The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5)

by Scarlett Cole

  The tightness in Ryan’s gut released a little. “There’s a but coming, right?”

  Jack smiled kindly. “You’re definitely in our succession plans. It’s just not your time right now. Another year or two maybe.”

  Ryan clamped down on the immediate wave of frustration. “But you trust me to hold the reins until you find someone?” He needed the clarification, because if there was even an inch of belief he was capable, Ryan was going to leverage that.

  Jack pulled a simple manila envelope from his pile of papers and pushed it across the table toward him. Ryan leaned forward to take it but didn’t open it. Instead, he thought about how much of himself he had put into the company, how much it had taken to get over Duncan’s betrayal and live in his shadow, and how many hours he’d spent getting to this point.

  In January, it had cost him his college sweetheart, the woman he’d thought he was going to stand side-by-side with for the rest of his life. She’d been making strong unavoidable hints about marriage and kids and had been visibly disappointed when Santa had brought her a Louis Vuitton purse last year instead of a Tiffany diamond. In hindsight, he’d figured Stephanie had only stuck it out until January to give him a chance to make a last-minute proposal on New Year’s Eve. When she’d split up with him, he’d realized it was best for her if he let her go. She deserved way more than he was capable of giving her. Not so much in the financial sense, but by simply being there for her in a way he couldn’t.

  “We do. It’s for three months. No point trying to find someone with the holidays so close. And there won’t be a huge amount of business done between Christmas and New Year. I’ll be making more trips out here until it’s settled.”

  Ryan’s mind raced, searching for some way to prove to Jack that he could do this. This was the big league he’d been dreaming about. “What’s it going to take to convince you to give me a shot? At least throw my name in the ring against those you bring in from the outside?”

  Jack shook his head and Ryan fully expected him to reiterate his position, but then Jack’s expression softened and he ran his fingers along his jaw. “Took a call from John Ferrica. One of their major artists has ended up in a shitstorm. You take on the client, I’ll review in January.”

  Shitstorms he was great at. Solving messes was his thing.

  “You want to give me a clue,” Ryan asked, “or are you going to make me beg?”

  “They’re right up your alley, Ryan. It’s Preload.”

  One of the biggest metal bands in the world. One of the bands Rolling Stone magazine felt would make it for the long-term, a new wave of metal with the longevity of Sabbath, Metallica, and Maiden. Now he grinned. “I want in,” he said. “Preload and the position.”

  “Fix them and steer the ship, and I’ll think about it.”

  “Consider it done.” Ryan mentally flicked through his calendar for December. If he pushed hard enough, he could get them turned around before the New Year’s Eve ball dropped at midnight in Times Square.

  Jack grinned and grabbed his papers. “Good luck, Ryan. You should call Ferrica now. He’s in New York.”

  Ryan grabbed his phone and dialed.

  “Ferrica.”

  “John, hey, it’s Ryan over at MCB. Jack Maloney just told me to give you a call about Preload. You got five to talk?”

  “Yeah, it’s a fucking mess. You’ve done great with Asking by Numbers,” Ferrica said, referring to another disastrous client Ryan had been able to turn around. “I need someone to look out for these boys. They’re…well, fuck, they’re genius at what they do, but they need special… I don’t know. Get to know them. Figure out if you can help them.”

  Ferrica’s tone surprised him. They’d talked a number of times before, and this was the first time Ryan had ever heard Ferrica sound uncertain. “What’s the high level? What am I letting myself in for?”

  “Their previous agent, an old friend of the band, has been screwing them over. Got himself arrested after a botched kidnap attempt. They don’t know if their financials are tight, no one has a clue as to whether everything has been filed as it should be, and they need a full review of their next twelve months of bookings. Big money is riding on this. They owe us an album and a tour.”

  Holy shit.

  It really was a clusterfuck. But Ryan couldn’t wait to get started. “I can meet with them anytime.”

  “They’re in New York. Make this right for me, Ryan, and I’ll owe you a big one.”

