His eyebrows jumped like he hadn’t expected that. He should have. People changed, and she’d changed a lot over the years.
He delivered her coffee with cream, leaving his black. His coffee hadn’t changed. And maybe, she mused, neither had he. Maybe he was the same man capable of loving her and leaving her, the way he’d been on that long-ago rainy night.
Presley had changed from the gauzy white dress into a long, striped skirt, sandals and a white tank top. She looked good, but not as good as she had in a bright pink bikini that had been visible through the white sheer cover-up. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture it.
She’d pulled her hair into a high ponytail, her bright red locks glinting through the windows of his Bugatti on their drive over. She’d always been damn cute, but the cute he could handle. He didn’t quite know what to make of her saucy, fiery attitude. She could turn it on when she needed to, that was for sure. She wasn’t capitulating, didn’t hesitate to tell him what she thought—or at least some of what she thought. He was sure there were plenty more thoughts bouncing around in her pretty head than what she’d shared with him so far.
They’d spent the better part of the morning at Elite Records. Cash had laid down a song he was calling “Fragile” and then he and his brother had gone over some of the other ideas for the album.
Will made a good sounding board. Not to mention he had a vested interest in Cash’s album, specifically in the album going platinum. Success wasn’t good only for Cash; it was good for his entire family. After college, success came at him like a tsunami, sweeping him up in the tide before he knew what happened. Some people had a slow and steady climb to the top. His was more like being shot out of a cannon.
He liked success for what it afforded him, so that he could do what he loved. The support of his fans gave him the freedom to write what he wanted, knowing they were along for the ride. After the DUI, it’d felt like that freedom had been taken from him. Like he was being corralled at every turn.
He’d rolled his eyes at his “bad boy” reputation at first, the moniker the result of desperate press grabbing for attention. Fans loved Cash, but they might have loved controversy even more. His reputation with women was far less scandalous than the gossip websites made it sound. Yes, he’d dated plenty, but he wasn’t leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.
Though, he supposed Presley was the exception.
Since the mug shot, he’d been thrust into a different spotlight. “Bad influence” was a lot less charming than “bad boy.” What pissed him off most was that he wasn’t guilty of the crime he was currently paying penance for. Damned if he could prove it, though. The arresting officer hadn’t changed a lick of his story since the night it’d happened, but Cash had been sober enough to notice the other man’s shifty eyes.
Not that it mattered at this point. The damage had been done and had seriously messed with his head alongside his reputation. He’d been stuck on stupid for so many weeks, he wondered if he was capable of finishing this damn album.
Presley being in his immediate proximity wasn’t helping him focus. Especially when she looked as cute and carelessly sexy as she did while doing nothing but walking across a room. More than once he regretted never making love to her while he’d had the chance. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be so damn curious about her now.
He closed his eyes and blew out a breath.
“Don’t sweat it,” Will told Cash now, evidently noticing his frustration. Thankfully Will didn’t know why his brother was frustrated, or Cash would never live it down. “You’ll get there.”
Cash was prepared to work well into the evening, but he’d left Presley in Gavin’s empty office too long already. He headed down the hall, the telltale clacking of keyboard keys falling silent when he rapped his knuckles on the door.
He let himself in and she looked up, her blue eyes wide.
Damn. Cute.
“You want to grab some lunch?” He glanced at the half-eaten candy bar at her elbow. “Or was that it?”
“The commercials were wrong. It didn’t satisfy me at all.”
They left the studio for downtown, passing by the boardwalk and a league of barely dressed men and women on the shoreline. The sky was as blue as it’d ever been, the sun almost blinding considering he’d been stuck in a windowless studio all morning.
Every building they passed, Presley read the sign aloud. A tattoo shop, coffee spot and, finally, the restaurant she decided she’d like to try. “How can you not have lunch at a place called Cheatin’ Eats? It’s positively naughty.”
It was more than that. Cheatin’ Eats belonged to Mags Dumond. Typically he was dead set against lining the woman’s pockets, but he’d promised to let Presley pick so here they were. At least he knew he wouldn’t run into Mags here. Like most of this town, she owned the place, but didn’t participate in running it.
He requested a table outside and they sat. Presley, sunglasses tilted up, sunshine glinting off the lenses, let out a breezy sigh. “This sure beats being stuck in my office in Florida.”
“You there a lot?”
“Almost exclusively. Hopefully I’ll be doing more traveling in the near future.” She smiled at him. “This article is sort of make-or-break. No pressure.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but it didn’t come. Her jaw dropped as she watched a couple stroll by. She leaned over the table and whispered, “Oh my God. Is that...?”
“Asher Knight? Looks like him.”
Her lashes fluttered. “I loved his band Knight Time. I hear they’re recording another album. Do you think that’s true? Do you think it’ll have country music vibes? Is that why he’s here?”
Cash couldn’t help chuckling. “He wouldn’t be the first rock star to cross over. I thought you were cool under pressure with celebrities. Pull yourself together, woman.”
Her cheeks pinked. “I am. Usually. Everyone gets starstruck sometimes.”