Echo: A Linear Tactical Romantic Suspense Standalone Read online

  “I know there are more advanced ways to do storyboarding than this.” She gestured to the color-coded notecards with various descriptions written or drawn on them.

  He glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow. “Somebody has been listening to Silas Hayes again.”

  She tapped a card against her cheek. “It’s a little hard not to.” Silas had been the creative force behind a few of Cade’s other videos. He hadn’t liked being replaced, especially by someone with no experience like Peyton. He hadn’t said anything outright but had made an art out of passive-aggressive mutterings under his breath.

  “Silas is a prima donna, and pretty much everyone just tolerates him. A lot of well-respected directors still use old-school storyboarding techniques. The tactile feel of it gets the creative juices flowing.”

  She smiled over at him, relieved. Everett had been a pretty constant source of support all week. And honestly, except for Silas, everyone else had been pretty supportive too.

  That still didn’t stop Peyton from feeling like a complete fraud.

  Who was she kidding? She was a fraud. She had neither the education nor experience most of the people on this project had.

  “Nobody else has given you a hard time, have they?”

  She shrugged. “No.”

  “That’s because they recognize your talent. Schooling doesn’t mean much around here. There have been plenty of people who’ve come out of prestigious film programs who didn’t have the natural eye you have.”

  “They all know I’m here because Cade specifically asked for me.” She was still trying to wrap her head around that herself.

  Everett chuckled. “That’s something everyone is used to. Believe me, Nashville is all about who you know. The important thing is, Cade thinks you’re able to do this. I was skeptical when he first mentioned you, I’ll admit. But I’m totally on board now, Peyfilms007.”

  She couldn’t stop the flush that stained her cheeks at the mention of her Instagram account. “Nobody knows that’s me. How did you find it?”

  He grinned over at her. “Mark Outlawson, Cade’s security expert, can find damn near anything. But more importantly, why would you hide that? Those short films are absolutely brilliant. Plus, showing how you conceptualized them, organized them and then actually completed the camera work is pretty amazing. Nearly seven thousand followers can’t be wrong.”

  She nodded. She’d never really planned for the account to become so large or popular. She’d started it because she’d needed an outlet for all those ideas crashing around inside her head. She’d been totally surprised when people had started following her and asking for more.

  “Once word got out you were Peyfilms, I don’t think anyone questioned your ability.”

  “Except Silas.” They both said it at the same time then laughed.

  Peyton relaxed slightly. “Well, I don’t know who could have possibly let the crew know about that account.” She nudged Everett. “But thank you.”

  He winked at her. “Hey, my number one priority is doing what’s best for Cade’s career. And granted, that’s generally what’s best for my career too. I’m sure his reasons for asking you to head up this project are more complex than merely your abilities, but seeing what I’ve seen, I think he’s made the right choice. That it pisses off Silas is just a bonus.”

  “I haven’t seen Cade around much this week.” As soon as she said the words, she wished she could take them back. Cade wasn’t needed for this part of the process. A regular director wouldn’t be asking about him.

  “He’s been in his writing cave most of the week.” Everett picked up one of the notecards and studied it. “None of us have seen him.”

  “Oh. Writing music? Does he close himself off?” She grimaced. She sounded like a fangirl. “I’d like to understand his creative processes.”

  He smiled over at her. “Cade’s creative process has never been easy. He’s one of those types where pain and angst fuel his creative juices.”

  “Oh.”

  “The good news is ‘Echo’ has the potential to be the greatest song he’s written in a while. A huge hit.”

  She blew a strand of hair off her face. “Great. No pressure.”

  “Aw, is the newbie feeling overwhelmed?” Silas Hayes walked up on the other side of the table and picked up another note card, shaking his head. “Not too late to admit you might be in over your head. Let the adults handle this.”

  She plucked the card out of his hand. “I’ll be fine.” She prayed that was true.

  Silas gave her a friendly smile that was decidedly lacking on the friendliness part. “If you say so.”

  She took in a calming breath. “I’d like for us to collaborate and make this project the best it can be. If you have ideas or see things I don’t, I would be more than happy to hear them and make changes accordingly.”

  Silas tilted his head and studied her. “When you’ve been in this business longer than half an hour, you’ll see that it doesn’t work like that. But don’t worry; I’ll be around.”

  Waiting for her to fail. He didn’t say it, but then again, he didn’t have to.

  “Thanks, Silas,” Everett said with an eye roll. “We appreciate the camaraderie you bring to the table, as well as your altruistic spirit.”

  Silas shrugged. “You and I both know what’s going on here, so let’s not pretend. I’ll do my job, and hopefully she’ll be able to do hers. If not, I’ll do her job too, I guess.”

  He turned to study the storyboarding idea cards.

  Everett shook his head at Peyton and patted her hand.

  They spent the next couple of hours going over the potential setup for both the music video and the documentary, Silas not helping much, but at least not hindering.

  The documentary wouldn’t be storyboarded, of course, but they did need to plan some of the shots they wanted to get overall.

