Chapter Two

Tempest

I think I'm going to throw up or cry as I burst out of Dalton Grady's building into the bright early morning sunshine, stumbling on the sidewalk in my heels. I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach…or jolted me with one of those cattle prod things. The bustling sounds of downtown Nashville fade into static as the reality of what I've done crashes into me.

What was I thinking, throwing away my entire future like that? Oh, right, I wasn't thinking. I was just reacting to the devastating realization that the man I've dreamed about for years thinks marrying me is basically the same as a prison sentence.

I've known for years that Dalton was my future, and I accepted it. Love was never supposed to be in the cards for me. My father made it very clear from the time I was a little girl that my marriage would be a business arrangement. And then he set his sights on Grady Records. He wants a piece of that pie, and I'm supposed to make it happen.

When he first told me that Dalton was the man I was going to marry, I was nineteen. I've watched him from afar ever since. At first, it was simple curiosity about the man I was supposed to marry. And then curiosity became fascination. Somewhere along the way, it turned to infatuation. My feelings have only grown over the years. I've never met him until today, but somehow, inexplicably, I managed to fall for him anyway.

And he hates me.

Tears sting my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them at bay. I'm not crying on a damn sidewalk in downtown Nashville because I was naive and stupid. No way.

I fumble for my phone and dial my cousin, Triton, with shaking fingers. Thank God he refused to let me run away to Nashville alone because I need him right now more than ever.

"Hey, baby cousin. What's up?" he answers on the third ring, his voice smooth as bourbon.

"Triton, I…I…" The words stick in my throat as a tear slips down my cheek. Dammit. I quickly brush it away as if hiding the evidence will mean it never fell at all.

"You went to see him, didn't you?" Triton asks.

"Yes." My traitorous voice wobbles as I press myself up against a building, trying to hide in the shadows as a passerby glances in my direction.

My cousin sighs quietly. "I'm sorry, baby cousin. I tried to warn you."

Damn him for saying it, but he's right. He did try to warn me that Dalton would break my heart if I wasn't careful. He doesn't trust the billionaire my father chose for me at all. But in my naive fantasy, I was so sure it would all work out. Dalton and I would meet. He'd fall in love with me too. And my life would be nothing like my mother's. I wouldn't spend it married to a man incapable of love.

Stupid, stupid girl.

"I'm an idiot," I mumble, tasting the salt of my tears on my lips.

"No, you aren't. He is," Triton growls, as protective of me as always. "Where are you? I'll come pick you up."

I glance around at the high-rises butting up against historic buildings that have been here since Nashville planted roots, feeling lost and out of place. Los Angeles could swallow this city easily, yet nothing here feels familiar like it does there. It's overwhelming. "Music Row," I mumble. "I'm down the block from Grady Records."

"Stay there, and I'll come get you."

"Okay," I whisper, exhaling a shuddering breath. Panic immediately starts clawing up my throat. "What am I going to do? I'm going to lose everything." A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. "Oh my God. I've already lost it, haven't I?"

No. I didn't lose anything. I basically freaking threw away everything I've worked for and then walked over the wreckage of it on my way out the door. All because Dalton Grady doesn't want me.

I'm such an idiot.

No man is worth this. I've poured my heart and soul into Evernight. I'm the first to arrive and the last to leave. Even when I don't get the credit—and I rarely get the credit for what I've accomplished—I still work my ass off. All because I knew that one day, the company would be mine.

And I just blew it all up over a man. That's the dumbest thing I've ever done. And I dyed my hair pink and spent my freshman year of high school writing the most God-awful poetry anyone could ever imagine, just to read them at slam poetry sessions around the city, so I've done some dumb things.

Falling for Dalton might be the worst.

So…why doesn't my heart want to listen to my head here? Oh, right. Because something about that gorgeous man makes me unreasonable. Maybe it's those striking hazel eyes or the wild hair my fingers itch to comb through. Maybe it's the perpetual five o'clock shadow on his razor-sharp jawline or his ridiculously kissable lips. Or the broad expanse of his shoulders or the tattoos that peep from the edges of his expensive suits. Or maybe it's the hint of sadness lingering in his eyes in every picture I've ever seen of him.

Or maybe it's the way he looked at me today. For just a minute, I could have sworn he felt the same pulse of energy I did. That it was consuming him alive, too. That he wanted to kiss me.