  Ryan grinned. He wasn’t just going to make it right. He was going to blow Ferrica, Preload, and Jack Maloney out of the water.

  Then he’d become VP of the East Coast. As he was meant to be.

  Chapter Two

  Holly loved New York in the winter. Winter meant layers, like the faux white fur vest she’d pulled on over her favorite paisley jacket. And boots like the knee-high black suede ones with tassels on them. Not to mention the floppy deep-purple hat.

  Plus, all the layers and hat made her anonymous as she walked through the bustling crowds toward the Soho hotel where Preload was staying. Forty-eight hours after the show had gone live and her phone had blown up, so had her mentions. Viewers were polarized by the results—a literal fifty-fifty split between fellow tattoo artists and creatives who realized she had indeed been the better artist, and the snarky mob who called her “sour-faced” and “jealous” that their precious Razor had won.

  Her Instagram account had over two hundred thousand followers thanks to an unwavering commitment to the aesthetic she’d wanted to present. A combination of gritty beauty, tarnished halo, and unpolished diamond. A raw beauty. She’d spent hours taking and curating pictures that aligned with her brand. It was her only social media profile, a way for the more introverted side of her to interact with the world without having to deal with lots of people. Working in a tattoo studio, it was a dichotomy she found hard to explain… how she felt solitary and peaceful when she inked another person.

  But for the first time ever, thanks to the trolls currently interested in her, she didn’t feel like being online. So, when her phone had rung and Dred had asked if she wanted to meet about a potential work opportunity, she’d been grateful for the potential income and distraction. It wasn’t her own studio, heck, it wasn’t even tattooing. But if she did this job, and did it well, perhaps she’d reclaim a little bit of her credibility back.

  She stepped into the hotel’s lobby, and her breath caught in her throat. A tree at least fifteen feet tall was covered in baubles of purple and strands of silver beads. An instrumental version of “Somewhere in My Memory” from the movie Home Alone filled the lobby, and Holly felt a rush of excitement. Christmas never failed to make her smile. Just because her budget was non-existent this year didn’t mean she couldn’t embrace the season. She could watch Christmas movies every day until the end of the year. And after this meeting, she could head to the Macy’s at Herald Square to check out the holiday windows while sucking on one of the peppermint candy canes she spotted sitting in a container on the concierge desk. The walk would take her straight through the hustle and bustle of Midtown, which would be equally decked out for the holidays.

  “We need an answer. Waiting until January is not acceptable,” a loud voice said from a sofa near the tree. A businessman was seated there wearing earbuds, staring at his phone. At least, she assumed he was a businessman from his suit and his absolute disregard of anyone else’s desire to not listen to his phone call.

  He looked up for a second and caught her staring. His green eyes were framed with darker brows and a wide forehead. He was attractive in a conventional way. Not pretty. Handsome. Definitely intense. But she didn’t care. She put her finger to her lips and whispered shh.

  The man frowned but mouthed, “Sorry.”

  She followed Dred’s instructions to the hotel boardroom, her mind still on those green eyes until she entered and found the whole band sitting—no, lounging—around the room.

  “Hi, Holly. I’m Nik,” Nikan said as
he approached. His long black hair fell straight down his back and he wore a beaded necklace over his gray long-sleeved Henley. The guitarist and back-up vocalist. The band had grown up together in a group home in Toronto. She’d done her research. “Over there is Elliott.”

  Elliott Dawson, guitarist, was standing by the buffet table cramming a cinnamon roll into his mouth. His long brown hair fell in waves over his shoulder, and his black thermal showed off his broad shoulders as he looked over at her. “Sorry about the show,” he mumbled with his mouth full of food. “Dred wanted it to go the other way.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. Hurt roiled through her all over again. She knew she’d get over it at some point. But for now, it still felt too raw.

