The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5)

by Scarlett Cole

  The room fell silent for a moment, and then everyone started to talk at once.

  Lennon turned to Holly. “You think we could?”

  “Is that even a thing?” Jordan asked.

  Holly watched Ryan, who appeared to be grinding his teeth. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to frustrate him.

  “Well, I’m no lawyer,” she said. “I don’t even know if it would involve the police or warrants…but wouldn’t it make sense for you to reclaim your assets from a fired employee? I mean, I can’t imagine if you worked at Walmart’s head office and got fired that you’d be allowed to leave with your company laptop.”

  “It’s probably in police custody,” Ryan said, finally. “Part of the evidence chain. Where was the arrest made?”

  “Miami,” Dred replied.

  Ryan calmly took a sip of water. “It’ll complicate things, but I’ll get on that as soon as I leave.”

  The look Ryan gave her, though, was anything but calm.

  Ryan looked around the boardroom and repeated his mantra.

  You’ve got this. It’s game time. You need to bring it. Have impact.

  Only, something about the young woman sitting opposite him was throwing him off his game. And no matter how many times he repeated those four sentences in his mind, she… distracted him.

  He wasn’t sure exactly who Holly Eden was, but he needed to understand why the band listened to her, and he needed to make it clear this was his meeting, his opportunity to show the band exactly what he could do. They didn’t need a second voice in their ear and his mind immediately went back to Duncan and how he’d managed to take two of Ryan’s early clients from him. Clients who were now two of the biggest bands in the agency.

  Ryan shook his head to clear the thought and returned his attention back to Holly. When he’d seen her in the lobby, he’d immediately noticed how beautiful her skin was, all dewy and golden and clear. A moment later, he’d been taken in by her eyes, wide and happy. Unless his own eyes were playing tricks on him, hers split the difference between gray and green. Her smile had been brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree next to which she’d been standing.

  Even her clothes were unique. Deep purple corduroy trousers, a white vest that could have passed for a rug in his living room, and a large purple hat that reminded him of something Cher would have worn in the seventies. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow on her it did.

  He wondered briefly if she was a groupie. That had to be it. She reminded him of the Kate Hudson character in Almost Famous. What was her name? Something from a Beatles song? Fields? Strawberries? Penny. Penny Lane.

  Geez. If the band brought groupies to their business meetings, it was no wonder they were in a shit ton of trouble.

  He’d speak to Dred, no, Nik, at the end of the meeting and figure out who she was to them. Doing it publicly in the meeting was the easiest way to piss off just about everyone in the room, and hell, he didn’t even have a signed contract yet. He needed to stop worrying about Holly and the way her rings jangled together as she took off her fur vest and paisley jacket, uncovering a cream blouse with a revealing V.

  His dick twitched at the sight of her breasts clad in the sheerest lace. Damn. Fucking focus!

  “Getting all the info that Sam knows would be a pretty incredible first step,” Dred said. “At this point, we keep missing commitments we don’t even know we have. We have no clue about any of them until we’ve pissed people off by no-showing. Our reputation is at stake.”

  Ryan imagined spending the whole next year fighting fires left and center as the band failed to live up to unknown commitments that likely came with financial penalties. The situation was worse than he’d thought. Worse than bad. It was fucked. They were fucked. And most probably he would be, too, if he didn’t figure this out. There’d be no corner office on the eighteenth floor until he did.

  “Of course we’ll reach out to the major concert promoters and festival organizers to see if there are any outstanding commitments,” Ryan said, thinking out loud. “And we’ll do a full media mention search. See who is speaking about projects that involve you. Ask whoever they are for copies of your contracts. We need to start building a master schedule. What system do you guys use to communicate and build calendars?”

  Jordan rubbed his beard. “Usually just email and a basic calendar app.”

  Shit. Their manager had been a complete amateur. Setting them up on team software that had message and calendar functionality was a priority; they had to start consolidating all the information they knew. He looked up to see Holly tapping her short black nails on the table and studying him.

  “If you send me absolutely everything you have on the businesses, the commitments, etcetera… emails, texts, contracts… anything you can think of… I’ll start to compile it so we have a common understanding of what’s going on that we can all work from. Have you guys been paid since Sam left?”

  “Not necessary,” Lennon said. “None of us are dying for cash. And I don’t want any until I know where our businesses and taxes are at. Last thing I need is a multi-million dollar tax bill.”

  Ryan nodded, company and individual taxes were his single biggest worry for all of them. He scribbled a note to get MCB’s accountant to find out when they were last filed. “Fine. So, five-year plan. You want to tell me what’s on your mind for that?”

  “Isn’t that what you are here for, genius?” Lennon said.

  Ryan didn’t react to the sarcasm, it wouldn’t help anyone.

  Elliott reached over and flicked Lennon’s ear. “Don’t be an asshole,” he said. “I can’t speak for the rest of the band, but I want a career like the fucking Rolling Stones.”

  “And you’re well on your way to the same number of lovers as Jagger,” Jordan said gruffly.

  “True story,” Elliott agreed with a grin. “But, I mean it. I want longevity. I don’t want to saturate like Coldplay or that kind of band. I’d rather time it right with recording and touring with a break in between.”