  “If I can get some of Cade writing, it would be perfect,” she muttered, thinking of what that could add to the feel of the twenty-minute mini-movie. “I think his fans would really love that insight into him.”

  “He’ll never agree to it,” Silas muttered. “Believe me, we’ve tried for years to get footage inside the writing cave.”

  Everett nodded. “Silas is right. Cade’s pretty maniacal when he’s in the zone. He doesn’t want anyone around. Most of the time, he doesn’t even remember to eat, much less want to talk to anyone.”

  She tapped a pen against her lips. “Maybe we could set up a camera in there and let it run. We don’t need a lot. Only a glimpse into who he is in there. A few seconds of what it’s like as a song comes together.”

  “You’re going to have to work within reality, Peyton.” Silas grabbed the card she’d marked as writing cave and tapped it a few times against the table. “Documentaries are real life, but they’re the real life the singers are willing to provide the public. Just because you want it, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

  “Would ten minutes be enough to get you what you need?” Everyone froze at the sound of Cade’s voice behind them. Peyton turned around slowly, her eyes drinking him in. “It’s a small space, and Silas is right. I don’t generally invite anyone in there. It’s a personal place. Private.”

  “Um, yes, even ten minutes would be great.”

  “Okay,” Cade said. “Done.”

  Silas threw up his hands and walked away without a word.

  She barely noticed, too busy looking at Cade without quite meeting his eyes. He was standing next to Everett, the two friends both attractive but so different. Where Everett was handsome in a more fashionable way with his skinny jeans and careless blond hair, Cade was rugged, almost brutal, in his good looks.

  A couple days’ worth of beard covered his hard jaw, and her fingers itched to touch it.

  Why? What was wrong with her that one look at this man made her body betray her so desperately? Touching him last week at the picnic, being so close, feeling his hard body against hers, had reignited something inside her she hadn’t been able to shut back down.

  It didn’t help that he was looking at her like he couldn’t get his fill of her either. Like he wished no one else was around.

  Or was she hallucinating?

  And even if she wasn’t, what did it matter? There was enough water under the bridge between them to fill the Grand Canyon.

  Her body might want him—damn it—but she’d be an absolute fool to get close to Cade again.

  Then she finally met his eyes.

  “Hey you,” he whispered.

  Those eyes, so impossibly blue, currently tired and a little bloodshot. Blue eyes that reminded her even more why she couldn’t afford to get near him again.

  But something about seeing him now, a little tired and worn down made her realize the truth.

  She was going to have to tell Cade about his daughter.

  Tell him that she hadn’t had the abortion he’d insisted on five years ago. That she’d taken his money but hadn’t been able to go through with it.

  Which was, probably to Silas’s sure delight, going to be the end of her short stint as creative director for the “Echo” project. It was the reason she’d kept her other jobs, even cleaning Cecelia’s house. This job was paying ridiculous amounts of money, but she couldn’t afford to be replaced in the other two in case. . .

  Well, in case Cade decided that she wasn’t worth the effort like he had last time.

  Or, even worse, fired her and decided to take some sort of legal action against her once he found out she hadn’t done what the signed paper said she would do.

  “What, Peaches? What just happened to put that look in your eyes?” Cade stepped in closer.

  There was no way she was getting into it in front of everyone here. Especially Silas, who watched them with narrowed eyes.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She forced a smile. “We were just going over potential shots for the documentary. And also, I know I haven’t heard ‘Echo’ yet, or seen the lyrics, but I was wondering if perhaps it might work for us to integrate the documentary seamlessly into the music video and keep the same style. Deep focus and over-the-shoulder shots, remaining more true to life. Artistic, but real.”

  Cade and Everett looked at each other.

  “I told you,” Everett muttered.

  She bit her lip. Told Cade what? Did they hate the idea? Yeah, she had a good creative eye, but wasn’t particularly well-versed in country music videos. Her ideas may be too far outside of the box for them to even want to consider it.

  “Look, if it doesn’t work for you, tell me. I can come up—”

  “It’s perfect. Everett told me everything you’ve done so far has been spot on.” Cade reached over and squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb across her palm before letting go. “Keeping the video true-to-life will be an ideal fit. ‘Echo’ is the most real song I’ve written in…ever. And it’s the style you’re best at, so that makes it even better.”

  She fisted the hand he’d just touched, her fingertips running over the place his thumb had stroked. His words, his trust, as well as Everett’s, meant everything to her.

  But stress pooled in her gut. She needed to tell him now, before they got in any deeper. It was only fair.

  “Okay, I’m glad it’ll work. But”—she glanced down at her hands, unable to meet his eyes—“I’m going to need to talk to you about something before we go any further.”

  She didn’t look up when she heard Cade step closer. “Something about the project?”

  “Yes.” She made her voice as strong as she could. “Something about the project. We need to discuss it before we start primary filming.”

  For the first time, she understood the meaning of deafening silence. She could hear nothing else but the absolute lack of sound in the warehouse.

  “Okay,” Cade finally said. “How about we head over to the writing cave right now? We can talk about whatever you need to, and then you can get the shot you want.”

