Sean

Exhaust fumes drifted through the vents as the taxi crept along in the downtown Los Angeles traffic. I rubbed my tired eyes as my phone pinged, the screen cluttered with another text from my lawyer. After our conversation this morning, Scott gleefully invoked the clause in his retainer allowing him to up his fee due to the time-sensitive nature of the summons. For the bargain basement price of a thousand bucks an hour, I now had his undivided attention.

I tapped out a perfunctory response.

Stepping into a meeting. Do whatever you need to do. Just do it fast.

Hoisting my backpack over my shoulder when the cab screeched to a halt in front of the Conner Management Building, I gazed up at the thirty-story glass and steel building that pierced the layer of overcast sky. June Gloom, they liked to call it here. It was fucking smog, no matter what fancy name they slapped on it.

Pushing through the revolving doors, I spotted Cameron and Christian at a table in the atrium.

Dropping my bag next to an empty chair, I flopped into the seat. “What are y’all doing out here?”

“Waiting for you,” Cameron replied wearily. “We need to have a chat before we go in there.”

My eyes narrowed when he shot Christian a look. “Why’s that?”

Cameron slid a thick stack of papers in front of me. “Logan thinks we’re being too demanding. He said if we let this deal slip through our hands . . .”

We all knew what could happen if we didn’t get something set up soon. Our temporary gig at the Parish would become permanent. We’d be right back where we started. On Sixth Street, waiting to be discovered. Or re-discovered. And the chances of that were slim to none.

Noting all the red ink on the contract, the revisions we were requesting, I blew out a breath. “What do you think, Christian?”

The bassist looked thoughtfully into the paper cup he held. He was the most soft-spoken of our group, wearing his fame with the ease of an overcoat he could remove at will. If he weren’t such a talented musician, he’d probably be teaching math at UT and banging co-eds.

Christian finally lifted his gaze, his blue eyes calm as ever, but deadly serious. “I don’t have a problem with the tour. Unless we can’t agree. Then it’s a big fucking problem. I don’t consider it a tragedy to play music in our hometown. Melody is there.” He glanced at Cameron, then back to me. “She’s not like Lily. She can’t take her work on the road. So I’m giving up a lot. I’ll do this thing, but only if we do it together.”

I nodded, taking a brief look around. Memorabilia from some of the greatest bands in the world lined the walls. Tributes frozen in time.

Across the atrium, Logan stood stock still in front of a Lucite case.

“Let me see if I can straighten shit out with Mr. Personality before our meeting,” I said as I pushed out of my chair.

“Try not to throw any punches.” Tension laced Cameron’s tone despite the wry smile. “We’ve already got a reputation.”

“It’s all good,” I assured, smiling.

Logan didn’t acknowledge me when I strolled up. Gaze fixed on the two Stratocaster guitars in the sterile case, he chewed the inside of his lip.

My stomach bottomed out as I read the inscription on the gold plaque.

In memory of the fallen. Rocking it out in the great beyond.

Rhenn Grayson and Paige Dawson.

Damaged—Sixth Street Takeover Tour

Photo courtesy of Conner Productions ©

Brief bios of Rhenn and Paige sat in steel frames along with several pictures from the band’s last tour.

Glancing over the tribute, I stood silently, reverently. Their deaths paved the way for my career. Which in turn blew Anna and me apart. It was a circle with all roads starting and ending in Austin. For all of us. Even Rhenn and Paige.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” Logan finally said, his voice thick with emotion.

I studied the mangled wreckage in the final picture. “You want to die in a fiery crash?” I chuckled. “Because if that’s the case, I ain’t boarding any tour buses with you in the near future.”

Logan faced me with frigid blue eyes. “I want to be remembered. I want the music to mean something.”

It’s what I wanted too. And until now, there was nothing more important.

“Dude, it does mean something. This tour isn’t going to change that one way or the other.”

Logan looked down, kicking the polished stone with the toe of his boot. “Sounds like you’re getting ready to bail. Is that what I’m hearing?”

Maybe. Possibly.

“I want to be remembered too.” I tipped my chin to the photo of Damaged performing at Wembley Stadium. “And not by ninety thousand strangers on another continent. I want Willow to know me. I’ve already wasted too much time.”

A cold wind swirled around us. “So that’s all the last four years have been?” Logan cocked his head. “Wasted time?”

There was no explaining this to Logan. He’d never loved anything more than the music. Maybe Laurel, but that was a long time ago.

Still, I tried. “The music, what we do, it means more to me than almost anything.” Looking him in the eyes, I smiled wistfully. “Almost.”

An impeccably dressed blonde sauntered our way, her heels clicking against the stone floor. Benny must have a thing for blondes because they were crawling out of the woodwork in this place.

“I’m Amber, Benny Conner’s personal assistant.” The blonde waited for Cameron and Christian to join us and then continued, “If you’re ready, Mr. Conner is waiting in the conference room.”

