Again, Gray shrugged. “So, I’ll write more.”
Deacon frowned. Back when they’d been living in the laundromat, Gray had been adamant not to lose the rights to the song they wrote together. What the hell was going on with him?
Jazz stomped her foot. “That’s not the point. At my meeting, we talked about this shit percentages thing, but my lawyer didn’t mention the fact that we would lose the rights to ‘The Becoming’ if we signed this stupid contract.”
“What else are we supposed to do?” Nick asked, his voice spiking.
“We’re sure as shit not signing this.” Deacon pulled out the wad of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket and slapped them on the counter.
“So you want to walk away?” Nick laughed. “And you wonder why I went with the controlling interest of this band. You always want to walk, don’t you Deak?”
Deacon gripped the sides of the counter. “I didn’t say anything about leaving the fucking band.”
“We don’t have options. This is an all or nothing contract. You heard Jackson,” Nick growled.
“Trident isn’t the only label out there.”
“Do you see anyone darkening our door?” Nick stared at the ceiling. “God, you’re such a fucking Boy Scout. This is a once in a lifetime deal.”
“No, they want us to feel like it is. They throw in this penthouse and a car and make everything sound all great.” Every gift, every smug smile, every pat on the head—all of it was to lure them in. And all of it could be taken away.
“Yeah, well, if we don’t take this then what do we do?” Simon broke in. “Hope and pray we can hunt down another one? And that the contract will be any different?”
“We have to try.”
“We have eight days, Deacon. They need an answer by October first.” Nick went around the island to the drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes. He looked to Jazz. “Don’t start.”
“Outside,” she snapped.
Nick tucked a cig into the corner of his mouth and headed outside. Before he was out the door, Deacon heard the snick of Nick’s lighter, and the acrid odor of tobacco teased his nose.
A soft hand slid across his lower back. Deacon closed his eyes. He’d been raging and hadn’t heard her come back downstairs. He gazed into her worried eyes, pulled her around to the front of him, and lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, baby.”
She lifted her hand to his cheek. “Are you okay?”
He pressed his cheek into her hand. “I don’t know.” She wrapped her other arm around his waist, then lifted onto her toes. The brush of her mouth was soft and cool. It was everything he wasn’t right now.
Deacon’s arms shook with the anger that still thrummed through his veins. He kept the kiss light, even though he wanted nothing more than to blink out and lose himself in her. He wanted to take her somewhere so he could pound himself into her and dislodge some of the weight that sat on his chest. He knew that if he lost himself in Harper, he’d be able to breathe again.
But this was only the beginning.
He pulled Harper in, pressing her cheek against his chest. He saw Jazz standing beside Gray. Instead of consoling her, Gray sat stonefaced while she sniffled, their pinkies intertwined.
Nick was smoking, starting a new cigarette from the first one. Simon switched out beer for vodka.
He’d thought they were past this. Thought they’d actually been working toward something for the first time. And now, he didn’t know what to think.
Or how to fix them.
* * *
Harper curled into one of the L-corners of the sectional. They’d been at it for over three hours, and Deacon was vibrating with too many emotions to comprehend. Anger and hurt were first. She heard it in the broken, huskiness of his voice.
She would have snuck away to let them hash it out, but Deacon kept looking for her at the oddest times. Once his eyes lit on her, his face would ease the tiniest bit and his voice would fade back to a shout, instead of the scary growl.
“For fuck’s sake, Deacon. What do you want from me?” Nick shouted.
“I want you to try and look for another way! Do you have the Trident kool-aid on tap or something? This is not a good deal. This will haunt us our entire career!”
“We’ll write other songs.”
“That’s not the point. If they think they can get away with it once, they will do it again. What else is in this fucking pile of papers that we didn’t catch? Do you know that they get a cut of our tour money too? Licensing of our fucking face. Do you want to go back to that boyband look.”
“No. Jesus, no.” Nick braced himself on the counter.
“That’s what could happen. They will own us.”
Deacon’s voice was hoarse from shouting to be heard. His shoulders heaving with anger and frustration.
Harper couldn’t take it anymore. She crawled out of her hole and crossed the room. “All right, that’s enough.”
“This isn’t your business, Chef Girl,” Simon said gently. There was no anger in his tone, just weariness.
“No, it’s not. And that’s why I’ve been over there keeping quiet, but now you’re just going around and round. You are not going to find answers tonight.” If they didn’t stop screaming at each other there was going to be more bloodshed than Nick’s cheap shot a few hours ago.
Watching Deacon’s shoulders sag with each push back and argument to sign the contract was killing her. She simply couldn’t watch any longer.
“Deacon, I need you to come upstairs.” She moved in front of him, placing her palms on his chest. “In fact, let’s pack a bag and get out of here for tonight.” She stood on her tiptoes and brought her hands up to cup his jaw.
His eyes were red rimmed and dry. His beautiful green eyes drowning in pain. She couldn’t even look at Nick right now because she’d be the one to lose it. She’d beat that frustratingly calm look off his face with her fists. Everything inside of her wanted to rip his hair out at the roots until he was left with nothing but a bloody scalp.
