Should I be surprised he’s shirtless now? Maybe he’s planning on showing up to the party like that. If anyone would dare something so brash, it’s my unapologetically transformed love-me-or-hate-me-I-don’t-give-a-shit brother. It’s easy not to care when people are lining up to love you.
“How are you so sure she’s going to be here?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He squints into the mirror, still messing with the structure of his dirty blond hair. “Her name is Lydia Carmichael.”
I straighten against the door, staring at him in disbelief. “Carmichael? As in Stocker Carmichael, CEO of White Flame Records?”
He shrugs a nonchalant affirmation like only my idiot brother could. “Yeah, I guess her dad’s our boss, huh?”
Well, shit.
“Matty…”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t. That’s why I didn’t tell you who she is. I know, okay? It’s just… I really like this girl, Lex. She’s… different.”
His deep brown eyes search mine, almost pleading in the silence. Fuck, what am I supposed to do with that?
“Fine. Just be careful, man. We’ve been working our entire lives for this. We sold our souls to get here and we’re this close to the prize. We can’t afford a mistake right now.”
Yeah, the mischievous smile on his face isn’t a good sign. “Dude. I love you, bro, but do me a favor? Find a girl for yourself tonight. Your uptight ass is in desperate need of some action.”
If this were a wedding instead of a label party, we’d be at the equivalent of the singles table. Matty and I exchange amused looks as we approach, trying not to laugh at the obvious snub. Hey, to even be invited was a big deal. Our manager said it was unheard of for new artists like us to get a ticket to such a high-profile event, and we probably have Matty’s recent Songset hot-ranking to thank for this. Hell, they left half the band off the list. Elliot and Liam were pissed, but Marlon assured them it wasn’t personal and one day we’d be big enough to earn lobster for all of us. I promised to try to sneak out a doggie bag for our excluded bandmates.
Solo artist Chris Lundstedt is already lounging beside his date at our table, and I feel Matty bristle beside me.
“Isn’t that the Burn Card dude who split to sing about birds and shit?” he mutters. “Fucking figures we’d be at his table.”
I swallow my snicker and toss a warning look at my brother. “Careful. That Burn Card dude is a bigger name than we’ll ever be. We are nobody to these people. Remember that tonight.”
“Whatever.”
He quickly loses interest again, scanning the room in an obvious search for his crush. Hilarious. He must not find her because there’s a definite scowl on his face when we’re finally forced to take our seats.
“Yo, sup?” Chris says, nodding toward us. “I’m Chris. This is Apollonia.”
“Hey. I’m Xander. That’s Matheus.”
Chris lifts a glass, I guess in a toast, and studies us the same way we did him a moment ago.
“Falling Back North,” I explain, since there’s no way in hell he’ll ever figure that out.
“Ohhh, right,” he says with a pretend flash of recognition. Like I said, no way in hell he’d ever figure that out.
“We just signed with White Flame about a month ago,” I add.
“Really. Huh.” Maybe he does look impressed now. Marlon must have been right to be amazed at our surprise invite. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
Well, I know that’s a lie. “Yeah? Cool. We heard great things about your new record, too,” I lie right back. I can’t even look at Matty as I say it. Hopefully, he’s missing all of this in his pouting over his no-show girlfriend.
“Righteous. Yeah, we’re expecting some big numbers. I’ll be performing my new single tonight, actually.”
“That right?”
“It’s so, so, so good,” Apollonia interjects with overzealous head bobbing and eyes the size of the gold-rimmed bread plate. I’ve heard the song—it’s not. Is she trying to convince herself of that as well? Or maybe this is the first time she’s ever imbibed alcohol… I vote for that as I study the champagne flute in her hand. Are they not carding tonight? I’ll definitely be hitting the bar later to find out because this event already blows. I’m about to go investigate now, when my phone buzzes with a text. I shoot a surprised look back at Matty after seeing his name.
He widens his eyes and shifts his gaze down to my phone in an obvious command. I scan the text, nearly choking on the sip of water I just took.