She turned on her heel, and I followed while Logan took one last look at the Lucite box.

He fell into step beside me a few paces from the elevator. “I’m glad you decided to show up for this, Sean.” Jaw set, his blue eyes stared straight ahead. “But don’t think for a minute you’re going to change my mind. We’re doing this shit, bro. With or without you.”

If you were planning something important in this town and you wanted people to know without actually admitting it, you marked the occasion with dinner at Mr. Chow. We’d yet to iron out all the details, but our meeting with Benny’s team had gone well enough to warrant a little public display of our future alliance.

I’d just finished my plate of sea bass when three servers hustled to our table with buckets filled with champagne.

“We haven’t even signed yet,” Christian whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “What’s up with the champagne?”

I polished off my first glass in one gulp.

“All part of the show,” I mumbled, holding up my flute for a refill. The perky server scurried over, cheery smile in place as she filled my glass. “Thanks. You can leave the bottle.”

Christian chuckled as the waitress retreated. “Anna-baby’s got you whipped into shape, huh?”

Smiling at the thought of Anna, whip or no whip, I shifted my gaze to Christian. “What are you babbling about, dude?”

He pointed his fork at me, pecan pie dangling from the tines. “You barely made eye contact with that waitress, and I haven’t heard you say ‘sugar’ all day.”

Twisting the stem of the flute, I shrugged. “Whatever it takes, you know?”

The tinkling of crystal drew my attention to the front of the table where a member of Benny’s publicity team pushed up from her seat.

The woman’s overly plump lips curved into a smile as she addressed us.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Mandy, VP of public relations at Conner. I apologize for missing the meeting this afternoon, but I set up this little outing so we can get a jump start on your publicity.”

Our strategic location in the center of the restaurant accentuated that fact. At the surrounding tables, people stopped eating, whispering behind their hands while they stole glances at us.

Mandy focused on Logan first.

“From what I’ve seen, you boys manage to keep yourself in the news on a regular basis.” She lifted her glass, toasting my best friend. “Some of you more than others.”

She let the chuckling die down and then continued, “What we want to do is keep your press manageable. Within reason, it doesn’t matter what you do in your private life. It’s your public persona that’s of interest to Conner. Sometimes, when a particular story catches the public eye, we’ll need to hone the copy for your benefit as well as ours. What we don’t want are surprises.”

She pivoted to Cameron, and the rest of her team followed. “Cameron, since your story has already grown legs, I only ask that should you change your status, you inform our office immediately.”

Cam sat back, the easy smile never reaching his hazel eyes. “And what status would that be?”

“Your relationship status, of course,” Mandy quipped, thumbing through her paperwork. “If you and Lillian decide to part ways, just let us know.”

“Her name is Lily, and that’s not going to happen.” Cameron’s semblance of a smile disappeared. “And even if it did, I’m not about to hold a press conference to discuss the details.”

An awkward silence fell over the table, but to Mandy’s credit, the dust barely settled before she moved on without acknowledging Cameron’s decree.

As she flipped through her notebook, her fake smile landed on Christian. “I don’t have any information here about a girlfriend or significant other, Chris. Does that mean you’d be open to a link with one of our hot properties from another division?”

The bitch was zero for two in the name department, but at least she wasn’t referring to us as one of her “properties.” Yet.

“It’s Christian,” my bandmate said dryly. “And just to clarify, are you running a dating service, or setting up our tour? There are enough bogus stories out there; I don’t need you fueling the fire.”

Mandy relaxed, clearly in her element now. “That’s the point, Christian. It doesn’t matter who you’re seeing. It matters who you see in public.”

Regarding her with no humor whatsoever, Christian replied flatly, “That would be my girlfriend, Melody.”

Mandy’s angular jaw ticked as she tried to keep her smile in place. “As you’re probably aware, it’s better for your image if you’re single. So if you wouldn’t be opposed to a couple of outings, that’d be super.”

Christian maintained his composure. Outwardly. But I knew him. His bobbing leg told me his patience was wearing thin.

“Actually, I would,” he said. “And more importantly, Melody would. So I’m going to have to decline your super offer.”

Another round of silence ensued as Mandy glared at Christian.

“Don’t worry, Mandy,” Logan piped up, drawing her fierce gaze. “If you wanna give ’em something to talk about, I’m free after dinner.”

Laughter broke out from the Conner contingent, snapping the tension like a twig.

Mandy smiled the first genuine smile of the evening. “Even if I wanted to take you up on that, Logan, Benny frowns on fraternization in the workplace.”

Ignoring everyone, including Benny, Logan smiled slyly. “I’m not planning on taking you back to your office, darlin’. Unless that’s your thing.”

A pink flush dusted Mandy’s hollow cheeks. “I’ll keep that in mind for future reference. But right now . . .” She pulled a glossy rag from the stack in her hand. “I’ve got to congratulate Sean on his front-page story.”

I blinked in confusion as she held up the Star Magazine.

