Plowed

by Kristen Luciani

  Heated voices from inside Studio A stopped her mid-knock. The door was slightly ajar. Crap. It was almost time. She chewed the inside of her glossed lip, eyes darting up and down the desolate hallway. Should she go inside? What if Merrick was in there? Argh! Was it better to be late or nosy?

  “Don’t ever tell me I have to do anything, Cooper. If you had any shred of decency or intelligence, you’d be thinking long and hard before directing me.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but it was too low to confirm. Whoever it was, he sure had some beef with a guy named Cooper. The hair on Sara’s arms stood at attention. Cooper. Jimmy Sixx. Jeez, when the heck was she going to get it together? She could have at least remembered their names, for the love of Pete. Or maybe the very real threat of being stalked had her slightly preoccupied.

  “Listen, I know you’re still angry, but it’s not up to you to decide the fate of the band.“

  A low, hollow laugh emerged from the studio. “Are you really going to blame this on me after you fucking destroyed everything?”

  “Dax, I—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you have to say anymore. Do you understand? It’s over. Just be thankful I haven’t replaced your scumbag ass already. But make no mistake, you’re the fuck out.”

  Jesus Christmas. Daxton Cole was in there, and it sounded like he might be on the verge of a killing spree, not about to finish the final leg of their sold-out platinum tour.

  “Sara Russell?”

  She swallowed a yelp and spun in the direction of the approaching voice. The Bluetooth earpiece gave away his identity in an instant. The blue-tipped spiky black hair was a close second clue.

  “Um, yes. Merrick, right?” With a forced smile, she walked toward him.

  A slow grin spread over his face. Tall, built, trendy – everything you’d expect from the manager of a handful of rock gods. The blue hair complimented his cobalt eyes; cold, as they were critical. He didn’t even try to hide it as he sized her up, strip-searching her from top to bottom. Blech. Talk about feeling violated, and he hadn’t even shaken her hand. Jerk.

  “Come on in so we can discuss the details.” Merrick brushed past her, pulling open the door. “I want you to meet…Coop, what are you doing here?”

  Cooper’s face flushed an alarming shade of purple. “Hey, I was, ah, just going.” He grabbed his jacket and left without so much as a backward glance.

  Daxton toyed with a guitar pick, the heat of his gaze darn near melting the skin off her bones. What is it with this guy? How could he be so sexy one minute, singeing her insides with a sweep of those deliciously dark eyes and spew venom like a viper the next? Maybe the more apt question was, why was she so aroused by the metamorphosis? “Been here long?”

  A sharp gasp escaped her lips. Shoot, she’d been caught. “Uh, no, I um… just met Merrick outside and we uh—”

  “Good. Hate to scare you off before you’re even offered the job.” He pointed to Merrick. “Q, what do you think?”

  Merrick’s leer, which was more of an assault than a mere look, made her knees lock. Did she really want to be on the road with that sleaze, if she got the job? Scratch that. She needed this position. It was the rapid exit into oblivion, something she’d been desperate for the second that airplane took off from Grand Falls.

  “I think she looks good. Real good. Lots of potential.” Another once-over made her skin crawl. Eww.

  “You’re going to scare her off.”

  As if.

  “I think it would be a great opportunity, since I’m new to all this. I have a fresh perspective and a lot of ideas about how we can polish up your image – through charities, goodwill, interviews. Rest assured, I’ll work tirelessly to make sure you’re fully satisfied with the results.“ What a joke. If she couldn’t fix her own mess, how the heck was she going to fix Daxton Cole’s?

  “Nice. So, tirelessly, does that mean all day, all night, until he’s done… working?” Ick. Could Merrick be any slimier? The salad she’d scarfed down less than an hour ago was ready to project vomit all over the soundboards.

  A snicker slipped from Merrick’s lips. “Okay, I’m done messing with you. But you need thick skin if you’re gonna hang with these guys, especially this one. The press has been relentless, and it’s only going to get worse. You’ve got your work cut out for you. I just wanted to see how much you could handle.”

  “Before you made me vomit all over my boots?”

  “Basically.” Merrick grinned. “She’s in. I’ll let Jake know we’ll take the newbie.”

