush and she might want to watch the footage. Getting through first period without exploding was nearly impossible, but she’d made it. Then she’d rushed to the bathroom and pulled up the clip on her phone. There was Beat, holding a grocery bag, a Dodgers ball cap pulled down low on his forehead, being pursued by a cameraman.
Normally, he was the type to stop and suffer through their silly questions with a golden grin. But this time, he didn’t. He halted abruptly on the sidewalk and, to this day, she could still remember what came out of his mouth, word for word.
I’m done talking. You won’t get another word out of me. Not until you—and all the similar outlets—stop exploiting girls for clicks. Especially my friend Melody Gallard. You praise me for nothing and disparage her no matter how hard she tries. You can fuck right off. Like I said, I’m done talking.
That day, Melody hadn’t come out of the bathroom until third period, she’d been so frozen in shock and gratitude. Just to be seen. Just to have someone speak up on her behalf. That clip had been shared all over social media. For weeks. It had started a conversation about how teenage girls were being portrayed by celebrity news outlets.
Of course, their treatment of her didn’t change overnight. But it slowly shifted. It lightened in degrees. Bad headlines started getting called out. Shamed.
And shockingly, her experience with the press got better.
Melody was so lost in the memory, it took her a moment to notice the smile flirting with the corners of Danielle’s glossy mouth. “He’s coming to my office on Monday morning for a meeting. I’ve come all the way here to invite you, as well.” She paused, seemed to consider her next words carefully. “Beat won’t agree to the reunion project unless you are comfortable with it moving forward. He made your approval a condition.”
Melody hated the way her soul left her body at Danielle’s words. It was pathetic in so many ways.
Beat Dawkins was eons and galaxies out of her league. Not only was he blindingly gorgeous, but he had presence. He commanded rooms full of people to give speeches for his mother’s foundation. She’d seen the pictures, the occasional Instagram reel. His grid was brimming with nonstop adventures. Equally glamorous friends were pouring out of his ears. He was loved and lusted after and . . . perfect.
Beat Dawkins was perfectly perfect.
And he’d taken her into consideration.
He’d thought of her.
This whole Steel Birds reunion idea would never fly—the feelings of betrayal between their mothers ran deeper than the Atlantic Ocean—but the fact that Beat had said her name out loud to this woman basically ensured another fourteen years of infatuation. Sad, sad girl.
“You mentioned money,” Melody said offhandedly, mostly so it wouldn’t seem her entire interest was Beat-related. “How much? Just out of curiosity.”
“I’ll tell you at the meeting.” She smiled slyly. “It’s a lot, Melody. Perhaps even by the standards of a famous rock star’s daughter.”
A lot of money. Even to her.
Despite her trepidation, Melody couldn’t help but wonder . . . was it enough cash to make her financially independent? She’d been born into comfort. A nice town house, wonderful nannies, any material item she wanted, which had mainly turned out to be books and acne medication. Her mother’s love and attention remained out of reach, however. Always had—and it was beginning to feel as though it always would.
Melody’s brownstone apartment was paid in full. She had an annual allowance. Lately, though, accepting her mother’s generosity didn’t feel right. Or good. Not when they lacked the healthy mother-daughter relationship she would gladly take instead.
Could this be her chance to stand on her own two feet?
No. Facilitating a reunion? There had to be an easier way.
“At least take the meeting,” Danielle said, smiling like the cat who’d caught the canary.
The woman had her and she knew it.
To be in the same room with Beat Dawkins again . . .
She wasn’t strong enough to pass up the chance.
Melody shifted in her boots and tried not to sound too eager. “What time?”
Chapter Three
December 11
As Melody Gallard walked into the office, Beat was reminded why he’d never called. The feeling that swept through him was so fierce, he launched to his feet at the sight of her without thinking, hastily buttoning his suit jacket. Wow. He’d always wondered if his memory was playing tricks on him, but no. That same urge to protect her that he’d experienced at sixteen was still alive and kicking inside of him at thirty.