Lincoln was all grins when he looked at his family around the table, pride shining in his eyes, the tone of his words wholly playful.
Like this was the only way he could say he was happy for them, too.
Mr. Ramsey chuckled. “Don’t worry, son. Wouldn’t trust these two to run the family business. They’d be off in the back fiddling with some instrument or another, totally forgetting there are phones to be answered and orders to be filled. We’d be bankrupt in no time.”
His words didn’t hold an ounce of displeasure.
“If you’re so spun up over it, I’ll trade you.” Richard elbowed Lincoln with the tease.
Lincoln’s eyes went round in feigned horror. “More money than I could ever spend and women throwing themselves at me night after night? No thanks. Sounds miserable.”
The faked frown on Richard’s face was just as grim. “It’s terrible. Let me tell you, little brother, you would not want to have to stand a day in my shoes. You’d never make it.”
Mrs. Ramsey tsked. “Now, you all stop making light. There is a whole lot of work that goes into this music business. Emily, Rich, and Rhys work just as hard as the rest of us, just different.”
“Yeah!” Rhys shouted around another bite.
“We work long hours, and the road gets really lonely,” Emily added.
Lincoln lifted his hands and pretended to play the world’s tiniest violin. “Keep singin’ it, sister. I feel terrible for you.”
He winked at her. Pure affection.
I had the urge to rub at the raw spot on my chest.
Mr. Ramsey returned his attention to me, lifting his brow, drawing the topic back to his original question.
I cleared my throat. “I only want the best for them.”
He smiled and rocked back in his chair. “And you believe your record label is the best? Mylton Records?”
He wasn’t testing me. He was legit a straight-shooter. Asking me man-to-man.
Guilt thickened my throat.
“In the end, it will be.” I gave him the most honest answer that I could.
Still, it drew tension, something unsettled moving around the table while all eyes landed on me.
“In the end . . . meaning when we finally sign,” Richard jumped in, like he was doing me a solid and saving my ass.
I glanced at him.
Hard trust blazed back, though it was inscribed with a demand. Like he was telling me I’d better not do anything to betray that trust.
Anxiety clawed, and I took a drink of my water to try to swallow it down.
“I know that it will be,” Emily added in a low voice.
The sudden banging on the front door jolted everyone from the conversation. Mr. Ramsey stood, wiping his mouth with his napkin and tossing it to the table. “I’ll get that.”
The dining room was in a nook off the living room, and only the edge of the front door was visible from where I sat. He moved that way, his long legs taking the room in an easy stride. I could see his entire demeanor shift when he opened the door.
His voice was lowered, but still it traveled through the space, anger lining the question like a rod of steel. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to Emily.” The voice was pissed and hard, fueled by indignation.
My entire being ignited, a flaming fury, immediately uncontained. Even though I couldn’t see him, didn’t have a clue what he looked like, it didn’t even take a second for me to realize who the bastard was.
My gaze instantly jumped to the girl. The girl who was practically seizing, every muscle in her delicate body knotting in disdain and disgust and hurt.
The entire room fell silent.
Eyes darting everywhere, not sure what to do.
My hands fisted under the table, rage when I took in the expression on her face as she fumbled to stand, shaking so hard she could barely find her footing.
“Emily,” Richard questioned with dread and his own brand of anger. She settled those green eyes on him. Whatever passed between the two of them made Richard sink back down into his seat.
Couldn’t look away as the girl slowly inched toward the door, her spine rigid and her spirit spilling out all over the place.
“Emily,” the prick said like he had the right to claim her when she came into sight.
“Em.” Her father’s voice was caution, telling her she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. She had a ton of people there to back her up if she wanted us to toss the prick from the property.
Hell, I was about to build a ten-foot wall around her and paint it with signs that read No Trespassing.
“It’s okay, we probably need to talk a few things out,” she whispered, her voice tight and laced with caution, though I could see her giving her father a reassuring nod. It only stoked the fire that lapped and surged inside me.