Bad Blood

Part Eight

A/N Chapter Nine up on inkitt

Chapter Eight

"I love it!" Chris nodded as Paul handed him the note taped to the window.

Riker scowled, "you would!"

He stayed in his position, crouched over his guitar as he tuned it, not wanting to think about the fact that she'd managed to describe the essence of the song in a nutshell. He hadn't wanted to admit that the lyrics came from his reaction to seeing her in the business centre of Melbourne years earlier. At the time he thought he'd handled it, watching her, keeping Damon in the forefront of his mind in a positive way. But he'd gone home and instantly written pages as he thought about seeing her and the opening of doors to his past that had remained closed.

She was talking about her own second chance, her not making a mistake when she sang, he could hear it her voice, but the song had really been about him, not letting that happen to him, not to let a woman ruin his life, his band, his world...ever again. She'd missed the part in the song where the memory from the past was rejected, pushed away forever.

Ben was still talking and he'd switched off to it, so he couldn't answer the question directed at him.

"Is it just cos she suggested it?" he repeated.

Riker rolled his eyes, "you think I'm that pathetic?"

Chris laughed, "I think you hate her."

He nodded, because that was right. What happened the previous night? That wasn't meant to be. Riker wanted to shake himself for letting her get under his skin. This was too important to fuck up, hence him keeping his distance from her.

The song title was perfect, but could he let her have that? Could he be the bastard who cut off his nose to spite his face? That was who he always had been. Principled, more than childish. That was his remit.

But it was the perfect title, the voice in the back of his head kept reminding him.

"If we do use it..." all three pairs of eyes stared at him in wonder, rolling his eyes he continued, "nothing has changed. I still hate her. She is still not part of this band. You all agree?"

The three other members nodded, shrugged, not really sure how to react to his back pedal. "And we don't tell her until the whole album is recorded."

Paul shrugged, "you're the boss!"

He nodded, "when it comes to organising you fuckwits, then yes I bloody am."

A few days later, the record label suits called a meeting in their central London offices. They'd completed more than half the album and Nancy could only presume it was to discuss the rest. Traffic in from the suburbs, accompanied by horrendous spring rainfall and a tube closure, meant that she was fifteen minutes late when she entered the building.

The mirrored lift compartment revealed she looked like something the cat dragged in, so she was glad of a moment to finger comb her hair and retie it in a messy bun, and tidy up her scant make up. Fortunately the execs were on the thirtieth floor, so she had a little time. But she was caught unawares when the doors behind her opened on the fifteenth floor, and she was still reapplying her lip gloss.

The eyes that met her refection in the mirror glared at her.

What were the chances of Riker being on the wrong floor?

She kept her eyes on his as she finished applying the gloss, rubbing her lips together as his nostrils flared.

"Matthew," she offered, turning to face him with a fake smile.