  Every rock star said they wanted longevity, but most of the time they meant they wanted enough money to never have to work again once the band called it quits, but there was a sincerity to Elliott’s words. And Ryan noted the way Lennon nodded in agreement, all signs of being an asshole, gone.

  “I’m fucking fed up with the pebbles and sand,” Nik said. “Put the big rocks in the jar first, already: tours, recording, and time for R and R in between. It’s the small shit—a weekend gig here, an award show we don’t need to be at there, things that take thirty-six, forty-eight hours and clog our calendars and lives—that I want to ditch. I want some clean air, if you know what I mean.”

  Ryan did. He’d studied the kinds of projects and activities the band had been involved in. “Your brand is getting diluted, losing its value with some of the crap you’ve been asked to take part in, too” he agreed. “I went through your social media, and you guys are all over the place. And some of the performances you’ve been doing you have already outgrown. Plus, you are doing personal appearances for things that don’t need to be in person. Podcasts, radio shows, TV segments… so many of them can be done remotely now that I don’t understand why your manager didn’t demand that.”

  “Speaking of brand dilution,” Dred said, “that’s the problem Holly’s here to fix.”

  She was? Fuck. That was the last thing the band needed… two people offering them advice. It would only serve to confuse.

  “We want her to help with our brand definition,” Dred continued, “starting with the campaign for the new album. She’s going to work with you and the studio.”

  Time spent with her, trying to align visions and strategies was precious time he didn’t have right now. Jack was probably already putting out feelers about Duncan’s replacement and Ryan needed to get ahead of that curve by landing some results quickly. “She is? We can obviously accommodate her suggestions, but it might be better for MCB to get its arms around where you’re at before we bring
in external help.”

  Holly leaned forward. “It sounds like you have a lot on your plate,” she said, and he tried not to focus on those plump lips of hers, and the cute gap between her front teeth, and those pretty eyes lined carefully in black. “And I don’t think the band can wait on the branding.”

  He could feel the meeting slipping away from him. He needed to manage every aspect of getting Preload back on track. There wasn’t time for extensive collaboration with an unknown person. A future permanent VP of the East Coast wouldn’t be sharing the reins with a random, if hot, hippy chick. Ryan shifted in his chair as he tried to regain control.

  “I can’t wait to work with you, Mr. Arden,” she said with a smile.

  That smile told him he was in for a world of trouble.

  An hour later, after the band had filled all the information gaps they could, the members left the room, each of them receiving a hug from Holly. He guessed personal and professional boundaries weren’t a thing with her.

  “So, Ryan, when would you like to get together to start on this?” She stretched her arms over her head, revealing an inch of smooth skin and delicious curves.

  Ryan looked away and began to pack up his laptop. “I’ll send you an email,” he said vaguely. He’d stall until he had a better lay of the land and could steer their conversation more effectively.

  “I could stay now,” she said, holding out her hands to her sides. “This room is beautiful, and we should use it for as long as we can.”

  His calendar was clear. He knew it for sure because he’d asked Shay to clear it for the entire day in case the meeting with Preload took that long. He made a show of looking at his phone. “You know, that would have been a great idea, but I’ve got a meeting to get back to at our office.”

  Holly wandered around the table to stand near him. The stack of bracelets on her wrists jangled as she walked, a warning that she was heading into his space. She held out a hand. “I’m going to need contact details… a business card, maybe?”

  He reached into his bag and pulled one out for her. She was obviously important to the band. They already listened to her, he could tell. He didn’t want to piss them off. And bizarrely, the idea of talking to Holly again wasn’t altogether unpleasant. A part of him told him she would be a pain in the ass, but the other half…

  “Send me an email,” he said. “I’ll have my assistant set up a time for us to get together.”

  Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him. They were soft and smooth. “Thank you, Ryan,” she said. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  When her eyes met his, he confirmed his earlier observation. Her eyes were a mix of gray and green. And he could tell from her expression that those eyes saw a lot more than she let on. He thought that he saw in them, too, a hint of something more than friendly reflected back at him.

  That Holly had made almost as large of an impression on him as the band had meant his focus had drifted. He hadn’t expected that, or wanted it.

  “I’m looking forward to it, too,” he said.

  Holly smiled and grabbed her coat, vest, and quilted bag. He followed her with his eyes as she walked to the door. As she opened it, she stopped and turned. “You aren’t, but you’ll do it anyway because this is important to you, right?”

  She was gone before he could answer.

  Chapter Three

  She’d been right.

  Ryan was avoiding her, but she was going to put an end to it. It had been five days since the meeting with Preload. If he wouldn’t answer his phone to set something up or return the messages she’d left with an officious-sounding woman named Shay, she was going to walk into his office and sit there until he spoke to her.

  Two people from the Salvation Army stood collecting donations outside his building and despite her dire financial situation, she dipped her fingers into her bag and pulled out two crumpled dollar bills.

  “Thank you, and merry Christmas,” one of the collectors said.

  “Merry Christmas,” she replied, turning to walk through the revolving doors into the building.

