“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. Smooth blonde hair just past her shoulders frames piercing blue eyes. 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 looks 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.”
An ice-blue gaze narrows on me. “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 all in. 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 kings. 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 siren?
“Sorry, couldn’t help it. You have that look,” she says.
“That look?”
“Yeah, like,”—she waves her hand in front of my face—“the whole puppy-dog-poet vibe. 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 a while 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.
“It’s not exactly the virile affirmation of manhood a badass rocker wants to hear.”
“Badass rocker, huh?” she asks, squinting at me. “I don’t think so. Twenty bucks says you’re not even the lead singer of your band. Let me guess… guitarist or drummer and you write the songs. You’re the talent, not the face.”
I’m more than a little impressed as I shrug. “That’s kind of scary, actually. How’d you know?”
“Virile affirmation of manhood. Who says that? Only s
ongwriters. Plus, I told you. You have that look.”
“Pathetic puppy dog, yeah,” I mutter.
“I never said pathetic.” Her crystal blue eyes search mine, and my heart thumps straight down my chest toward my jeans. Shit, I’d follow her to the coat closet right now if she wanted. “What’s your name?” she asks.
“Xander.” My voice sounds hoarse with the pain of desire, and her eyes ignite. We stare at each other for several long, enflamed seconds.
“Do you have any idea how many egotistical badass rockers I have to deal with day in and day out, Xander?” She leans closer, almost at my ear when she whispers. “You can imagine how refreshing it might be to encounter a sexy, incredibly virile, puppy-dog poet.”
I can’t breathe as she sits back, those blistering eyes suggesting everything she wants to do to me. I’m already there, imagining how her elegant black dress would slide off her shoulders. How, after wrecking a freshly made hotel bed, we’d be able to finish the night with an intelligent conversation. God, I’m starving for a woman who would challenge me.
“Are you single, Xander?” she asks.
I nod. So single. So wonderfully single.
“Thank god,” she breathes out and lifts her phone. “What’s your number?”
I give it to her, holding my breath as she punches it into the keypad. A second later my phone buzzes with a text, and her grin confirms it. This is happening. Pulse pounding, I’m downright starving as I glance down for the name and number of the goddess siren of my dreams. Hello… Lydia Carmichael.
CHAPTER 2
LYDIA
I stare at the empty stool beside me, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Five minutes ago I was flirting with the most gorgeous hazel eyes I’ve ever seen, certain he was into it too. Now? Just me and a commiserating bartender who’s starting to irritate the crap out of me.
“Another one?” Drew asks as I slurp the last of my third drink.
“No thanks. Just the bill.”
He nods, his gaze settling on the empty seat beside me.
“Seemed like a cool dude,” he says, seriously threatening his tip if he keeps up this sympathetic bullshit.
“Yeah, he did, didn’t he. Just the check, Drew.”
He nods and leaves me alone to mentally replay my disastrous fail for the eighth time. Where did it go wrong? No matter how many times I suffer through the highlight reel, none of it makes sense.
Girl spots attractive troubled man at bar. Girl hits on attractive troubled man. Attractive troubled man turns out to be even more interesting than she hoped. She’s hooked and ups her game to irresistible. Flirt, flirt, flirt, right up to the goal line, and bam. Suddenly he remembers he has to wash his hair, or whatever the dude-equivalent of bailing on a hookup is.
Problem is, I wanted this one. Badly. More than I’ve wanted one in a long, long time. When you’re constantly surrounded by entitled ego, sincere poets like Xander wreak havoc on bored hormones. And the fact that they couldn’t indulge in that sexy deep pool of substance means he’s now cemented in my brain’s shrine to unfulfilled fantasies. My body is still screaming with the urge to explore his, to discover the secrets of that captivating gaze. Some people just have a way of existing that makes you desperate to know more. I suspect that same quality allows him to hide from the masses who only have the capacity to notice glitz and flash. Me? I know the real brilliance lives in the shadows. That’s where individuals like Xander typically hide to construct their poetry for life, unencumbered by the restrictions of the spotlight. It’s why I had to find out more, and by the end, wanted to know everything. It’s also why leaving with nothing is so damn painful.
I force away the image of long thick lashes blinking over a shy smile I wanted to devour. Xander. Shit. My fingers itch to message him, and he’s probably not even back to his room yet. His room. Somewhere in this hotel that man is about to strip naked without me. Are you really wishing you’d stalked him to the elevator? What is wrong with you, Lydia?
Stress. That’s what’s wrong. I hate these stupid events and do my best to avoid them whenever possible. Hell, I’m only here because my boss insisted, and as the new girl on the block, I couldn’t exactly say no. The fact that my entire night revolved around avoiding an encounter with my father, the emperor of music himself, certainly hasn’t helped my cortisol levels. I’m sure Donna thought hiring the daughter of White Flame’s C.E.O. would be a great connection for her firm. Maybe I should have been more up front about the fact that he and I are basically on annual Easter brunch terms. He probably doesn’t even know I’m here tonight.
My phone rings, and yes, my stupid heart stutters with a flash of hope that it might be the mysterious guy who just left me reeling. I glance down and grunt.
