Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

5. Hell You Call A Dream – Eliza

Hell You Call A Dream

ELIZA

The scent of Chanel No. 5 fills the air as I spritz it on my wrists, a comforting ritual that does little to calm my nerves tonight. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of my black Armani cocktail dress. It's elegant, professional – armor for the battle ahead. But as I fasten the clasp of my mother's vintage pearl necklace, my hands are shaking. It’s a bit formal for me, but it feels like armor. And I definitely feel like I need some sort of protection tonight.

What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to have dinner with Chase?

The phone call had been difficult enough. Hearing his voice after five years of silence had brought back a flood of memories – both sweet and painful. And now I've agreed to see him face to face, to sit across a table from him and discuss the Hall of Fame induction as if we're nothing more than old colleagues.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I can do this. I'm Eliza fucking Kerr. I've negotiated million-dollar deals, managed impossible egos, navigated the treacherous waters of the music industry for decades. Just last week, I talked down a temperamental rapper from walking out mid-tour over a dispute about his rider. I can handle one dinner with Chase Avery.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. Because Chase was never just another musician, another client. He was... everything . And that's exactly why I shouldn't go tonight.

A soft knock at my bedroom door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Mom?" Justin's voice calls out. "You okay in there?"

I open the door to find my son leaning against the frame, concern etched on his face. "I'm fine, honey," I say, forcing a smile. "Just... nervous about this dinner."

Justin raises an eyebrow, so much like me it's almost comical. "You know, you don't have to go if you're not ready."

For a moment, I'm tempted to take the out he's offering. But I shake my head. "No, I need to do this. For the band, for the label... for me."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. Sometimes I forget how much he's seen. How much he's been through with me and the band. "Well, if you need an excuse to bail early, just text me. I'll call with a family emergency."

I laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "My hero," I say, reaching up to ruffle his hair like I did when he was little. He ducks away, grinning.

As Justin heads back to his room – he's been staying with me while his place is being renovated – I turn back to the mirror. The woman staring back at me is successful, respected, powerful. But I can see the vulnerability in her eyes, the fear.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and dial a familiar number.

"Eliza?" Michelle's voice comes through, warm and slightly concerned. "Everything okay?"

I sink onto the edge of my bed, tension easing from my shoulders at the sound of my best friend's voice. "I'm not sure, Michelle. I think I might be making a huge mistake."

Michelle Reeves has been my right hand at Blackmore for the past decade, rising from my assistant to become our Vice President. Along the way she’s become one of my best friends. Someone I can trust. She's one of the few people who knows the full story of my history with Chase.

"Is this about the dinner with Chase?" she asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter as always.

"How did you know?"

I can almost hear her eye roll through the phone. "Please. You've been on edge ever since you agreed to do the induction speech. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why. Plus, you kinda still share your calendar with me, so…"

I sigh, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "I don't know if I can do this, Michelle. Seeing him again, after everything..."

"Hey," Michelle's voice softens. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Eliza. You've dealt with far worse than an awkward dinner with an ex. Remember when we had to renegotiate all our streaming contracts after that royalty dispute last year?"

I chuckle despite myself. "God, don't remind me. I still have nightmares about spreadsheets and fine print."

"And you handled it like the boss bitch you are," Michelle says. "You can handle this too."

I stand, pacing the length of my bedroom. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps, a counterpoint to the clicking of my heels that usually accompanies my movements at the office. "He's not just an ex, Michelle," I say softly. "You know that."

"I know," she says gently. "But that's exactly why you need to do this. You need closure, Eliza. And who knows? Maybe this is your chance to finally get some answers."

"Or maybe it's a chance to reopen old wounds," I counter, pausing to look out the window at the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "God, Michelle, you didn't see him at the end. The things he said, the way he looked at me... like I was the enemy."

"That was five years ago," Michelle reminds me. "People change. You've changed. Hell, you're about to induct Incendiary Ink into the freaking Hall of Fame. If that's not a full-circle moment, I don't know what is."

She's right, of course. But that doesn't make this any easier.