  “That’s Jordan.” Jordan looked like a Viking raider. His hair was undercut on one side, the rest of it caught up in a fat braid. He sat in the corner of the room, back to the wall, not even at the table. His long legs were out in front of him, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

  He nodded in her direction but said nothing.

  “And Lennon.”

  Lennon winked at her. “Hey, cutie,” he said as he pushed his long blond curls out of his face. His eyes took a lazy trail up and down her body before he went back to adding cream to a cup of coffee with a smile on his face.

  Damn, they were overwhelming and didn’t even know it.

  Dred came over and hugged her. “Hey, Holly. How are you doing?”

  “Still getting over the sting of losing,” she answered truthfully.

  “Yeah. It blows. Trent and I were against a public vote in the finale from the beginning. It sucks to see the person who deserved to win, lose.”

  Holly thought back to Joshua. Had it really only been two months since she’d seen a glimmer of a future that would see her debts paid and create the security she craved, only to have it ripped away from her? She’d lost then, too. And she was getting sick of the feeling of coming second.

  “Yeah. But I’m intrigued. Why did you want to see me?”

  “I need your help,” Dred replied, gesturing to a chair. “Or rather,” he said as she sat, “we need your help. The band is…I don’t know…transitioning. Maturing, even. I don’t know. My gut tells me change is in the air. And I remember all the conversations we had during filming about marketing, social media, and the… what did you call it? The… cohesion of brand.”

  “Dred tells us he thinks you might be able to help us think through our brand and image,” Nik said.

  Holly’s stomach flipped. She hadn’t realized Dred had paid so much attention to the things they’d discussed. “I went to college for two years. I studied marketing and social media management before I dropped out.”

  “Why did you leave?” Elliott asked, sitting down opposite her. She’d never forget the fight she’d had with her parents about her leaving school. The fight that ended up with them kicking her out of their home. They’d worked hard to save for those two years, and she’d appreciated it, but what they’d given her hadn’t come close to covering all the costs. By the end of her sophomore year, she’d realized that she didn’t want to pile on debt for a career in which she truly wasn’t invested. What she’d really wanted to do was go to art school. Her heart sunk, as it always did, at the thought that she was never going to make it there. Once she’d paid her parents back the money it had cost them, plus interest, and got her studio off the ground, she knew she wouldn’t be able to face the thought of more loans.

  “Yeah, hated it. College stifled every ounce of creativity I had until I found a job, an internship at a tattoo studio.” Holly deliberately skipped how Joshua had seen something in her, had nurtured her, taught her. She couldn’t talk about it to a room of people who were closer to strangers than friends. “Turned out I was good at that and sucked at college, so I didn’t see the point in wasting two more years and another fifty grand for a piece of paper to say I was good at something I didn’t care about.”

  “Sounds fair,” Elliott said, sitting back in the chair.

  “So, are we going to talk through this shit before we meet with Ferrica’s guy?” Jordan asked.

  “Ferrica’s guy?” she asked.

  “We’re meeting our soon-to-be new manager. But we want to make sure we know what we’re asking for,” Elliott replied.

  Dred looked at his phone and then at Holly. “Have you got time now to help us figure out what we need to ask for? To help us over the next couple of months? I know you mentioned money was tight. We’d pay you.”

  Holly glanced around the room and took a deep breath. It wasn’t tattooing, but she could do this. She knew she could. Plus, it would keep her in New York until the spring. At worst, she could use the time to allow Joshua’s theft to become old news. At best, she might find work and be able to use what Preload paid her to rebuild some of her savings to pay down her debt.

  “This is what you are going to need,” she said, and started making a list. “We’re going to need to know who your core audience is and who your crossover audience is, if you have one. And we need a definition of your brand so we can start to see how it applies to each of your social media platforms.”

  “Shit, somebody got a pen?” Elliott said. “I feel like we should start taking notes like back in school.”

  Holly laughed as Nikan opened his laptop. “You were a shit student,” Nik said.

  “Until I made out with Hannah Montgomery in the library so she’d do my homework for me,” Elliott said, humor lacing his words.