  She forced herself to look at him. “I’d prefer not to have a film crew in there when we talk.”

  He shrugged. “To be honest, I’d prefer not to have a crew in there at all. Do you know how to operate the camera yourself?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “My writing space is my most intimate, personal space. I’m inviting you in because…well, for a number of reasons. But I don’t want a crew in there. Only you.”

  Now both Silas and Everett watched them intently. Hell, so was the rest of the small crew.

  “Fine. We’ll talk, and I’ll get the shot, if. . .that’s what you want.”

  She tried to hold on to her hope loosely, knowing there was every chance she might be talking to Cade’s lawyers by the end of the day rather than him. She wanted to do this project so badly. This week, as stressful as it had been, had also been a dream come true. Working on a film project from start to finish. . . She never thought she’d have this sort of opportunity at this point in her life.

  So she tried to prepare herself now. If it got taken away from her today, she didn’t want to be devastated. Her life would be no worse off than it had been before Cade had breezed back into it. She still had her amazing daughter, still had a strong body to do the work that allowed Jess to have the opportunities that would enable her to excel.

  Cade gestured for her to walk with him out of the warehouse, and she did so, swallowing the feeling that she was walking to her own doom.

  She’d survived without Cade O’Conner for the past five years. She’d be fine without him once again.

  Chapter 12

  He was going to lose her.

  Cade felt it as clearly now as he had last week at the picnic. If he let Peyton go now, she was going to somehow slip through his fingers.

  Maybe not physically, but if she got her guard up now, she was never going to be his again.

  Not that there was any guarantee of that anyway. But at least there was a chance. So he pushed for her to come to the writing cave and talk to him. He didn’t want to wait.

  He didn’t care what it was she wanted to request that had put such a trepidatious look in her eyes: more money, more time, more help.

  Whatever it was she needed; he would see she got it.

  He just didn’t want her to close herself off against him. He wanted to nurture that quiet but feisty side of her that came out when she was around him. Wanted to encourage her artistic eye. Wanted to hear her laugh.

  He wanted Peyton—in all her parts.

  He opened the door to his writing room and glanced around, wincing. Maybe he ought to pick up a little bit while she was out in the van grabbing the camera and lights she wanted to use.

  This room was his sanctuary, a guitar, bass, and baby grand piano sitting in one corner—all of which he could play, but guitar best by far. Under the window on the east side of the room was a desk holding the electronic equipment he needed to actually record, including both a recording mic at the desk and one in a miniature sound booth next to the window.

  The entire room was soundproofed, giving Cade the creative freedom to be as loud as he liked at any time of the day or night without having to worry about disturbing anyone else in the house. The opposite was also true. . .there would have to be a near nuclear holocaust in order for him to be able to hear it in here.

  The couch opposite the window had seen more use as a bed than an actual place to sit. A shirt and pair of socks were strung over its arm. He grabbed the folded blanket off the back and placed it strategically over the clothes.

  The opposite side of the room led into a bathroom and a large closet that had been converted into a kitchenette. He shut the doors to both—they were not fit to be seen by man or camera.

  On the south side of the room was his desk. Actually, his dad’s desk. Large and made of oak. The kind of dark, masculine wood that had gone out of style, replaced by sleeker models that allowed for charging stations and rolling keyboard drawers. But Cade loved this huge hunk of furniture. Knew it could take the beating if things weren’t going right, and he needed to sit on it. Or beat it with his fist.

  He could recall one day he’d actually paced back and forth on top of the desk as he worked out a tune.

  It was now covered in papers—pieces of the song “Echo” he still couldn’t quite work together. He was missing something, but he didn’t know what.

  All he knew was that the final pieces of this song were going to come to him. And when they did, he would be ready.

  “Is it okay for me to come in?”

  He spun toward the doorway at the sound of Peyton’s soft voice.

  “Please.” He rushed over to her to help her with the small lighting tree she was carrying. “Yes, come in.”

  He moved out of her way so she could look around, his eyes continuously falling to the small smile that lit her mouth. “Is it what you expected?”

  “I guess I’m a little glad to see it’s so…homey. Not formal.”

  “Like how Cecelia has decorated the house.”

  “Yes.” She gave a rueful shrug of one shoulder. “Of course, I wouldn’t judge if that’s what you wanted in here. Someone’s creative space is their own domain. No one else has the right to tell them what does or doesn’t belong. But this place has a distinctive you feel to it. I like it.”

  Cade had never once cared what other people thought of this space. Everett had offered to bring in an interior decorator, add feng shui or something, but had backed down when Cade threatened to stick a boot up his ass. He liked this room the way it was. Had one almost exactly like it at his house in Nashville.

  But Peyton’s opinion mattered to him. Knowing she approved had him releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  He held up the light tree. “Where do you want these?”

  She tensed immediately, turning from where she’d been studying the instruments in the corner to face him. “Anywhere is fine.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Even he knew the positioning of the lights made a difference in a film shot. “Anywhere?”

  “Yeah. I’ll set the lights up in a minute. If…you still want me to.”