"What if..." I start, then stop, the words sticking in my throat as if I’m afraid to put them out into the universe again.

"What if what?" Michelle prompts.

"What if I still have feelings for him?" The admission hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then, "Oh, honey. I think we both know you never stopped having feelings for him. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

I look at myself in the mirror again, really look. Beyond the designer dress and the carefully applied makeup, I see the woman who fell in love with a young rocker against her better judgment. The woman who helped build Incendiary Ink into a global phenomenon, only to watch it all crumble. The woman who's spent five years trying to forget the one man she can't seem to let go of.

"I don't know," I admit. "But I guess I have to go to this dinner to find out."

"That's my girl," Michelle says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, go knock him dead. And Eliza?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember – you're Eliza fucking Kerr. You've got this."

I hang up, feeling slightly more centered. Michelle's right. I am Eliza fucking Kerr. I've faced down record execs, diva artists, and cutthroat competitors. I can handle one dinner with Chase Avery. Maybe if I keep repeating that mantra in my head, I’ll eventually believe it.

Maybe.

But as I grab my Hermès clutch and head for the door, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning: This isn't just any dinner. This is Chase . And when it comes to him, all bets are off.

"I'm heading out," I call to Justin. "Don't wait up."

"Good luck, Mom," he calls back. "Remember, family emergency is just a text away."

I smile, grateful for my son's support. Then, taking a deep breath, I step out into the warm Los Angeles night.

Here goes nothing.

February 14, 2005

The last thing I expect to see when I walk into my hotel room is a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses on the bed. For a moment, my heart leaps – then reality crashes back in. This isn't for me. It can't be.

I grab my phone, firing off a quick text to Chase.

ME: Wrong room?

His reply comes almost instantly.

CHASE: Nope. Happy Valentine's Day, Eliza.

I stare at the message, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Anger. Confusion. And something dangerously close to hope. Before I can stop myself, I'm dialing his number.

"Hey," Chase's voice is warm, a little uncertain. "Did you get the-"

"What the hell are you doing?" I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intend.

There's a pause. "I... I thought it would be nice. To do something for Valentine's Day."

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Chase, we agreed. No strings attached, remember? This," I gesture at the gifts even though he can't see me, "This is strings. This is a fucking spider web. God damnit, this is a whole damn rope."

"It's just flowers and chocolates, Eliza," he says, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

But it does. It means everything, and that's the problem.

"We can't do this," I say, hating the tremor in my voice. "We can't blur the lines like this. It's too complicated."

"What's complicated about it?" Chase challenges. "I care about you. You care about me. Why are we pretending otherwise?"

Because caring isn't enough. Because I'm your manager and you're my client. Because I have a son and responsibilities and a career I've worked my ass off for. Because I'm terrified of how much I feel for you.

I don't say any of that. Instead, I say, "You have a show tonight. You should be resting your voice, not... whatever this is."

Chase sighs, frustration evident. "Fine. Forget I did anything. I'll see you at soundcheck."

The line goes dead, and I'm left staring at the gifts on the bed. Part of me wants to throw them away, to erase this moment of weakness. But a larger part, the part I've been trying so hard to ignore, wants to cherish them.

I sink onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. This is exactly what I was afraid of. The lines are blurring, and I don't know how to stop it. Or if I even want to. What about the rules we set into place? What about my rule?

For a long time, I just sit there, letting the emotions wash over me. I think about Justin waiting for me back home. What would he think if he knew about this... arrangement I have with Chase? What kind of example am I setting?

Then there's my career to consider. I've worked too damn hard to get where I am. I've seen too many women in this industry sidelined because they got involved with artists. I swore I'd never be one of them. Not again. And yet here I am, teetering on the edge of exactly that.

But God, when I'm with Chase... it feels right. Like all the pieces of my life finally fit together. His laugh, his touch, the way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the world – it makes me feel alive in a way I haven't before in my life.

I stand up abruptly, pacing the room. This is insane. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager, not a grown woman with responsibilities. I need to end this, draw a clear line. It's the only way to protect myself, to protect the band, to protect Chase's career.

