Ryan took the document from her and began to flick through it, during which time she took off her coat. The office was warm, or maybe that was the effect Ryan was having on her. But either way, some cool fresh air would have been super welcome.
She’d worn her polka-dot pussy bow blouse and high-waisted black pants, the closest thing she had to business wear. Pairing them with bright red faux-alligator skin boots with gold zippers and towering heels was her act of rebellion.
“I told you I’d pull something together for you to take a look at,” he said and placed her document down on the desk after barely scanning it.
“You did. But I also knew that getting on top of the band’s financials and commitments is a priority, so I thought I’d get us started.”
Ryan sighed. “Holly, I know what Dred was trying to do in engaging someone like you.”
The words jarred her ears. “Like me?”
“It’s nothing personal, Holly,” he said as he raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “They’ve always surrounded themselves with people they like. Their manager was a friend. Not a manager. They live with each other. In one house. They travel together. They are insular. And obviously you and Dred became friends through the show and he wants to help you out. But at this point in their career, they don’t need friends. They need tried and true professionals.”
The words hit Holly like a triple blow. In a handful of sentences, he’d reminded her that she’d lost, told her that Dred had thrown her a bone, and implied that she didn’t have the skills required.
She was sick and tired of coming goddamn second.
“You didn’t even read through my presentation, did you?” she accused.
“I did. Well, the headings. I promise I’ll take a closer look when I start on the social media and marketing plan.”
Holly picked up her bag, coat, and hat. “Don’t do me any favors.”
Without turning to look back at him, she walked out of his office and slammed the door.
Ryan knocked on the door to his downstairs neighbor’s apartment. Alice opened the door, dark circles beneath her eyes. The single mom had a restraining order against her ex, but it was Ryan who had been the first to help when the asshole had been screaming drunkenly outside their building at two in the morning four days earlier, not the police.
“Hey, Ryan,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“I’m not stopping,” he said, because he knew the girls were probably already asleep. “But I spoke to the lawyer-friend I mentioned.” He offered Alice his old college roommate’s business card. “He said he’d be happy to offer some free legal advice.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, Ryan. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, and jogged up the stairs.
He shut the door to his apartment and let out a groan of relief. He loved his job, loved the tiredness that came from knowing he’d put in a solid shift of at least twelve hours doing his best work. But best of all, he loved coming home at the end of the day.
The small two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side, a block and a half west of Park Avenue, had been home for three years. His salary—part commission, part base salary, part annual bonus—was now such that he could move to somewhere bigger, more exclusive, but his heart wasn’t in it. With Mrs. Percival and Alice and even his grumpy superintendent, Ronald, who Ryan often helped out when it came to building repairs, he’d built a home here. A mismatched community of people who looked out for each other, which he’d found to be rare in the hustle and bustle of New York.
He flicked on the light in the hallway and dropped his keys into the dish on the narrow side table. The blue-gray walls were moody, but the windows let in enough light that it wasn’t dark. It was simply… atmospheric.
Once he’d changed into faded jeans and a gray T-shirt, he wandered to the kitchen to snag a beer. He let out another groan as he flopped down onto his tan leather sofa with its huge black-and-white-striped cushions. It was big enough that someone could sleep on it if they needed to, something he’d done many an evening, having fallen asleep while reading reports on his laptop.
Out of habit, he reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. The entertainment news was on, but he didn’t really pay much attention to it. He thought of Holly’s appearance at the office. MCB Entertainment saw its fair share of characters. But there was something truly authentic about Holly, like she wasn’t even trying to be unique. She was utterly captivating, and he’d liked flirting with her more than he should have. When she’d taken the conversation back to work, he’d felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him.
He didn’t mix business and pleasure. Ever.
Preload had signed its contracts with MCB, and the band was now officially his. As its manager, he could now ask the question he’d been curious about. He reached into his pocket and dialed Dred.
“Hey, Ryan.”
“Hey. Are you okay to talk for a few minutes?”
“Yeah, I’m in the car with Jordan.”
“I need to ask, why do you feel you need Holly around so badly?” He mentally kicked himself, knowing that it could be taken wrong. “I mean, she’s smart, I see that, but why her specifically?”
“You don’t think you can work with her?” Dred asked.
Shit. That wasn’t what he meant, but somehow when it came to Holly, he always seemed to be out of tune. “No. That isn’t it. I’m just, we’ve got a lot of things to figure out for you guys, and keeping it in house helps me keep control on it.”
He heard a sigh and then heard Jordan mumble, “Just be straight with him, bro.”
Ryan let the silence sit between them, partly because he was waiting for Dred to respond, and also because he didn’t want to dig his hole any deeper.
“Okay. There’s a bunch of reasons. First, I really like her. She’s smart,” Dred said. “I really got to know her over the last couple of months filming the show. Sure, it’s not traditional book smarts, but she gets social media. While we were on the show, she helped Trent with some ideas for Second Circle. Like their website and stuff. Trent said it really helped to drive traffic to the studio.”