Clearly, I was wrong. He didn't want to kiss me. He probably couldn't wait for me to get out of his office.

"Don't think that way," Triton soothes, but there's an edge to his tone that I don't understand. Impatience? Annoyance? "I'm on my way to get you. We'll figure out how to deal with this. We won't let Uncle Zen take the company from you."

"Okay." His promise should reassure me, but it doesn't. My father was crystal clear—no Dalton, no inheritance. No company.

I end the call and wrap my arms around myself, fighting the urge to crumple to the dirty concrete in devastation.

Triton's on his way. He'll fix this. Somehow.

But even as I cling to that fragile hope, dread coils in my stomach, cold and heavy. Because deep down, I'm terrified that there is no fixing this and it's already too late.

I grab a cheese fry and pop it into my mouth, grimacing when it tastes like ashes. But I'm not sure if that's the fry or if it's thanks to the smoke clinging to every surface in this bar. It's not even legal to smoke indoors, yet every time someone opens the front doors, another blast of smoke comes boiling in.

After the morning I had, I was perfectly content holed up in my hotel room, scarfing down ice cream. But Triton insisted I needed food and a little time outside of my own head.

I just want to go back to my room and wallow in peace. Especially since my cousin ditched me the second some curvy brunette with fuck-me eyes crooked her finger at him. Typical.

He's probably having sex in a bar bathroom. Yuck.

I take a long swig of beer, grimacing at the bitter taste. I don't know how people drink this and enjoy it. It tastes like how sweat feels—gross.

As I lower the bottle, the door swings open again, another blast of smoke blowing in.

Dalton Grady blows in with it, a man with long hair and scars all over his hands pacing at his side.

I freeze, my heart leaping into my freaking throat.

How the heck did he possibly find me here?

I grab the sticky wrapper from my burger, using it to hide my face. What? Desperate times and all that.

I inch a corner of it down to watch him discreetly.

Good lord, the man is sex on legs. My stomach clenches as he strides toward the bar, his handsome face set in grim lines, his muscles flexing with every step. He doesn't even look left or right. He's hyper-focused on something else.

Maybe he isn't here for me?

I lower the wrapper, watching as he and his friend stride up to a man sitting at the bar and pull up stools beside him. Dalton murmurs something.

The man on the stool says something back, and Dalton sighs.

They know each other.

I slide out of the booth, curiosity eating me alive as I inch closer, trying to hear what they're talking about. If eavesdropping is wrong, I'll explain to baby Jesus later.

I manage to find a spot behind a post not even two feet away. I'm so close that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted. Which I don't want. Nope. Definitely not. Not even to right that piece of hair standing upright…

"What are you doing, man?" Dalton asks, concern etched in his deep voice. "You shouldn't be here."

"I fucked everything up," the guy rasps, his green eyes focused on his shot glass like it holds the secrets of the universe. "And Isla left."

"Jesus," the guy who came in with Dalton says. "What happened, Brantley?"

Recognition slams into me as soon as the man says his name. Brantley Hill just inherited Hilltop Records here in Nashville after his father, Bellamy, was murdered by the Dixie Mafia over drug money they were owed.

It's been all over the news because half the world is convinced Brantley is the one who owed them, not his father. The music industry is split down the middle on who they think owed the debt.

"They found her sister. Tried to kill her." Brantley scrubs a hand through his dark hair. "It's my goddamn fault, Priest."

"And you think this shit is going to help?" Priest growls at him. "You're supposed to be sober, brother."

Brantley laughs, the sound scraping from his throat. "So everyone keeps telling me. Christ, I'm so fucking tired of this."

My heart aches at the pain in his voice. Whether he was the one who owed the drug money or not, I don't know. But he lost so much. Today, of all days, I can empathize. It's not a good feeling.

"Of what?" Dalton asks.

"The whole goddamn thing," Brantley rasps. "Half the fucking world blames me for what happened, and I let them because I want to protect his memory. I owe him that much. But goddamn. I didn't know it'd cost me everything that mattered."

"Brant, you can't—"

A meaty hand slaps my ass. Hard.

I wheel around to see a drunken cowboy in obscenely tight jeans leering at me.