  “Gee, thanks for the endorsement.” The sly quip fell from her mouth, but she didn’t bother to yank it back. Enough with the shrinking violet crap. This was her new chapter. Heck, it was a brand-new novel, and she was penning the scenes.

  “Okay, we’re done here. Sara, I’ll have Jake send you the logistics about the tour dates and—”

  “Wait.” Dax stopped plucking the strings of his guitar. Jeez, why couldn’t she tear her eyes from his long, powerful fingers stemming from those large palms? Holy cow, the things he could probably do with those hands…

  “What?” Merrick furrowed his brow.

  “Not you, her.” The strumming began once again, the melody making her body hum right along with the instrument.

  Merrick’s eyes narrowed to slits, chilling her from the tips of her toes to her now-clammy fingertips. “What about her?”

  “Don’t I get a crack at her before we finalize anything?”

  “You’ve never asked permission before.”

  “I’m not starting now. It was a rhetorical question.” Dax snickered. He patted the empty stool next to him. “Have a seat. Newbie.”

  Merrick raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Keep it short. Too much time with you, and she’ll probably go running back to Bumble Fuck, North Dakota or wherever the hell she’s from.”

  “Minnesota.” She cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you had such animosity toward the Midwest.”

  “Some things just have a funny way of setting me off.” The caustic words were directed at her, but his eyes were glued to Daxton’s face. Jeez, what the heck was eating this guy? As if he’d never witnessed a purging of sexual innuendoes. Lord knew Merrick had probably experienced a heck of a lot more than just words being tossed around. Maybe he wanted in, until Daxton unceremoniously tossed him out.

  And guys thought women were hard to read?

  Daxton’s rumpled white shirt fell slightly open, exposing his tanned, taut chest. God, did she want to run her tongue over the grooves of his abs.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I, um…relocated here from Grand Falls, Minnesota. I’ve always wanted to get into the entertainment industry.” Her eyes fell to his feet. Black Under Armour sneakers sat on the floor next to his stool, his toes wiggling in a pair of mismatched socks. Hmm…laundry day?

  “Pretty sweet gig for someone so green.”

  Was there a hint of disbelief in that statement? “My parents had a few connections.”

  “Nice they wanted to look out for you.”

  “Yeah…” The urge to chomp her nails was so darned strong. To keep some degree of control when the rest of her existence spiraled into a million different directions just beyond her reach. His persistent gaze held so many questions; ones she wasn’t willing to answer; ones she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “You’re a tough read. Let’s try something simpler. What’s your favorite food?”

  “Grape popsicles.” No hesitation there, not when it came to her one vice. Until that moment, she hadn’t figured out how to indulge her taste buds in the one pleasure she’d allowed herself since fleeing Minnesota. Did those tour buses have freezers? It wasn’t like there was a green room request contract for the junior publicist. She’d have to settle for grape-flavored gum or lollipops. Not horrible alternatives.

  “Cold, grape-flavored tongue…lots of interesting possibilities,” he mused, eyes on the guitar he was strumming.
>
  Her fingers twitched. She slammed her hands between her knees. Not biting, not biting. “Just so I’m clear, is the innuendo part of the interview? Or just out there for your own personal enjoyment?”

  “Thick skin, remember?” He snickered. “So, you’re a professional fixer. Ever find anyone worth saving?”

  “Aren’t we all worthy of redemption?”

  Daxton shrugged. “Some more than others.”

  She swallowed hard, only to find a lump in her throat, barely able to choke out the words. “Everyone deserves a chance to atone. Don’t you know there are always three sides to every story?”

  “In my case, they’re all the same.”

  “Don’t you think it’s important to change that perception? Wouldn’t your brother have wanted that for you?”

  His dark eyes flashed. “You don’t know anything about me. Don’t pretend to think you do just because you read something about my dead brother.”

  Perspiration drizzled down her spine. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to…I just, um…I’m so sorry.“

  He let out a groan. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. It’s not you, okay? It’s everybody else. Nobody gives a damn about what I’m going through. All they care about is keeping their cash cow from going down in flames. Am I upset? Yes. Am I fucked in the head? Not entirely. I’m grieving. So what if I do it with a bottle of Jack and a threesome on occasion?”

