Haze Read online

  "I didn't even get that far. I just didn't want to do it." I sipped my drink, thankful that it was strong in that moment. Some of these memories were heavy to say the least, so it helped me keep moving forward.

  "Well, it sounds like you got out of it okay. That's always a positive. Do you like it here?"

  "I guess so," I said. "It hasn't been that long."

  "Sure. Right." He took a big gulp of his drink and then moved to a sip of water. "I do like quieter places much better. The city certainly has its appeal, though, especially from a business perspective."

  I watched him all night with great fascination, amazed at the things he knew about. He was so charming, so endlessly clever and bold. It was obvious why he had been able to succeed in the music business. Even if he had been telling me about quantum physics, it would have been the best lecture I'd ever listened to.

  "Jack, how old are you?" I asked. The question seemed appropriate given everything else leading up to it.

  "Guess," he said.

  "Twenty-eight."

  "Exactly right." His smile was deceiving.

  "You're a liar."

  "I'm thirty, all right?" He lowered his head, solemnly staring into the surface of the table. "When we're done here, we can go plan my funeral. I know a couple of good funeral homes in the area." He broke into a laugh that swelled over the roar of conversation in the restaurant.

  I giggled in response, his silliness utterly contagious. "Talking about your own death is a great way to win over a girl on the first date." It was incredible to realize how much he had experienced in such a few short years after his success started rolling. He was only six years older than I was, and already he had done more than I would have done in ten lifetimes.

  One thing was for sure—he had grown weary of huge companies within the music and film industries. He talked more about his career than his private life, but I wasn't ready to ask him anything too personal, despite the fact that he'd already dug into my past. He was fighting for artists who just didn't have a voice against huge corporate entities.

  His passionate fight was kind of sexy, no doubt. It made me want to go out and protest something too, just anything, really. Monsanto, the government, other big corporations...

  Anyhow, the conversation was perfect. I wanted to enjoy, not overanalyze. We ate, continuing to drink throughout the whole meal. By the time the table was cleared, the live music for the night had begun. It was a female singer-songwriter, one brandishing an acoustic guitar and a humble attitude. She began singing, and I just had to turn my head.

  "She's great," I said. "Her voice is beautiful!" Hell, she was beautiful too. A cute little brunette, one wearing a pair of torn up jeans and a hoodie. I felt as if I were hearing something already produced for the radio, a product so pristine and nice that it would sell millions—if people could only find it. "Have you heard her before?"

  "I might have," Jack said quietly. "There are lots of people like her in NYC, one for every coffee shop on every night. Maybe two or three for every coffee shop." It was a little more snide than I had expected from him.

  "What do you think of her? I think she's great." Despite Jack's disinterest, I couldn't believe that I was hearing original music of this caliber so randomly. These people with acoustic guitars were a dime a dozen, just like he had said. I had been to so many gigs—everyone had a friend who started a band that wasn't any good; you just had to go so you didn't hurt their feelings—with the most boring, bland music ever, and this was the total opposite. It wasn't just the alcohol either.

  Maybe that's why people were lined up outside...

  "I'm not going to make a judgment prematurely, especially when we're talking about careers that need to last a lifetime. Just because someone can write one good song doesn't mean they can actually make it. This industry is brutal."

  I didn't really like how stiff and boring he was being about her. He was supposed to be the expert, and yet, here I was, gushing over this person whom I was convinced would soon become a superstar while he acted like she was no big deal. Why wouldn't he take my opinion seriously? I felt very strongly about it, something unusual for me in regards to music.

  The girl played through a full set, gorgeous song after gorgeous song, the lyrics as captivating as her incredible voice. I was convinced that I was witnessing perhaps the next Sheryl Crow, Alanis Morissette, or Adele. These songs were so well put together that I could already hear full arrangements in my head, lush productions with drums and guitars and keyboards—and it was actually kind of weird.