“Hey, Donna. What’s up?” I say, answering the call from my boss.
“Lydia, glad I got you. How’d everything go?”
“Fine. You know how these things are.”
Truthfully, I’m just assuming it was the same as every other event. I really only watched the circus for a few minutes from the back before slipping out—just enough to know that my dad’s label is in serious trouble if they thought signing Chris Lundstedt as a solo artist was a good business decision. If Donna is calling to assign me to that nightmare PR project, she will have my resignation on her desk by morning.
“Good to hear. We can talk more about that later. I’m calling because there’s been a change of plans. We just got an urgent call from a high-profile client, so I’m pulling you off the ‘Pillow Talk’ campaign.”
“Really? We just started designing the—”
“I know, I know. It’s going great which is why I know Tim can handle it. I need you for something bigger.”
“Bigger than a Viper Rising tour?”
“Much bigger. I just got off the phone with Turner Artist Management.”
What? No freaking way. What are the odds? My annoying brain flutters back to hazel eyes and deadly smiles I was this close to owning tonight. Shit, what would those tattoos have looked like without the shirt covering them? Bet he has full sleeves and more. My disappointed body joins in the action, and I squeeze my thighs together in a silent protest.
“Turner? What do they need? They have their own people, right?”
“Yeah, but this is… a more intricate assignment. They need specialists, so they called the best.”
“I already work for you, Donna. No need to sell me on the firm.”
“Hilarious. You know what I mean. Anyway, one of their new artists is struggling. Tons of potential, but needs some major work with their image and visibility. Sam thinks they have the talent to be huge with the right promotion, but they’re going to need help beyond the typical packaged campaigns.”
“What kind of help?”
“Honestly? Everything. We want to assign you to them full-time. Shadow them twenty-four-seven and mold them into a top-tier artist. They will be instructed that you own them and their careers for the next few weeks. We’ll have support for you behind-the-scenes, whatever you need, but you’ll be the architect. The artist and visionary, if you will. Or Dictator.” She laughs at her own joke. “You interested? Let me add, you’re insane and fired for being stupid if you’re not.”
I manage a polite chuckle, but my pulse is already pounding. This is huge. This is the break I’ve been waiting for since graduating with my masters and deciding to make my own destiny. This is it. My chance to prove myself as Lydia Carmichael, not Stocker Carmichael’s daughter. Am I interested? Ha.
“Wow. That sounds…”
Incredible.
Too good to be true.
The chance I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
“I know it’s a lot to process. This is a huge opportunity, Lydia, and honestly, one that rarely comes along. I waited years before something like this came for me, but if you play your cards right and make this band a success, the sky’s the limit for you. Think about it tonight and give me your answe
r in the morning. In all seriousness, I think this one was tailor-made for you.”
I think so too. Can I start right now? “I don’t have to think about it. Yes. I’m in. What do I need to do?”
“Fantastic! Our next step will be to meet with the Turner folks and the band before you roll out for the tour. Did I mention the tour? They leave Thursday so we don’t have a lot of time. We have to move on this immediately.”
“Not a problem at all. I can have my bags packed and be at the airport whenever you need.”
“I love your enthusiasm. I knew I tagged the right person.”
“Thanks for your faith in me, Donna. I won’t let you down. What’s the band anyway? I’ll start researching tonight.”
“Perfect. The band is called Falling Back North. They have a unique sound that combines modern rock with almost a Latin twist. I don’t know, you’ll see what I mean. They signed with White Flame recently, so you may have crossed paths at some point. I’m sending you everything I got from Turner right now.”
A White Flame artist? So, project of a lifetime and I get to kill it in front of my skeptical father who thinks I can’t handle this (or any) business? Did I mention I was in?
“Great. Looking forward to it.”
“I have a feeling this will be the start of big things for you, Lydia.”
I’m still smiling as I hang up the phone, relieved for a distraction from hazel eyes that suck you into forbidden waters. Eight years of hard work and sacrifice is about to pay off, and I’m already eager to be consumed by my new assignment. I open my phone to start a search on Falling Back North. With any luck, in just a few minutes I’ll be so blissfully engrossed, I’ll never have to think about sexy, mysterious puppy-dog poets named Xander again.
CHAPTER 3
XANDER
Matty fidgets with a pen as he slumps in his chair at the conference table. Hilarious, since there’s zero chance he’ll be taking notes at this meeting. Elliot and Liam rest their heads on their fists like they don’t understand why they’re not still in bed. No, logistics are my job. Along with responsibility, maturity, and basically anything that keeps my brother and cousins corralled into some semblance of a functioning rock band. It’s like herding a cluster of tornados, and if they weren’t family, I probably would’ve given up long ago. Thing is, on stage that fury manifests itself as brilliance, and it’s those mesmerizing, unforgettable performances that got us noticed well before my immature relatives were ready for the spotlight. Somehow I’ve managed to hold us together enough to fool Turner and White Flame into believing we were ready for a small headlining tour. I’m disappointed to be at a formal scolding before we’ve left the parking lot, but not surprised. My brain is already reviewing the checklist of strategies to survive this meeting.
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 2
