Page 7 of Among the Stars
Cam set his own mug on the counter. “You aren’t the first person to drink too much, but I have to ask. What was one of Nashville’s most successful producers doing out on her own, drinking herself into oblivion?”
Her head shot up, her blue eyes wide.
“I Googled you,” he admitted. “The name Veronica Shepherd sounded familiar, and I was curious who I’d brought home.”
Humiliation turned to annoyance. “If you were so worried about who was in your bed, why did you bring me here at all?”
“Would you prefer I’d left you on the street?”
Lips tight, she reached for the bottle of water. “No, I wouldn’t.” Lifting a pill off the counter, she hesitated and glanced around. “Wait a minute.” Veronica crossed to the tall windows on the far side of the living room. “We’re in The Gulch, aren’t we? That’s Music Row out there.”
Cam set his mug in the sink. “Yes.”
“How does a bartender afford one of the most expensive apartments in town?”
Crossing his arms, he leaned on the counter edge. “I’m the owner of Rhodes Tavern. Cameron Rhodes.”
His guest plopped onto the sofa behind her. “You’re Cameron Rhodes?”
She made it sound like he was on an FBI most wanted list. “Yes. You can call me Cam.”
“The most eligible bachelor Cameron Rhodes?”
He never should have let that article run. Thousands of eligible men inhabited this city. They only earned the most title if they were wealthy. Cam wasn’t ashamed of his success. He’d earned every damn penny in his accounts. But his life had been one annoying incident after another since the most eligible moniker had been added to his name.
“I’m no more eligible than the next single man.”
“Wha. . . But. . . Why would the owner be tending bar?”
“I like to give as many on my staff the night off as I can during the holiday.” Uncurling off the counter, he headed toward the bedroom. “By the way, Merry Christmas. Take the pills, and I’ll be back to take you home.”
A string of profanity followed Cam down the hall, followed by the words, “I need to use your phone!”
* * *
How wasshe going to explain missing Christmas breakfast?
Veronica had never missed the family breakfast, mostly because her mother wouldn’t allow it. This was Marsha Hamilton’s favorite holiday. Every inch of her immaculate home was elaborately decorated, including four Christmas trees—all with different themes—and enough lights on the outside to draw a line of slow-moving cars that stretched all the way down the block every night between Thanksgiving and New Years.
The neighbors had put up a fuss for years, but once they realized they couldn’t beat her, many joined the fun, adding their own displays. Which always Marsha made sure to top.
The temptation to show up at noon acting as if nothing was amiss was ruled out by the certainty that by now, her mother and both of her sisters had not only been calling her phone nonstop, they’d likely driven to her house and turned frantic when she wasn’t there. Which would then lead to them calling Ash, and by now everyone in her life probably thought she was dead.
She could hear it now. For years to come, they’d tell the story of that time Veronica ruined Christmas by scaring the hell out of them.
Her mother picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Veronica Louise Hamilton Shepherd, where in the world are you? Do you know how worried we’ve been? Why haven’t you answered your phone? Are you hurt?”
The urge to bang her head against the expensive countertop almost won out. “I’m fine, Mom. I went out with a friend last night and had too much to drink.”
“A friend? What friend? Where are you?”
Cam returned to the kitchen looking as if he’d walked straight out of GQ magazine. The black turtleneck stretched tight across his broad shoulders and was tucked into the waistband of perfectly tailored black pants. She didn’t need a close look to recognize the Rolex on his wrist, or that the loafers were real leather. Probably Italian. As eligible as the next guy her elbow. The man was a walking wet dream.
“Veronica? Are you there?”