Three tables over. That’s Burn Card!!!! Dude…
I follow the directions, and sure enough, Liberty Blake and her band are right there, clearly ignoring our table. Well, she is anyway. The others… Damn, may those glares never be blistered at me. If our tablemate notices, he doesn’t react. In fact, he seems totally oblivious to anything except checking his own reflection in the polished water pitcher.
Personal opinion from the five minutes I’ve known this guy: Burn Card dodged a bullet when this one left. Two hours later, my opinion is cemented as fact after their respective performances. Matty and I manage to keep a straight face when Chris and his date storm off during Burn Card’s extravagant cover of their own song, “No Friend of Mine.” Guess that’s what happens when your replacement slays your song in front of you.
“Dude, that was epic,” Matty whispers to me. He leans over and eyes Apollonia’s untouched dessert. “She’s probably not eating that, right?”
The evening couldn’t end soon enough. Other than Burn Card’s electric performance, the night was drier than our great uncle’s funeral. How can a company formed on the principle of entertainment not know how to throw a party? Probably explains why this event is actually known for its afterparties.
“There’s a big thing at Firestorm 7. Wanna go?” Matty asks, returning to our table after disappearing for ten minutes. I spent the time catching up on messages and pretending not to notice his distracted mingling while really searching for his girl.
“Yeah? I don’t know. I hate that place.”
“You hate any place that has lights and crowds unless you’re the one playing it.”
I shrug. He’s not wrong. “You go. I’ll probably just grab a drink here at the hotel bar and then head back to the room.”
“Why are you so lame?” he groans.
“That’s my role as the responsible one, right? Feel free to join me.”
By his look, he’s not impressed with my invitation. “Pass. But hey, let me know how it goes with the crossword puzzle and docuseries on cats you’ll be rockin’ tonight.”
“Cats?” I ask with a smirk. “Not even a serial killer or something?”
“No serial killer shows after nine, right?”
He grins, and I shove him toward the door. “Shut up, loser. Go be a rock star. But not too rock star,” I add. “We have an early flight tomorrow.”
Matty’s smile ignites about a hundred watts. “You got it, Grandpa. I’m sure the hotel bar serves prune juice and chamomile tea, so you should be all set.”
I shake my head, struggling not to reward him with a smile as we part ways. My phone makes things easier when it erupts, and I answer on the second ring.
“Hey, Marlon. What’s up?”
“Xander! How’d it go tonight?”
I start walking toward the bar as I consider the complex question. “I mean, it was cool to be invited. We were definitely the bottom of the totem pole, though.”
“It’ll come, man. You know that,” our manager says.
“I do. Just saying, I get it. Everything good on your end? Why do I suspect you’re not calling for party gossip?”
The bar looms ahead, surprisingly empty considering the major event that just wrapped yards away. Probably because everyone went to the real party at Firestorm 7. At least Matty will have a good time. Maybe his girl will show up to that. I’m sure that’s most of his motivation for going. It’s been ages since I’ve cared about shit like dating,
and I’m glad Matty seems to be enjoying his twenties enough for the both of us.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling, Xander. We’re having an issue with the tour, so we’ll be making some changes.”
“Wait, what?” My heart pounds as I sink to a stool at the bar. “What do you mean? Moving dates?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I just had a meeting with Sam, and she’s on it too now. You’re still scheduled to roll out on Thursday, it’s just...”
He brought in his boss? Samantha Turner is one of the top managers in this business. She spends her time floating around the world with iconic artists like Dream Filter and Burn Card. For Marlon to bother the agency head with our little problem means it’s not a little problem.
“Be straight with me, dude. What’s going on?”
“Okay, look. All the dates are still a go for the east coast tour, but ticket sales haven’t been stellar. With the single not doing well either, the label is nervous. You’re a new artist. Short leash, ya know? We need the next single to kill it when it drops later next month.”