I don't think. I don't say a word. I just act. My hand darts out, slapping him across the face just as hard as he slapped my ass.

He stumbles back a step, blinking. "You ungrateful bitch! I was just playin' with you."

"How? By assaulting me?" My heart hammers against my ribs as the alcohol on his breath washes over me.

"Assault? You're the one who hit me!"

He touches my ass without permission, and there are consequences, but suddenly he's the victim. Typical. I guess assholes and creeps are the same in every part of the United States—same tired lines, same tired moves, same tired victim complex. Ugh.

"Yeah, because you slapped my ass first, you basement-dwelling idiot. And I know you probably don't comprehend big words with that small brain, so I'll use little ones. That's bad. You go to jail for things like that." I jab my finger into his chest, causing him to stumble again. Jeez . How much has he had to drink? "So do us both a favor and don't ever put your hands on me or anyone else ever again."

Hatred sparks in his dilated blue eyes. "Someone needs to teach you some manners, you stupid little—"

He raises his hand, and for a split second, I'm sure he's going to hit me.

"You motherfucker!"

Strong arms close around me from behind, snatching me out of the way. Before my feet are even on the ground, Dalton plows into the cowboy, tackling him. They land on the floor in front of me, the cowboy on his back.

The cowboy doesn't have time to react before Dalton drives his fist into his face, snarling like a wild beast. "Don't ever fucking raise your hand to my fiancée again, motherfucker," he growls, punctuating each word with another punch.

Fiancée . He just called me his fiancée. The word bounces around my head, sending my mind spinning.

Or maybe that's the beer and the violence talking. Or the fact that I was nearly just hit by an asshole cowboy who clearly never learned that women aren't property for his taking.

"Hey! Let him up, you sorry prick!"

"Get that motherfucker!"

Oh no. This is bad.

I watch in horror as the cowboy's friends rush forward in a stumbling, roaring group, aiming right at Dalton, who still has their friend pinned to the floor.

"Dalton!" I cry sharply as one of them—a big guy in an even bigger belt buckle—takes a wild swing at him. "Look out!"

Brantley and Priest leap over Dalton, intercepting Belt Buckle…and all hell breaks loose. Several others rush forward, trying to help keep the cowboy's friends off Dalton. Others try to pull Dalton off the cowboy. It's a hot damn mess—my first bar fight.

Southern boys are built different, especially the gorgeous billionaire in the center, still roaring at the cowboy like a pissed-off, angry bear.

I stand frozen in the middle of the chaos, his words still reverberating through me. He just called me his fiancée. In front of all these people.

Maybe I haven't lost everything after all. Maybe, just maybe, there's still a…

"Enough!"

I jump a full foot into the air when a booming voice cuts through the fray, my head whipping to the right. My heart falls all the way to my feet.

The police are here. Crap.

Two officers stride forward, onlookers parting like the freaking Red Sea to let them through. One of them heads straight for Dalton, hauling him off the battered cowboy.

I don't think Dalton realizes the man is a cop because he takes a swing at him, growling a curse.

"Dalton, man, chill!" Brantley warns him, but he's beyond hearing, beyond caring.

The officer whips him around and slams him face-first against the wall, twisting his arm up behind his back.

Dalton tries to throw him off.

"That's enough, Grady!" the cop barks in his ear. "You're already going to jail. Don't make it worse for yourself, man."

Oh God. This can't be happening.

My stomach plummets through the floor as Dalton struggles against the officer's hold, fighting to get free.

I take a step in that direction, intending to do…something to help. But Priest hooks an arm around my waist, stopping me in my tracks.

"Not today, killer," he growls with a sharp shake of his head. "Getting yourself arrested isn't going to get him out of those cuffs. It's just going to piss him off even more."

I swallow hard, guilt rising like bile in my throat. This is all my fault. He was protecting me, and now he's getting arrested for it.

Dalton's hazel eyes lock with mine, and I see the same realization settle over him. He stops trying to throw the cop off, stops fighting. He just…stops, his gaze boring into me, burning like lava.

"Dalton, I…"

"Get her the fuck out of here, Priest," he growls at his friend as the officer clicks handcuffs into place around his wrists. "Now."

I blink back hot tears, my heart threatening to splinter in my chest as Priest shuffles me toward the door.

Dalton's never going to forgive me for this.