Ryan was one hundred percent book smarts. He didn’t know any other way.
“She helped one of her clients on the show, a guy with a surf and ski shop, build a brand strategy for his business while the guy was lying right there on her table and she was competing in a televised show,” Dred continued. “She helped one of her competitors with a business plan for his studio. He wanted to hire her, same with Trent. But she’s got shit she needs to deal with here in New York.”
“So, why doesn’t she just get another job?” Ryan asked.
There was a long pause. “She had reasons for wanting to win the show that went beyond just opening a new tattoo studio. It’s about looking after the team she’d been working with. She doesn’t want to just look after herself; she wants to look out for them, too.”
“And we understand that kind of loyalty,” Jordan said. He said the words quietly, but Ryan could feel the weight of them. He knew a little about their personal lives, the stuff that had been played out in the media. The bad boys of rock with pasts so fucked up that they were pretty unstable individuals. It was part of the reason they were creative geniuses. They’d had a lifetime of hurt for inspiration. He knew he had to walk that line gently.
Still, the band was now paying him to think like a manager. “Okay, so I get why you like her, admire her even. But it doesn’t explain why you think she’s a good fit for this.”
“She can do this, Ryan. Plus, it helps us all. You get some free assistance, and we get some eyes on this on a day-to-day basis. No offense, but we aren’t ever putting all of our eggs into one basket like we did with Sam again. And Holly gets some cash to keep her on her feet and stay where she wants to be while she figures out what to do next.”
He didn’t want to push any harder and ruin the fledgling
business relationship he was building with the band. With a bit of luck, they could work together for decades.
“Fair points, all. Look, I’ll set up some time to sit down with her, but I think it would make sense for the band and I to spend some more time together.”
“Can’t you email us?” Jordan said gruffly.
“Better face to face,” Ryan said quickly. “I have to go down to Miami to talk to some lawyers and the police about Sam’s laptop.”
“We’re in Miami until next week. Pre-production stuff. You could join us,” Dred said. “Don’t know if you know this, but my girlfriend lives here.”
“I did know that,” Ryan said, smiling as he thought about the woman with purple hair he’d often seen in the media photographs of Dred.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the entertainment news had changed to a story on the Inked finale. “Okay, cool. I’ll text you the dates. Sorry for interrupting your evening.”
“Nah. It’s cool. Later,” said Dred, and the phone went dead.
Ryan reached for the remote and turned the volume up.
“…A source close to Holly Eden, who came second in the live finale of Inked, revealed that her former employer left her high and dry after stealing money he’d borrowed from her to expand his business and cleaning out the company accounts. We are unsure what, if any, knowledge Holly Eden had of his crimes. We’ll have more on this breaking story as it develops.”
What a fucked-up thing to happen to her. And yet, she still seemed so positive about… well, life in general. Dred had said she’d wanted to win for more than just winning’s sake. His gut told him she wasn’t involved and he could only imagine the courage it took to stay in New York and face up to what had happened.
Ryan walked to the den where he’d set up his office, grabbed her presentation out of his bag, and set it and his beer down on the desk. This morning he’d done nothing more than give it a cursory glance, too distracted by her very presence to do much more. Now he took a seat, opened it to the first page, and read it properly.
Two hours later, three more empty bottles of beer and boxes that had contained leftovers from last night’s Chinese takeout littered his desk. He had a pile of notes, and he’d marked up her presentation extensively. Her plan was audacious, out there, and unlike any he’d seen before. Especially with suggestions of crossover events with non-metal artists. His own was safe, secure, something the band needed after the disastrous year they’d had with their manager. But he couldn’t take risks now, not when his interim position was so tenuous. Getting the promotion required a plan that definitely would work. Hers could fail.
But the band trusted her.
And which plan was in the best interest of the band?
He pulled out his phone.
Trip down to Miami with me next week to meet with the band?
It was late. Nearly eleven. He wasn’t really expecting a response, so when his phone pinged he was surprised.
You had me at Miami. Just checking the weather to see if it’s warm enough for a bikini.
Her response made him smile, and cooling the thought of her in tiny scraps of fabric would require a cold shower, but his gut told him he’d just made a rookie mistake.
Chapter Four
The notes reverberated through the air in perfect unison for a moment, before screeching into the chorus. Elliott and Nik were playing their guitars, and while she was no music journalist and didn’t have a clue about what all the pieces of equipment were beyond the basics, she knew it sounded good. Better than good, even though metal was not her go-to genre.
Ryan sat right next to where she was perched on a stool between the production desks and the glass, both of them looking into the studio. Clearly in his element, he bobbed his head to the music. Even though the weather in Miami was sunny, a balmy seventy degrees Fahrenheit compared to the thirty-five degrees they’d left behind in New York that morning, he was still in his suit while she’d picked out a baby blue tunic dress. The soft fabric of his pants brushed against her knee, making her shiver. She was beginning to wonder exactly what he’d look like out of all that button-downed stiffness.