“Please, babe,” she whispered.
Deacon looked around to his friends. She wasn’t sure what kind of decisions he was making, but she saw the finality flit across his face.
Wordlessly, he nodded and closed his laptop. He tucked it under his arm and let her lead him to the stairs.
“Running as always,” Nick muttered.
Harper pushed Deacon aside and flew down the three stairs she’d climbed.
“Harper, don’t.”
She heard Deacon’s voice, but ignored it. In fact, she couldn’t hear around the screams in her head. She crossed the room, her bare feet slapping on the tile. “You are the most selfish, cowardly asshole on this fucking planet.” She stabbed her finger into Nick’s chest. “Can’t you see what you’ve done to them? How much you’ve hurt them?”
His golden eyes blazed with anger as Nick stared down at her. His jaw stony, the tick of muscle in his jaw warning her away.
Maybe it was the bravado of knowing Nick wouldn’t do anything to her with Deacon in the room, maybe it was the hurt that Deacon had been feeling all day and stoically denying, maybe it was just her hitting a wall. This wasn’t her business. The band wasn’t hers, these people weren’t hers.
No.
That was a lie. These were her people. At least for now. She’d spent weeks with them, loved and laughed with them. She’d nursed them through cuts and scrapes and bad shows that left them all at their lowest points.
“You think you’re protecting the band with this epically shitty deal, but all you’re doing is living in fear. Fear that you’re not good enough, and guess what? They saw that in your eyes, Nick Crandall. You were the perfect mark.”
Nick’s lips parted slightly, and she knew she’d struck deep. “You convinced Simon that this was for the good of the band. Because he’s not built like that. He wouldn’t want to bring that kind of shit down on the band.”
“What the fuck do you know? You’re no one. Just
a girl that Deacon’s fucking until something better comes around. Until we record the album and we’re back on tour.” Nick’s lip curled into a smirk. “You’re just a placeholder.”
She heard Deacon behind her. The crash of something being flung out of the way. Then she saw the murder in his eyes from her periphery. And in that moment, she knew it wasn’t going to be a few fists. She knew that he’d do something he’d regret. Knew that his heightened emotions would make this whole situation end badly.
So she did what she had to.
She reared back and slapped Nick across the face, and when he barely rocked back, she scraped her nails down his cheek.
“What the fuck?” Nick stumbled back into Simon. “Get her the fuck away from me.”
She went after him, grabbing his collar. She let the anger inside of her rage free. Because nothing she did would hurt Nick. Not like Deacon would. Not like she’d seen that day on the stage.
What he did to Johnny Cage and Killian Kemper would be a playground scuffle compared to what he’d do to Nick. Not when hurt was radiating off of him like a fever.
Deacon’s arms came around her waist and he pulled her off.
Simon pushed Nick behind him and put his hand out to keep her at an arm’s length. “Okay, hellcat. You just calm the fuck down.”
Harper could feel Deacon’s body shuddering behind her. Taking advantage of the fact that Deacon had her a good six inches off the floor, she kicked out, the ball of her foot glancing off Simon’s hip.
“Jesus, Harper.” Deacon drew her back, his arms locked around her ribcage. He twisted her around and caught her up with one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. “Enough.”
The bark of his voice and his wide green eyes let her know that he was focused on her, not on the insults that Nick had let free. Problem diffused, she sagged in his arms.
Her eyes fell on Jazz’s shocked face. Her eyebrows had disappeared into her bangs, but then Jazz looked from Nick to Deacon, then back to Harper, and her lips twitched.
Confident that Jazz wouldn’t hold it against her, she returned her attention to Deacon. His jaw was still clenched and his shoulders were as tight as the resistance bands he abused on the bus, but he made no move to go after Nick.
Thank God.
She only had to act like a hysterical girl.
Take one for the team, Harper Lee.
“You can put me down now. I won’t kill him.”
Deacon shifted her tighter against him. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Lawless.”
“I have to live up to my nickname, right? It’s been weeks since Texas.”
Deacon managed to laugh and let her slid down to the floor. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kept her tight to his side. “You’re lucky Harper can take care of herself.”
Nick stood by the island in the kitchen with a beer bottle against his cheek. He lowered it to take a sip and Harper was glad to see three angry red stripes down his cheek.
The asshole deserved more for that crack about her being a placeholder, but it was better than the emergency room he would have ended up in if Deacon had gotten his hands on him.
Which is why she needed to get him out of there. Pronto. The climate in the room had changed again, but she didn’t trust that it would stay that way.
“Get me out of here.”
Deacon nodded. He led her back to the stairs. “Are you okay?”
She held up a hand. “Don’t worry about me, Deacon.”
“What he said, he didn’t mean it.”
“Of course he did.” Harper tugged her shirt up and off, shucked her pants and underwear, and went for the shower.
Deacon followed her. “He’s just pissed at me.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. He’s mad because we called him on the bonehead move. The truth hurts.” She snapped the curtain to the shower open and stepped under the luxury rain nozzle.
She lifted her face to the spray as she tried to wash away Nick’s words. She was just a placeholder, as awful as it was. And if there was a sting of tears under the water, that was her problem. Her career trajectory might not be on par with Deacon’s, but it was still important. And it was hers.