Fuck. “Marlon! I said, be straight. Real talk, dude.”
He breathes in a heavy sigh. “Sam believes in you guys. It’s why she let me bring you on as clients and has been following our progress so closely. So don’t view this as a negative. This is evidence of how much she cares and wants all of her Turner Artists to be successful.”
“View what? Marlon, holy hell, will you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Xander, we need to do a lot of work on the band’s branding and positioning. She’s sending a marketing team on tour with you to build your profile.”
Wait, what? “A marketing team?”
“Well, not so much a team. Just one or two point people who will head up the campaign. You know, direct things from the road in real time and get you guys on track.”
“Direct things? What do you mean direct things?”
His silence is not a good sign. “How badly do you want this, Xander? I need to know right now. Do you fucking want this?”
I clench my eyes shut. How bad? Twenty-seven years of fighting through trial after trial flashes behind my lids. Getting abandoned and tossed all over the planet. Being told no, hell no, and absolutely fucking no, over and over and over until it was the lullaby that put us to sleep every night when no one else did. How badly do I want this?
“It’s the only thing I want.”
I can feel his relief through the phone. “Then we’re going to make it happen, Xander. I swear to you. But you need to let Sam and me do our jobs, okay? You’re going to have to trust us. You have the talent. Let us find a way to get you noticed and share it with the world.”
“I do, man. I trust you. Whatever we have to do, we’re in. We want this more than anything.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. We’ll catch up when you get back tomorrow, okay? I have a follow-up meeting to discuss details in the morning, so by the time we meet, I’ll have more specifics for you. Try not to worry too much until then.”
Try not to worry? Is he freaking serious? I drag in a long breath. “Got it. Thanks for the heads up.”
“We’re gonna figure this out, amigo. I promise.”
After ending the call, I drop my phone on the bar and rest my forehead on my hand.
“You look like you need a drink,” the bartender says.
“How about ten?” I mutter, lifting my gaze.
He smiles and wraps his knuckles on the surface. “Let’s start with one. What are you having?”
“Gin and tonic, please.”
“Make it a Pink Tuxedo, Drew,” a woman interrupts beside me. I glance over and—hot damn.
“A Pink Tuxedo?” I ask, willing my heartrate to relax back to functional levels. Not an easy task in the presence of a goddess.
Her shiny red lips spread into a grin and my own personal Venus winks at me. Winks! Olympus help me.
“Trust me,” she whispers, then exchanges all kinds of knowing smirks with the bartender.
“You want one too?” he asks her.
“You know it. Make mine a double grapefruit.”
He nods and finishes off my G & T with a splash of something before sliding it toward me.
“Wait, did you just put grapefruit juice in my drink?” I ask, staring at the pale pink concoction.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” she warns. Her perfect brows arch in challenge as she dares me to defy her.
Gin, tonic, and grapefruit juice? I don’t even try to hide my skepticism as I take a sip… and wow.
“Good, right?” she says, gloating as she slides her own drink toward her. I forget words as I watch the lucky glass brush her lips. Jealous of barware? Yep.
I force my attention back to the safer target of my glass. “Pink Tuxedo, huh? Never heard of it.”
“Neither had I,” the bartender says. “Now I can’t keep grapefruit juice in stock.”
The woman shoots him a killer grin that has my pulse pounding again. “It’s your fault for making it the signature drink tonight. I warned you, Drew. This is a G and T crowd. They’ll go nuts for it.”
He shrugs, clearly amused, and maybe a little smitten. “Most crowds are. Plus, it’s not hard to sell a ‘Pink Tuxedo’ at an event like this.”
“Told you it would sell. It’s all about the branding, my friend,” she says, and I can’t stop the dry laugh that escapes my throat. All about the branding… right.
Drew leaves to assist other customers, while the woman sends me a curious look. “Something funny?”
I sigh and take a big gulp of my drink. Damn, it is delicious. Pink Tuxedo, who knew? “Nah, not you. It’s just… never mind.”