  Jack continued to sit there, so stone-faced and bored-looking. I was suddenly having doubts about him, finding it was so weird that he couldn't connect with this incredibly emotional performance taking place in front of him.

  Was he even human? Why was he acting so disinterested?

  I could feel every word she sang, the topics ranging from misery to sheer joy, the sort of visceral word play that any listener could relate to. I started to lose myself in thought, analyzing Jack's behavior when I heard the performer speak.

  "I would especially like to thank my producer, agent, and co-writer, Jack Teller. I wouldn't be anywhere without his help." The crowd clapped politely as Jack burst out laughing, accidentally spitting water on himself. A few people from the crowd looked over to him, probably because of the water spitting and not because they recognized him.

  He had been playing me the whole time!

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I wanted to get your honest opinion without influencing you. If I told you that she was my artist, you would have just been nice whether you really liked her or not."

  "You're so full of shit!" I was offended that he felt that way—I also realized that he was totally right. I wasn't going to admit it, though. The whole performance felt very different now, tinged with a brand new hue.

  "I'm a shitty actor on top of that. I have to pretend I'm angry if I'm trying to hide a smile."

  "I noticed." I sipped my drink defensively, if that was even possible.

  Jack took my hand and lightly stroked it. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I won't do that again, okay? I just wanted to make sure I was doing a good job with Lexy."

  Actually, it made me feel warm inside to hear that he valued my opinion, even though I didn't know shit about the music industry—well, other than crunching sales and expense figures. I had begged for him to take me seriously and gotten upset when he hadn't. This was great, actually. "What's her full name?"

  "Lexy Brown. I actually moved here to work with her. I was in L.A. before."

  "She's... pretty," I said distantly.

  Jack gave me a cold smile and paused. "Pretty what? No, Effie. I've never slept with her, nor will I ever. It's just business, okay?"

  "I didn't go there!" I said slightly louder than I had intended.

  "She is pretty, Effie, but she's nothing compared to you." The words rolled out so smoothly, so warmly. He looked deep into my eyes and I fought him until I couldn't anymore. Jack spoke with such authenticity, such care. "Sex appeal does help in this business, no doubt."

  I wanted to dwell on his compliment as much as I wanted to proceed with the conversation. It felt good; it just fit. I could have told him how gorgeous I thought he was, but lightening up the situation seemed like a better choice than flattery or contributing to narcissism. "I just can't see her in those Lady Gaga outfits though. She seems far too classy for that."

  Jack finished his drink and slammed the glass down on the table. "You guys just don't get Gaga," he said. "She's brilliant, even if you think she's a little crazy."

  We both started laughing uncontrollably, the former tension shattered into a million pieces. I was really glad he was joking with me again. By that time, Lexy had finished her last song and was putting her guitar away.

  Jack turned around and stood up. "Lexy! C'mere and say hi!"

  Lexy immediately smiled after noticing Jack and headed over to our table. "Hey, Jack! I didn't know you were here tonight." Lexy was eve
n prettier up close. I swallowed a lump in my throat as she got to us.

  "I had to hear how the new song was working out. It was fabulous."

  I instinctively watched their body language, assuming the worst. They were close, no doubt—but I couldn't see anything beyond a working relationship no matter how hard I tried. "Lexy, this is Effie. Effie, this is Lexy."

  I stood up and shook her hand. "Lexy, you were great! You're super talented."

  She blushed, surprising me with her humility. "It's all Jack," she said. "I won't lie—he's really helped me learn my identity as a songwriter."

  "Yeah, but I don't waste my time on just anyone." He looked at her so proudly, with so much admiration. The look was almost paternal. He had apparently cultivated her, molded her into this artist who was now attracting major-label attention and turning heads wherever she went.

  "I was blown away," I said. It was the truth.

  "Well, thanks again for being here. I've got to run, though. I'm doing a late show at a private club." She looked at her cell phone. "And it starts in less than an hour."