She’d worked hard to pay for culinary school and she didn’t want to be making road food for the rest of her life. She wanted to build on what she was learning and make it work for her. Someday she’d have her own business license and employees.
She flattened her palm on the tile, letting the cool marble soak into her skin until her tears turned to water. Someday wasn’t today. She knew she had to pay her dues. And soon enough, that meant going where the work was.
She quickly finished up and opened the curtain to Deacon’s steady gaze. He held out a towel for her, and she let him wrap her up in the huge, warm terrycloth. And when he encircled her in another layer of those sturdy arms, she battled back the tears again.
Please, Meg. Just hold off that call for a little while. Right now, he needs me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
September 24, 3:17 PM - When the Levee Breaks
Harper rolled over onto her stomach. A shaft of sun lulling her back down into the soft cocoon of a nap. An insistent rumble tried to pull her back out.
Pulse-bzzz-pulse.
Tic-tic-bzzz.
She peeled an eye open. Her phone was flashing a text and a missed call. When it started vibrating again, she snatched it off the coffee table.
She rolled to her side, tucking one of the blankets she was using for a pillow under her cheek. They’d been staying at her Aunt Maggie’s house. Thank God for her crazy work schedule. She’d been more than happy to let them crash there for a few days. Deacon was still hunched over his laptop, as he had been for the last three days. Two notebooks, a scatter of pens and his phone sat at his elbow, and a super-sized iced coffee sat sweating, barely touched at the top of the desk.
She glanced down at her phone, flicked through a few texts from her brother and one from her dad. Nothing earth shattering there. She didn’t recognize the number on the voice mail so she tucked her phone into her pocket and swung up to a sitting position.
Quietly padding across the room, she caught a new website up on Deacon’s screen. She curled her fingers along the tense muscles along his shoulders. “Who’s Ripper Records? Why does that sound familiar?”
Deacon looked up with a distracted smile. He hauled her around and dumped her on his lap. He tucked his chin into where her shoulder met neck and inhaled. “You smell like sunshine.”
“Handy since I was napping like Garfield in a big ray of sunshine.”
“Lazy shit.”
She curled into his arms. “Yep. It’s shameful.” She nodded to the screen. “Avoiding the topic?”
He sighed. “No.”
She raised her brow and he laughed.
He reached around her to tap on the touch pad. “I’ve been reading a few articles about this Donovan Lewis guy. Evidently, he made his money as a venture capitalist. Which is pretty much code for a gambler.”
“He’s a hot gambler.”
Deacon drilled his finger into her side. She squirmed and slipped her hand into his hair. “Not as hot as you.”
He snorted. “Yeah.”
“So, he’s just the money at Ripper Records?”
“No, that’s the thing. The label seems to be all him. I can’t find any other names associated with it except producers for the talent. And then I found this.” He clicked on hyperlink with the name, Lila Shawcross.
A super-hot blonde filled the screen. Wicked China blue eyes stared right into the camera and felt like they were boring into her freaking forehead. A Mona Lisa smile played around her full mouth. She stood with her arms crossed and a pair of dark rimmed glasses dangling from her fingers. She showed off a killer body with a form shaping suit in a rich eggplant color.
“Jesus. She’s hot.”
“Yeah, she is. You should see her in person,” he said under his breath.
> Harper plowed her elbow into his side.
Deacon brushed his lips along her neck behind her ear. “Easy.”
She slid her hand along his forearm. “Yeah, so what’s up with hot girl? And why do you know that she’s hotter in person?”
“She came to one of our shows. I didn’t know who she was at the time.” He paused, tapping his finger on the desk. “She got under Nick’s skin, that was for sure.”
Harper snickered. “He probably wanted to fuck her.”
“Nice.”
Harper turned to him. “Like he didn’t? Like you didn’t?”
His brows snapped down. “I did not,” Deacon said and fisted her hair, dragging her in for a hot, hard kiss.
Surprised, she turned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on. He clamped an arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him and his growing erection. He scraped his teeth over her lower lip and opened her wide for his greedy tongue.
“Whoa.” She pressed her forehead to his, her breath unsteady. They’d gone from business and teasing to that little flash of Deacon that came out at the oddest times. Possessive, wicked, and always left her a little off-center. “What was that?”
“I don’t like you thinking that.” His voice was hard-edged. So unlike the easy man that always made her smile.
“What?” She opened dazed eyes. “That you thought another chick was hot?” She leaned back against the desk to get a better look at him. “It’s going to happen.”
“I’m a one woman guy, Harper.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head. Where was all this coming from?
He frowned. “You know that, right? This,” he pointed between them, “isn’t just a passing thing.”
“I know.”
“You don’t sound so sure about it.”
“No.” She grasped a handful of his silky hair, pushing it back from his angular face. His scruff was back and his eyes were a little bloodshot around the edges, but the gold infused green was so beautiful and clear. So intense. “I don’t throw the love word around for just anyone, pal.”
He relaxed his grip. “Then why were you so surprised?”
Rocked Page 40