The plane ride had been spectacular. She’d never before flown first class, being delivered food on china plates and handed glasses of free champagne on take off at seven in the morning. Plus, there’d been the airport lounge with all its free amenities. “Thank you,” she said, nudging her shoulder to his.
He stopped chair dancing and looked at her. “What for?” His eyes met hers.
“For bringing me with you. For making this work. I know there were expenses for me coming here. Flights, hotels.”
Ryan held her gaze. “It’s my pleasure.”
There were moments when she felt as though something was shifting between them. Moments when he looked at her the way he was looking at her now. Intensely, with all his focus.
Ryan shook his head and sighed. “I’ll be putting it on Preload’s bill.”
And then there were moments when she was equally convinced she was imagining it all. His text with the invitation to join him had caught her off guard, and she’d assumed that now that he’d read her document, he considered them to be on even footing.
Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her sketch pad and charcoals. She couldn’t control Ryan’s behavior, but she could decide her own actions. She began to sketch Nik and Elliott, who faced each other as they played, focusing on each other’s finger work with intense expressions. She drew arcs of energy coming from each guitar, Elliott’s in red for the fire she felt he had inside him, and blue for Nikan, who had a cooler kind of energy. Elliott’s long hair flew wild and free around his face, Nik’s black hair lay in a braid down his back. They were different and yet connected.
Studying just how in synch they were with each other fascinated her.
Lennon walked into the studio holding a large coffee. “Hello, lovers,” he said loudly to no one in particular.
Dred looked up from his spot next to their producer. “You’re late,” he said.
“Yeah, well, what can I say? A woman like the one I just left in bed needs to be savored, not given a dine-and-dash quickie,” Lennon responded with a smirk. Then he spotted Holly sitting on the stool. “Sorry, Hols. Didn’t see you sitting there.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was too wide. Too bright. He struck her as someone slowly dying inside. She flipped the page in her sketchbook and began to draw Lennon as she saw him, as the character Gwynplaine from the novel The Man Who Laughs. She added more pencil lines to the tortured grin so that it looked painfully uncomfortable, and darkened the light in his eyes until they revealed… nothing. Though Gwynplaine had been the inspiration for DC Comics’ Joker, his story was so much more…tragic… romantic. Believing himself unworthy of his true love’s affection due to his disfigurement, he remained ever distant from her.
“That’s incredible, Holly.” She jumped at the voice, which came out of nowhere behind her. Jordan. He’d been sitting in the corner the whole time and she hadn’t even noticed. He’d disappeared into the shadows, which should be impossible for a man of his size and frame.
“Thank you,” she said, rubbing her finger over the pencil lines to smudge them. She realized he’d seen her draw Lennon as some kind of tragic figure, which given their pasts…
“It’s cool, Holly. We know what we are,” Jordan said softly.
She reached for his hand, squeezing it for a moment before he quickly pulled it away. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. It is what it is.”
“Can I ask you a question, Jordan?”
“Might not answer it, but sure.”
“Do you even want a social media strategy? As a band, I mean?” Holly let the question hang between them and watched as Jordan looked around the room at each of the other band members.
He shook his head. “Not really. But we need one. Well, they do,” he said, tipping his head toward the others. “Necessary evil and all that.
It would be easier if it focused on the music.”
Perhaps he wasn’t the right band member to start it with. “We can make this as impersonal or personal as you feel comfortable with.”
Jordan’s shoulders sagged in relief, his sigh audible. “I’ll need to give it some more thought,” he said and started to walk toward Dred. He turned back to her suddenly and tipped his chin in the direction of her sketchbook. “I’d be curious how you see me.”
She was curious, too. She hadn’t pegged him yet, hadn’t found anybody who seemed to match him quite as perfectly as she’d been able to do for the others. Wuthering Heights' Heathcliff, Batman, and Sherlock Holmes all sprung to mind—brooding, enigmatic characters—but none of them were quite right. It would come to her, eventually.
“They’re an interesting group,” Ryan said, leaning his head toward hers so he could speak softly below the battling guitars. His hand brushed hers as he turned the pad toward him and she wondered how it would feel to link her fingers with his. “I’ve followed their career. They’re so insular. They really are like a family, aren’t they?”
Holly followed his eyes. Jordan, who was standing with one side of a pair of headphones pressed to his ear, had his hand on Dred’s shoulder. Dred looked up at Jordan and simply said, “Right?”
Jordan nodded and Dred grinned. Not another word was uttered, but it was as if a whole conversation had flowed between the two of them.
Lennon, who had walked into the recording area, affectionately ran his hands along the top of his cymbals, as if trying to steady a skittish horse. Elliott flicked his guitar pick at Lennon, managing a direct hit to his ear. Lennon grinned and flipped him the bird.
“They are like brothers, aren’t they?” she said.
“Listen,” Ryan said, “I’ve gotta go meet the police and their legal team downtown. We’ve got a Miami-based lawyer joining us to see if we can get access to Sam’s laptop. I’ll be back around two for our official meeting with these guys. I’ll be passing Second Circle Tattoos, if you want to drop by and see Trent.”
The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5) Page 4