  Jack laughed. "Okay, Lex. Give me a call when you're ready to go over that new material."

  She smiled and nodded. "Nice meeting you, Effie."

  "Same to you! Good luck tonight." Saying good luck made me feel stupid because she was really good and obviously didn't need any luck. Just a platitude that slipped out.

  Lexy headed back to the stage to finish packing up her things, leaving Jack and I alone once again. "She's great," I said. "Not that you need to be told that."

  "Undoubtedly. Do you want to get going soon?"

  A part of me wanted to ask him where he suggested we go. However, I really liked surprises, so I kept my mouth shut. "Sure."

  I took his hand as we stood up, holding it as he led us out of the restaurant and into the night. God, just touching him again made me fill with electricity, a sensation that made me tingle. I hadn't felt this way about anyone in ages. Not ever, really.

  Meeting Lexy actually made me feel good, especially after hearing Jack's rant about the music industry and how it treated performers. It still was possible that he was just ripping her off to make himself money, but I didn't think it was the case. I believed he truly had her best interests in mind, no doubt. I wished that I had a time machine so I could go forward in the future and see just how big she would become...

  "Something on your mind?" Jack asked. We were walking down crowded streets, the cool summer air blowing against us. I was sticking close to his body.

  "I had a nice time tonight," I said.

  He stopped abruptly. "Oh, so you're already calling it quits?"

  "No! That's not what I meant." By the time the words were out, I realized he was playing.

  "You're excited to go out clubbing? We can go take some ecstasy and dance all night! Is that what you meant?" That same sly smile returned.

  "Jack! I have to work tomorrow. And I hope you're kidding about the drugs." Dancing sounded fun, but I was going to take a rain check for now if he pushed it.

  He started laughing again, that innocent, deep laugh. "I'm not gonna lie—I've tried the stuff. But I'm past that now. Those were some wild nights on the west coast."

  All of this random history gave him a something of a former bad boy persona. I liked it, actually. I just didn't plan on doing any drugs myself. "Do you still perform anymore?" I asked.

  "On occasion. I can sing and write songs, but I don't really feel like I'm a singer. I like to write songs for others now. I feel like that's my real gift. And arrangements."

  "You're probably really good," I said, thinking that for some reason it would mean something to him. "But I don't know anything."

  Jack smiled and leaned down to kiss my cheek. "That's what makes you so good. You're not full of shit like the other ninety-nine percent of people I meet. Effie, you're honest."

  In that moment, I didn't care if he was just trying to make me feel good. I didn't know if what he said was true, especially because I had never considered it. But right then and there, I believed him. And I wanted him more than anything. It hurt how bad I wanted him.

  Why was it so powerful when he included me alongside his passions? Why was I so susceptible to his honesty, his powerful observations that fit me perfectly into his chaotic world? Everyone longed for inclusion, to be a crucial part of another's life puzzle. I guess I was discovering my place.

  "Let's go back to my apartment and just chill out. How does that sound? I'll have you back early enough that you actually make it to work tomorrow."

  I cuddled up against him as we walked. "Okay."

  We ended up taking a cab back to his place—how he kept track of all of these different homes was beyond me—another gorgeous building in the heart of Manhattan. This was a studio apartment, one with granite countertops and modern appliances, leather couches and chairs. He had this one goofy looking ottoman/chair set in the corner, which he claimed was the most comfortable chair in the world. I didn't have a chance to try it.

  "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked.

  "Sure." My eyes crawled along the walls—there were gold and platinum records hanging there. He wasn't that much older than I was, and already his talent had reached more people than I would reach the rest of my life. It made me jealous in a very superficial way.

  Jack joined me by the wall and handed me a glass. "Let's go look at something more interesting." He turned me around and led me out onto his outside patio. It was yet another incredible view of the city. Skyscrapers stood innocently around us, their blinking and changing lights so fascinating in the nighttime.