  Inside, giant baubles in uninspiring shades of gray dangled from the ceiling in a uniform pattern. It was all so…anal. She took in the speckled gray marble walls and two banks of elevators. And so clinical.

  Holly pulled her quilted messenger bag close to her side. It was her favorite. Not only was it beautiful, made from scraps of green and red and gold fabric, but Flick had made it for her last Christmas. She’d held off using it until this month because everything about it said Christmas—a special bag for a special month. In it was a copy of her plan for Ryan. It contained everything she had talked about with the band before he’d joined them—suggestions on how to assess their market and determine their positioning, how to build a brand and social media strategy, and the steps they’d have to take to pull it all together.

  “Do you need help, Miss?” a security guard asked.

  Holly shook her head. “No, I’m good, but thank you.”

  The building required a pass for her to be able to press the button for the floor she wanted, so she boarded the elevator first and waited for the elevator to fill before squeaking from the back, “Could somebody hit eighteen, please?”

  “Sure thing,” a masculine voice said.

  As the elevator made its climb toward eighteen, over half the people got out. Fortunately, a couple of women got off at eighteen with her. She took off her hat as she stepped out. She loved the black fedora and long red brocade coat, but it made her conspicuous.

  She waited for one of the women to scan her pass and then walked in behind them confidently, as if she deserved to be there. The receptionist, busy sipping coffee as she talked to the FedEx delivery guy, didn’t even notice her.

  Once she was around the corner, she approached a young woman who stood by a photocopier. “Oh my gosh,” Holly said to her with a laugh. “Second day and you’d think I’d have figured out where I am going by now.”

  “Lost?” the other woman asked, a smile reaching her eyes. “It took me weeks to find my way around this place when I started. Where are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for Ryan’s office. Ryan Arden.”

  “Ah. You’re nearly there. Go to the end of this hallway, take a left when you get there, and his office is like the third or fourth on the right.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  The directions were perfect. Holly took the left and then slowed down as she cased the area. No doubt Shay, his personal assistant, was nearby, and she wasn’t in the mood to hear, “Mr. Arden is out-of-office all day, but I’ll be happy to pass along a message.”

  “Shay,” she heard a voice call. Ryan’s voice. “Can you print me a copy of the quarterly revenue report?”

  “Yes, Mr. Arden.” A middle-aged woman in a trim blue pantsuit tapped some keys on her laptop and then strode in the direction of the copier room Holly had just visited.

  Holly hurried into Ryan’s office and shut the door.

  “Thanks, Shay,” Ryan said without looking up from his notes. His hair was shooting up in all directions, and he studied what looked like a financial document. “Did we hear back from Event-To-Go on the ticket fuck-up yet?”

  Holly sat in the chair in front of his desk. “No, Mr. Arden,” she said in her best pretend English accent. “But I can take a note and get back to you.”

  Ryan’s head popped up and his green eyes, etched with tiredness, caught hers immediately. He looked over toward the door and sighed before putting his pen down on top of his papers. “Hello, Miss Eden.”

  “Hello, Mr. Arden.”

  Their words hung in the air as Holly took in the sight of him. When she’d first met him, she’d felt too intimidated to take him all in, but now she could see him for who he was—a guy who worked hard and looked good in a fitted white shirt that stretched over pecs he obviously honed in the gym.

  The door opened and Shay walked in. “Here’s your coffee and rep—oh my. Do
you need me to—?”

  “It’s fine, Shay,” he said, taking both. “Would you like a drink, Holly?”

  Holly shook her head. “I’m good. Thank you. Nothing that comes out of your machine can be as good as the dirty chai I picked up from Little Skips on the way over here.”

  Ryan grinned. “That will be all, Shay, thanks. Hold my calls for the next hour.” He waited until Shay was out of the room. “A dirty chai, huh?” His voice sounded a little rough around the edges, and she liked it. It made him seem less…formal.

  “Dirty’s the way I like it,” she said, knowing she was testing boundaries with her flirting.

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. “I can only imagine.”

  Holly looked at his cup filled with uninspired black coffee. “I’m not sure how far that imagination of yours goes, given your beverage choice.”

  “Maybe I’m saving my imagination for more important things than liquid intake.”

  Like what? She wanted to ask it so badly that the words tingled on the tip of her tongue. Her usual type was creative and free-spirited with a pinch of screw-the-institution. Ryan was controlled, organized, and probably paid his taxes early. And yet there was something intriguing about him.

  “Or maybe you’re saving it for the work we’re supposed to be doing together,” she said. “You know, storing up all those ideas and approaches to marketing and social media plans we are supposed to be building, which you’ve been either ignoring or doing without me.”

  The playfulness she’d seen in his face earlier disappeared, replaced with a lack of emotion. “I don’t really have time to do this now. Let me take a stab at it, and I’ll email it to you for your thoughts.”

  Holly tapped her nails on the arm of her chair. “See, here’s the thing. You just told Shay to hold your calls for an hour, which says to me that we have about fifty-one minutes left. Plenty of time for you to take a look at this.” She tugged her bag over her head and rummaged inside it for her presentation. “I pulled this together and emailed it to you, but I guess you haven’t had time to read it.”