“That’s why Welsh was in worse shape than the other kid.”

Did he care beyond obligatory moral outrage that I’d been attacked? Was that why? I needed to know. And if he did, how could he be such a goddamned bastard to me now if he cared about me? It was as if that sexually tense moment in his office had never happened.

“Why?”

We stepped out of the elevator and Killian said goodbye to the burly security guard before guiding me to the exit. He didn’t answer me as we walked out. It wasn’t until we stopped at his car that he asked, “Why what?”

Impatience itched in my fingers but I stayed calm. “Why? Why did you do that?”

“To teach the little shit a lesson he wouldn’t forget.”

Which suggested he cared. So why was he acting like this? “Did you also persuade those boys to plead guilty? Is that how you knew it wouldn’t go to trial?”

“The McCrurys promised they would make them disappear if they didn’t plead guilty.”

“The connections your dad has . . . it’s that gang you mentioned?”

“Aye.”

I knew from the little I’d gleaned that he and his father had no relationship to speak of. So wasn’t it a pretty big deal that he’d gone to the man for me? “So . . .” I felt vulnerable asking but I needed to know. “What? You did all that because he hurt me?”

Killian took in a deep breath, gazing down the street. The muscle in his jaw ticked a second before he replied, “I did it to make sure the publicity goes the way we want it.”

I didn’t believe him. “You didn’t need to have the shit kicked out of that boy to do that.”

His head whipped back around and he scowled at me. “Are you mad I did that?”

“No.” I wasn’t exactly Miss Perfect. My moral compass was a little skewed these days. Those boys had followed, intimidated, and stolen from me, and one of them had tried to rape me like it was his God-given right. I wasn’t broken up that someone had meted out payback. It was doubtful a short stint in prison would stop him from doing the same to another woman. But maybe fear would. Right or wrong, that’s how I felt.

And I was confused. Because I felt utterly safe in the knowledge that Killian would do apparently anything to protect me. Yet at the same time, he was completely incapable of protecting me from himself and his casual callousness. “I’m confused,” I offered honestly.

“There’s no need to be confused. I take my job seriously. I want this album to be a success and to do that, I need to control every aspect of it, including the PR.”

He really wanted to hide behind that lie? Really? I pushed. “So, it was only about our deal?”

Finally, the mask slipped and he glared at me in warning. “What the hell else would it be about?”

Was this nastiness because of my treatment of his uncle? This inability to admit the truth? “Oh, I don’t know, O’Dea, maybe something involving your heart. Or at least your dick. Or are you too pissed to admit that? Because you don’t forgive me for using the F-word in front of your uncle.”

Not missing a beat, he scoffed, “To forgive, there usually has to be an apology first.”

As if! “I won’t apologize for how I dealt with your uncle. He talks to you like you’re five. It’s bad enough he does it anyway, but he should not talk to you like that in front of your artists.”

Anger flushed across the crest of his cheeks. “My relationship with my uncle is none of your business. You and I . . . we’re not friends. Artist,” he pointed sternly at me and then jerked his thumb towards himself, “label. I’ve done a lot for you and all I expect in return is for you to hold up your end of the bargain with a modicum of professionalism.”

I felt winded again, this time like he’d barreled into me with enough force to expel the breath from my body.

Tears of frustration were desperate to fall, but I curled my fists and fought the emotion. I let my disappointment and resentment flood me. How dare he? How dare he pretend like there was no connection between us? That I’d made it all up in my head.

Or maybe I had. Because I didn’t know this man standing in front of me at all.

Whatever he saw in my expression caused his features to harden.

I couldn’t look at him a second longer.

Turning around, I braced against the cold wind and marched away.

Sounding exasperated, he called, “Where are you going?”

“I can walk back!” I yelled over my shoulder.

“You signed a contract, Skylar.”

The pointed reminder made me stop and whirl around. I hoped he withered under the intensity of my glare. “I did. I did sign a contract. And that’s a promise I intend to keep. But just because you regret your past kindnesses to me—and whatever the hell was about to happen in your office—doesn’t mean I have to stick around so you can erase those moments with cruelty. That wasn’t in the contract.” I walked away before I could see his reaction.

However, I heard the regret in his tone as he called my name. “Skylar.”

I didn’t want his regret. I didn’t want anything from him anymore. I’d spent too many years of my life loving a boy who could be kind one second and cruel the next. No way was I putting myself through that with Killian. Micah had been a boy. Killian was a man. Where Micah’s words were like bee stings, Killian’s were like a knife.

“Skylar!”

I ignored him, turning the corner around the neighboring building and out of sight. I was so lost in my tumultuous thoughts, I reached the apartment having little memory of actually walking there. As I unlocked the building’s main entrance, my phone rang. Pulling it out of the ass pocket of my jeans, my chest squeezed at the sight of Killian’s name on the screen.

I declined the call.

As I got in the elevator, my cell binged, telling me I had a voicemail.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear anything he had to say, but unfortunately the compulsion to ignore it wasn’t as strong as the need to hear it. I hoped what he had to say was cold and unfeeling so I could solidify my hatred for him.

I dumped my stuff on the couch, took a breath, and clicked on the button to listen to my voicemail.

“It’s me.” The mere sound of his voice in my ear caused a sharp ache in my chest. “You’re right. I crossed a line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. My uncle tends to bring out the worst in me. It’s no excuse, I know.” He sighed. “But we also need to remember what we’re doing here, Skylar. This is business. Somewhere along the way, we forgot that. I shouldn’t be defending you unless it’s in direct relation to your career, and you shouldn’t be defending me, full stop. It can’t be that way between us. I think it would do us both well to remember that.”

I slumped on the couch, feeling disappointment and heartache. Companions I knew well. There was something between us. Something completely undeniable, but he was going to try to deny it anyway for the sake of both our careers.

Didn’t that sound familiar? I winced, running my fingers through my hair and groaning. That’s what I’d done to Micah.

Is this how he’d felt?

Rejected, gutted, made to feel like he wasn’t worth the complication?

Guilt I’d already been feeling suddenly magnified.

The truth was although I felt guilty for choosing our band over our relationship, only for me to not want to be in the band, I also blamed Micah. He’d made it easy for me not to choose him by sleeping around and manipulating me and playing all sorts of games. And I still blamed him for that . . . but I realized now that I’d started it.

Micah didn’t have family like the rest of the band. He’d lived with a couple of different foster families in town. At thirteen he eventually moved in with the Ryans, a foster family who had two of their own kids and were caring for two others before Micah arrived. He stayed with them right through high school, but they weren’t a family. They really only had time for the younger kids in their care. Micah was a paycheck and he was allowed to do as he pleased.

I was too young to understand what that did to him. Not having a family to place any kind of worth on him. I knew he had abandonment issues, I just hadn’t realized how much my choosing the band over him must have fucked with his head on top of that.