My eyes fall on the roses again, and I'm hit with a memory. Chase, backstage after a show, his eyes shining with adrenaline and something else. The way he pulled me into a dark corner, his lips on mine, whispering "I need you" against my skin. The thrill, the danger, the overwhelming rightness of it all.

I shake my head, trying to clear the image. This is exactly why we can't do this. The intensity between us is too much. It'll consume everything if we let it.

With a deep breath, I reach for the roses, intending to throw them away. But as my fingers touch the soft petals, I hesitate. Maybe... maybe I can keep them. Just for today. A small indulgence before I do what needs to be done.

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts, and I instinctively throw the roses into a corner out of view. I open it to find Will, Incendiary Ink's bassist, looking uncomfortable.

"Hey, Eliza. Uh, have you seen Chase? He's not in his room, and we've got that radio interview in twenty."

I straighten, realizing how much time has passed while I drowned in my own selfish existential crisis, and slip back into manager mode, grateful for the distraction. "I'll find him. You guys go on ahead, we'll meet you there."

Will nods, then hesitates. "Everything okay? Chase seemed... off earlier."

"Everything's fine," I lie smoothly. "Just pre-show jitters. It’s a big one tonight, right? I'll talk to him."

As soon as Will leaves, I grab my phone again, texting Chase.

ME: Where are you?

It takes a few minutes, but he finally replies.

CHASE: Hotel bar

Of course.

I find him nursing a whiskey, looking every inch the brooding rockstar. He doesn't look up as I slide onto the stool next to him.

"You have an interview in fifteen minutes," I say, keeping my voice neutral.

Chase takes another sip of his drink. "I know."

We sit in tense silence for a moment. Then, before I can stop myself, I say, "I'm sorry. About earlier. I... overreacted."

He finally looks at me, his green eyes intense. "Did you? Or were you just being honest for once?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with unsaid words we both know could destroy us. Destroy everything. Incendiary Ink on the brink of stardom, and I would only be a distraction for Chase. It would only complicate things and put everything we’re working toward in jeopardy.

I open my mouth, then close it again, not sure how to respond. Because the truth is, I don't know. I don't know what I want, what I feel, what's right or wrong anymore. And if I can’t say it, I shouldn’t say anything. I can’t muddy the water we’re barely keeping our head’s above or we’ll all drown. Not just me. Not just Chase. Everyone.

Chase sighs, setting down his glass. "Look, Eliza. I know we said no strings. But I'm starting to think that's bullshit. There have always been strings between us. We're just too scared to admit it."

His words hit too close to home. Scared doesn’t even begin to cover it. I can’t give in to my emotions. I can’t give in to him. It kills something inside of me to not openly agree with him, and I feel that death deep in my soul. I know exactly what I’m losing by not admitting my feelings right here and now, and my heart is pleading with me to just give in - but I just can’t do it. Every path ahead that I see with us together ends in disaster for everyone involved. It’s a responsibility I don’t want. In fact, I want to run as far away from it as I fucking can.

But I can’t.

We can’t do this here. Hell, we can’t do this anywhere. I pull myself together and stand abruptly. "We need to go. You can't be late for this interview."

Chase looks at me for a long moment, then nods, resignation settling over his features. "Sure. Whatever you say, boss."

As we walk to the elevator, I can feel the weight of everything unsaid between us. The roses and chocolates in my room. The ache in my chest. The knowledge that no matter how hard we try, 'no strings attached' might be an impossible dream for us.

The elevator doors close, and I catch our reflection in the mirrored walls. We're standing close, but not touching. Always close, but never quite connecting. I wonder how long we can keep this up before something breaks.

As we step out into the penthouse where the interview is being held, I push all these thoughts aside. Right now, I need to be Eliza Kerr, manager of Incendiary Ink. Not Eliza, the woman who's falling for her client despite her best efforts. Despite her own rules.

But as Chase's hand briefly brushes mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me, I know one thing for certain: This 'no strings' arrangement is far more complicated than either of us bargained for. And sooner or later, we're going to have to face the truth – whatever that might be.