  Jordan shook his head as he joined them at the table. “Until she realized your game and gave you a full sheet of incorrect answers and you ended up with an ‘F’.”

  Holly couldn’t help but laugh at their conversation.

  An hour later, they’d made an extensive start. Much of it was in the form of things to do rather than decisions. Something like brand couldn’t be determined that quickly. They’d need more research to make conclusions. But at least it would help them talk to Ferrica’s guy.

  Elliott called for a break before they met with him, and Holly excused herself and went to the bathroom. The band themselves had been interesting. When they’d disagreed amongst themselves, Nik would step in and mediate. When decisions were required, they’d look to Dred. Jordan had said little, but what he had said had been of huge value. Elliott and Lennon had kept the meeting fun and playful, stepping in when conversations had led to disagreement.

  They operated just like a family, and nothing like their media image.

  Which was the blessing and curse of being in the public eye.

  Before heading back, she took a moment to swipe some ChapStick on her lips. Since the show was over, she didn’t feel the need to wear much makeup aside from a little eyeliner.

  “I’m sorry,” a voice said as she re-entered the meeting room. “I think you’re in the wrong place.”

  Across the table sat the man who’d been speaking loudly in the lobby. He was more handsome than she remembered. His hair was messy, but his suit impeccable. His eyes were potent, and they didn’t look happy to see her.

  She slipped into the empty chair between Elliott and Lennon, and Lennon casually threw his arm over the back of it. “Nah, she’s with us,” Lennon said.

  Holly turned and grinned at Lennon. “Holly,” she said. “Holly Eden, at your service.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Holly Eden, but this meeting is confidential and—”

  “She’s signed a non-disclosure,” Dred interrupted. “She’s part of our team. Holly, please meet Ryan Arden from MCB Entertainment.”

  It was too far to reach across the table to shake his hand, so she waved. “Hi. I can’t reach you, but I can hear you loud and clear,” she said, unable to resist teasing him.

  Ryan’s expression made her smile. He went from confused by her presence to amused. “So noted, Ms. Eden.”

  Dred coughed. “So, how much do you know?” he asked.

  “You’ve lost your manager under pretty dramatic circumst
ances. This has left you in the lurch in a few highly vulnerable places. First, you don’t know the status of your touring, merchandise, and recording revenue because your manager just presented you all with an end-of-year overview at a high level. Second, you don’t know about all planned contracted appearances, including delivery of a new album and tour schedule. And third, you don’t have a strategic plan for the next five years for the band. Did I miss anything?”

  Holly felt for them, for what their previous manager had done and the mess they were in. From what little she knew about them, they deserved better than the treatment they’d received. But she also noticed something else. When the band talked with each other, it was so easy and often humorous. Yet with others, like her and Ryan, they were more reserved, like a wall stood between them.

  Dred shook his head. “That about sums it up. After Sam’s arrest, we had to look after ourselves first. Nik had to heal up from catching a bullet. Pix, my girlfriend, has had some issues with the nightmares. We just…look, we know we should have taken care of this as soon as Sam was arrested, but between recovering ourselves and trying to get on with recording the album, we’ve put this off. And we can’t anymore.”

  “We are crashing into everything,” Jordan scoffed. “We don’t even know what we don’t know. Sam took care of everything for the past decade.”

  Elliott tapped his pen on the table. “Sam was one of us. Over time, we didn’t feel the need to double-check things. He did a good job for so long that we just stopped being involved with some elements of our business. We trusted him.”

  “And Sam isn’t giving you any information?” Ryan asked.

  Dred shook his head. “Not a thing.”

  Lennon leaned back in his chair. “Fucker won’t speak to any of us.”

  An idea popped into Holly’s head. It was probably naïve, but it could help. “Was his laptop, phone, or office equipment paid for by the band? If it was, you’d own the asset. So you could go through his email and files. Can’t a lawyer help you get a police warrant?”