  We sipped in silence, our arms wrapped around each other. I quietly listened to his heartbeat, allowing it to blend in with the ambient noise of the city that never slept. His apartment was pretty high up, so the noise that reached us wasn't as harsh and abrasive as it would have been at street level. It was relatively calming, more so than I was used to while being in the heart of everything. In a way, it was like the subway, that beautiful drone that overtook my senses entirely.

  Being so close to him only made me remember what had happened in the suite after the party, how he had touched me, made me come so effortlessly. I was thinking about it non-stop, wishing I had the guts to make a move. He had said we would take it slow, but God, I just didn't want to wait. Frankly, I didn't believe I could wait. I wondered what he was thinking, wondered what was going on in his brain.

  "Effie?" he asked. I was glad to hear him speak.

  "Yeah?" The tension was so strong that I feared I was about to melt.

  He set down his glass of wine on the table next to us. "Will you please put down your glass of wine?"

  "Why?" I asked. I reflexively took another sip. I wasn't sure if his request was something to be concerned about.

  "Because I don't want it to spill when I'm carrying you inside to fuck you."

  He had read my mind and had matched how filthy it was at that moment. "Jack, I—"

  "I can't resist you anymore, Effie." The dim light from the city reflected in his eyes, those gorgeous, powerful green orbs of intensity. He remained still, awaiting my response like a defendant awaiting a verdict.

  "I feel the same way." As soon as my glass hit the table, his arms were under my legs and back, lifting me into the air, his strength so perfectly overwhelming. Our lips met immediately, the spark between them something I'd never forget. We were moving inside his apartment as our tongues twined, dancing intricately within the kiss.

  I had become wet instantly, my body manipulated and flipped on like a switch. I couldn't delude myself—I had wanted him this whole time, even through all of the ups and downs of my thoughts, through his strange yet effective process of handing out public gifts.

  This moment said it all.

  We were moving down the hall, approaching his bedroom, our chests rising and falling together. He lowered me onto his bed gently, the comforter so soft and inviting. Sweat was already beading on my fo
rehead, the combination of our heat and the warm night threatening to cook me right then and there if I didn't get out of my clothes.

  Jack immediately pulled up my blouse, his hands tracing along my bare skin as he revealed it. I unbuttoned my jeans, and he helped me wriggle out of them.

  "God, Effie, I need to taste you," he moaned.

  I unbuttoned his shirt until it was loosely hanging off him. He dropped it to the floor, revealing his taut muscles, his physical condition optimal without being overpowering. Even though I could see very little in the dark, I spotted the bulge in his jeans, the promise already almost too much to handle.

  Jack unclasped my bra with one hand and tossed it onto the pile of clothes next to the bed. "Your breasts are fucking perfect," he said, his tone husky and dominant enough to make me tremble.

  He greedily took my nipples into his mouth, one by one, cupping the opposite breast with his hand as he alternated. His lips and teeth took me teetering toward the delicate edge of pleasure and pain, his touch making me shiver.

  His hand settled against my mound, holding pressure there, reminding me teasingly what he could do with his fingers. My clit was so swollen, so needy. I moaned as I felt his fingers crawling under the elastic of my panties, my mind anticipating what would come next.

  Jack kissed down my front, starting beneath my breasts until his face was just centimeters away from my clitoris. I could feel his hot breath against that sensitive flesh, and it drove me wild. He kept one hand on my breast as he started licking me with such delicate aggression, tweaking my nipple in rhythm with his tongue.

  I was literally overcome by sensation, my back arching to push my pelvis even closer to him. Keeping the back part of his tongue on my clit, he parted my lips with the tip, tasting the juices that had accumulated there. I could tell he was savoring what he had found, his low groans vibrating against my flesh.

  "Your pussy tastes so sweet," he remarked. In one swift motion, he was up against my face, kissing me even deeper than he had before. I lustfully kissed back, accepting his gift. Tasting my own flavor made my head spin—well, that, and Jack's masterful, animalistic efforts.