A dark, sexy brow arches in question. “Come now, you can’t laugh at a woman and not tell her why.”
“You think I was laughing at you?”
She crosses her arms over a gorgeous rack I’m just now noticing. It was hard to focus on anything but her face when those sharp, sassy eyes were drilling into me. Now that the rest of her registers on my starved hormones… yeah, I’m totally screwed. Matty’s earlier warning about finding a date tonight comes flooding back to wreck the little restraint I still have on my body. Is she a one-night-stand kind of woman? I can’t remember the last time I’ve cared so much about that question.
“My manager just called,” I say finally, and I swear she visibly deflates.
“You’re a musician? You’re here for the Sizzle Party?” Her tone has definitely changed. Interesting. I’m not used to the rock star thing hurting my game.
“I was five minutes ago. Not so sure now,” I mumble, my previous stress returning to compound with the loss of her interest.
“What do you mean?”
I shrug and stare into my Pink Tuxedo. “Well, when your manager calls to say your label thinks you’re a flop before the ink is dry on the contract, what does that make you?”
“In need of another drink.” She signals Drew who nods in acknowledgement.
At least I have her attention again. Maybe there’s still something to be salvaged from this disappointing night.
“Was that the call you were on?” she asks.
I nod, finishing off what turned out to be a delicious surprise. I gladly accept the next one Drew slides toward me.
“The funny thing is, we’re new artists. We shouldn’t even be here tonight. Our manager was shocked when we got invited last minute. And then it ends with that bombshell. Talk about a rollercoaster. ‘Welcome to the in-crowd, kids. Just kidding. You suck.’”
She huffs a laugh. “Hey, we can’t all be prom king. Some of us have to be band geeks.”
“Shouldn’t that be reversed for the purposes of this setting?”
Her smile kind of makes things better.
“Who’s your management?” she asks after a long pause. She’s still trying? I thought for sure I’d lose her once she learned I’m no one important. She plucks a stirrer from the jar on the
bar and begins swirling it around her glass.
“Turner Artist Management.”
She nods, maybe perking up a bit. “Samantha Turner, huh?”
“Well, Marlon Thompson is our manager, but yeah, it’s her agency.”
“Marlon Thompson? I don’t know him.”
“You in the industry then?”
“Kind of. Sam’s elite, though. If Turner has your back, no need to lose your sorrows in gin quite yet. You’ll be fine.” She punches my arm in a good-ole-sport kind of way, and I can’t stop a surprised grin from slipping out.
“Now what’s funny?” she groans.
“Nothing… just… did you really good-game coach-punch me?”
Her mischievous smile is back, and I’d gladly make it a life goal to keep that deadly beacon on her face. Maybe she’s not a goddess. Why do I think this woman is going to be more of a fatal siren?
“Sorry, couldn’t help it. You have that look,” she says.
“That look?”
“Yeah, like, the whole puppy dog poet vibe.” She waves her hand in front of my face. “I really wanted to hug you just now, but settled for the arm punch.”
“Damn,” I breathe out. “If I’d known my misfortune could have gotten me to first base, I would’ve played it up more. Want to hear my entire sob-story?”
“First base? Calm down, Romeo. I said a hug.” But her eyes suggest she’s right there in the water with me—way beyond hugs.
“A hug isn’t first base? What’s first base, then? Sorry, it’s been a while.”
Now, I really have her attention. “Uh yeah, I don’t believe that. No way it’s been awhile for a gorgeous, talented, puppy dog poet like you.”
I smirk and take another sip of my drink. “I’m gonna focus on the ‘gorgeous, talented’ part and ignore the ‘puppy dog poet.’ Also, how do you know I’m talented?”
“Samantha Turner signed you.”
Touché.
“And what’s wrong with being a puppy dog poet?” she adds, leaning closer. I can smell her perfume or body spray or whatever it is that makes beautiful, intelligent women kryptonite for introspective puppy dog poets.
Rising West: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 1) Page 23