“Your appearance on the red carpet provided the opportunity for some free publicity,” Mandy said. “Good publicity. You even managed to get Conner mentioned in the piece. That makes my job a hell of a lot easier.” Her second genuine smile of the evening was reserved for me. “Well done, Sean.”

Blocking out the light smattering of applause, I gazed in horror at the photo of Kimber and me splashed across the cover.

Pleased with herself, Mandy opened the tabloid and began to read the story. “‘Sean Hudson, handsome drummer for the Grammy-nominated band Caged, made his first public appearance in months at an impromptu event at Benny Conner’s mansion. On his arm was rumored love interest, Kimber Tyson, with whom the musician has a long romantic history. The two were seen leaving the party shortly after Caged performed. Sources at the Chateau Marmont confirm Ms. Tyson spent the night in Mr. Hudson’s suite.’”

Wrapping up her commentary, Mandy tossed the magazine on the table. “Now that’s what we’re looking for.” She beamed. “Kimber is under contract with the Starline Network. And since Conner Productions has a large stake in Starline, orchestrating the appearance was mutually beneficial.” Her smile turned self-satisfied. “Promos started running on the network this morning.”

“P-promos?” That was all I could manage since my lungs felt like someone had sucked the air out with an industrial strength vacuum. “What promos?”

Mandy offered a patient, albeit annoyed, smile as she passed her iPad to her assistant. “Kimber has graciously agreed to weave your future encounters into her story line on Beach Babes.”

Time slowed to a crawl as Mandy’s girl Friday set the iPad on the table in front of me.

When she pressed play, a video of Kimber and me standing next to the limo filled the screen. Our faces were in shadow, but I could see Kimber’s hand on my chest plain as day.

“I’m going back to the hotel.” My voice bled through the speaker.

“I like where you’re going with that,” Kimber replied. “Let’s get out of here.”

My head snapped up as the announcer urged the viewers to “tune in next week.”

“That’s not . . . it didn’t happen like that,” I stammered.

“That’s the beauty of editing. It makes the impossible possible,” Mandy said, and then all business, she consulted her notes. “We’ve put Kimber up at the Chateau Marmont for the night. If you could make yourself available in the restaurant for breakfast at say, ten o’clock, I’ll have a couple of photographers on hand.”

Christian’s fingers coiled around my forearm when my ass rose from the chair.

“I’m not with Kimber,” I growled, glancing at Logan, who was staring into his glass of champagne. “Logan brought her to the event. I didn’t—”

“A love triangle?” Mandy interrupted. Almost giddy at the prospect, she looked over at Benny and said, “That could work.”

Shaking his head, Benny countered, “Too messy. We need the boys to present a united front. We don’t want any rumors affecting ticket sales.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I barked, slamming my hands on the table. Benny and Mandy abandoned their strategy session, jerking their heads in my direction. “I’m not with Kimber!”

Mandy gave me a patronizing smile, a technique she must’ve picked up from her boss since Benny wore an identical expression.

“That doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone icy and efficient. “The story will garner us a ton of free press as we launch the tour. If you’re not happy with the way it plays out, we can easily arrange to unwind the romance aspect after Kimber makes a couple of appearances on the road.”

As I glanced down at the iPad with my image frozen on the screen, my insides turned outside. “I want this out of the press now,” I demanded. “Print a fucking retraction. Do what you gotta do. I have a…” My mouth went dry as I tried to conjure up a word to describe Anna. “I’m in a serious relationship with the mother of my child.”

Mandy’s brow furrowed as she stared at her notes. “I don’t see anything in your bio about a girlfriend or a child.” She heaved a sigh. “It doesn’t matter; the story hit the newsstands this morning and traffic is up on the Caged website by three hundred percent. We’re going to run with it.”

Not even Christian’s iron grip could hold me in place. The chair hit the ground as I shoved to my feet.

“Listen, lady, if you’re interested in having me sign up for this tour, you’ll get this shit out of the press and stay the hell out of my business.”

The table erupted in chatter as I snatched my duffel from under the table. Shouldering my backpack, I avoided eye contact with the peanut gallery full of spectators as I stomped toward the exit.

When I pushed through the doors, a dozen reporters greeted me, hurling questions about Kimber’s whereabouts.

“No comment,” I bit out, fighting my way to the cab stand.

A firm hand gripped my shoulder as I yanked the door open to the taxi. Logan backed up a foot when I spun around, fists balled at my sides.

“Don’t leave,” he said calmly. “Let’s go back inside and get this shit straightened out.”

“The shit you started?” The question ripped from my chest in a roar. “I came out here to make things right and get on the same page. But I don’t think that’s possible.” I slid onto the seat. “And I wouldn’t be sending Annabelle any more emails. I doubt whether she’ll answer.”

Slamming the door with enough force to shake the chassis, I turned my stone-cold gaze to the driver.

“Where to?” he asked, setting the meter.

“LAX.”