Page 42 of Uncharted Desires
“No.”
She cocked her head, taking in his confused expression. “Oh right, you wouldn’t. You’ve always been rich. Well, I do, and one of the things I would do is open a series of music schools across the US that are free to students who don’t have access to music lessons but want them. They always cut the music programs when money is tight. That’s how you got Cher. She lost her first teaching job because they cut the entire music program.”
How did he not know that?
He really sucked, not bothering to know much of anything about the women who’d sung for him throughout the years.
“I would focus on a lot of folk and Indigenous music,” she continued. “Especially in a lot of Native, Hispanic, and Latin communities. I would want teachers who teach cultural music so that the kids are exposed to their ancestral music. I always wished for more exposure to my culture in school, or for a place to learn more about our music. I chose to play the flute because of a book I had called The Love Flute. It was full of beautiful Native imagery and was the first time I saw myself reflected in a children’s book. Turns out a White English dude wrote that book and it is full of stereotypes.”
West watched the play of emotions across her face: the excitement she felt wanting to help those like her, and the disappointment she felt at not getting to experience her culture as a child.
Leave it to Kat to have millions of dollars and her first thought is to start a music program for others. She was so selfless and caring, and West did not deserve her. And yet he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to give her up when they got off this island.
“But you give money to that charity that donates instruments to kids,” she added, as if reading his thoughts and trying to make him feel better.
His head snapped up, his gaze searing into her. “How do you even know that?”
“I told you, Cher worked in a school; her students got some of those instruments.”
It wasn't because he was embarrassed, but rather because he didn't want or need praise for it, that he tended to keep a lot of his charities quiet.
“That’s a lofty goal,” he said, changing the subject away from him.
“I know, it would probably be a lot, but I imagine I could do quite a bit with millions of dollars.”
“You would think, but it’s not that easy. I’m responsible for the livelihoods of a decent amount of people—it’s partly why I’m even considering acting. Starting my own label and getting out there with my music sounds fantastic, but I have so many people who depend on me, and money has to come in somehow. I thought I’d made good investments, but my accountant says I need to keep bringing money in or I won’t be able to continue living my lifestyle, so they clearly weren’t as solid as I thought.”
Kat blinked up at him. “You’re going broke?”
He made an affronted sound. “Why does everybody immediately jump to broke? I just don’t have as much money as I thought. Something’s wrong with my accounts, or rather who’s been running my accounts. I want to make sure I can still employ the people who depend on me. That’s why I’m more inclined to take the sure thing, rather than open a label that may not generate much income, or even worse, be a complete money suck.”
“I’m sorry, West, I had no idea.” She pulled his hand into her lap, both of her hands resting in his. “I don’t mean to minimize what you’re going through. Do you think someone might be stealing your money?”
He looked down at her hands cradling his, and suddenly that was all he could think of. He didn’t care about the money or what he was going to do next. “I don’t know if someone is skimming off the top, or if it’s just being mismanaged, but I know I’m not that big of a spender. I just need to inspect my books better—if we ever get off this island. As much as I find your idea appealing, I need the sure thing right now.”
She scrunched up her nose, not particularly liking his answer.
If anything good came out of this experience, his record sales had most likely picked up because of his disappearance, hopefully bringing in more money. Declan was most likely having a field day.
“Now your turn.” He needed to change the subject.
She blinked. “For what?”
“Something real. Your turn to tell me something.”
“I did. You asked what I’d do with millions, and I told you.”
He shook his head. “No, that was just an extension of mine. I want to know something else, something different. A true secret. I bet plenty of people know you’d do that if you had the money.”
She huffed and moved her legs out from under her, releasing his hand. “Fine. I shouldn’t even tell you this, since you already have a super-inflated sense of self, but I might as well.”
He flashed her a smile. “Now I’m even more intrigued.”
Kat couldn’t believe she was about to tell him this, but somehow their stories had intertwined long ago. Something like fate had led her here, lost on an island, with a bullet wound in her arm, her body aching to be touched by this man like some nineteen-year-old, rather than a woman just over thirty.
She took a deep breath and looked at him. His eyes were dancing with laughter as the last rays of the sun filtered through his hair.
“When I was a sophomore at UCLA, I went to a show at The Troubadour, there was this new up-and-coming jazzy, folky, sexy, smooth-voiced artist playing that night whose fingers played the guitar as if his life depended on it. He sang of love and sex, and women, and boy was my little nineteen-year-old self sexually awakened by the middle of that show. Stupid college boys didn’t hold a candle to the sensuality of the man on that stage.”