  Who the hell was she to tell this guy how to live his life when her own was such a mess? She had more skeletons than closets, for heaven’s sake. And forget that she’d like to be part of said threesome. “You know what? You’re right. If that’s what you need, so be it. Grieve, Daxton. Let it all go. I’ve got your back, and I’ll be there to collect all the cell phones so nobody can exploit it on YouTube.”

  “Sounds like you’re in. I’m not too much of a train wreck for you?”

  His grin had her insides twisted like pretzels. “Self-awareness is the first step. We just need to capitalize on your endearing qualities.”

  “You’re assuming I have them.” The words sounded so flip, a stark contrast to the sadness lurking in his gaze.

  “No, I’m inferring. I never assume.” The corners of her lips curled into a smile. “And if you don’t have them, I’ll just make something up. I’m a publicist, not an investigative reporter for CNN. It’s all in the spin.”

  DAXTON LISTENED TO SARA’S fingers fly over the keyboard of her MacBook Air at breakneck speed. He was more of a hunt and peck kind of guy, but hell, he’d rather be masterful with other things finger-related. Her eyes narrowed at the laptop screen, lips pursed. It wouldn’t have been a shock to see smoke billowing from her ears at any second.

  He stared at the Snow White decal on the laptop lid. Just like Sara, she was innocent and naïve. Of course, that’s where the similarity ended. Snow White would have been appalled at Sara’s skimpy wardrobe choices and probably wouldn’t have known how to formulate a snarky comment, much less utter one. Quite the dichotomy between perception and reality.

  “Ever worry about carpal tunnel syndrome?”

  She cracked a half-smile, still typing. “My fingers are pretty agile.”

  “I think that comment requires some kind of validation. If you need some suggestions, I’d be happy to—”

  Her green eyes floated up from the screen. “I’m sure you would. But that’s not why I’m here today.”

  He sighed and sank into the soft corduroy recliner in his massive living room. It was cream-colored, definitely not something he’d ever select. But his decorator insisted it worked like a charm in the expansive space. Earth-tones and airy accents. Whatever the hell. “Right. Today we commence Operation Reboot Daxton Cole.”

  “You’re not that hopeless.” Click, click, click.

  “I might believe that if you volunteered any bit of the insight you’ve already shared with that laptop.”

  Sara closed the lid and drummed her alleged agile fingers on the coffee table. Damn, it was hard not to look…and wonder. “I’m working on an idea for a charity event for you and the guys. I’ve done some research, and I like the idea of doing some kind of concert to benefit disease research, like cancer. It’s something you’ve been close to and I—”

  “No.”

  A look of confusion flitted over her features. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “If I want to donate my time or money to help sick kids, I do it. I won’t exploit them to rehabilitate my tarnished image.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m not on board with that.”

  “It’s not exploiting anyone. It’s raising awareness of a need for medical research, resources, or any help for a cure. Donations can help families who can’t afford medical care for their kids. The money can give them a fighting chance. How can you be opposed to helping, especially after…” She paused, biting her lower lip. “…after what happened to your brother? These kids are all someone’s brother, sister, son, or daughter. I don’t understand why you’re so closed off to the idea.”

  “Look, Sara. I can appreciate your position, but I’ve made my own bed, along with a hell of a lot of suck-ass choices. I have to live with my situation. I’ll temper my actions, but I won’t beg for mercy. I’m not a bad person, and I’m definitely not a phony driven by image.”

  “That’s a very nice speech, but you are accountable - to yourself, to the band, to the label, and to your fans. This can be a quick fix.“

  He snickered. Oh, the naiveté. All the snark in the universe couldn’t erase it. “Come on, sweetheart. There’s no quick fix for anything about me. I’m complex, tormented, soulless…haven’t you read the papers?”

  “That’s not who you really are.” She leaned in, a strand of blonde hair falling over her right eye. He longed to brush it back, to tuck it into place, and then run his hands through the rest of it, pulling her closer, tasting those pouty pink lips.

  “You sound pretty sure about that. How can everyone else be wrong?”

  “They don’t see what I see.”

  “And what do you see? Humor me.” He toyed with the cardboard wrapped around his Starbucks coffee cup.

  A soft smile tugged those sinful lips upward. “I see someone who’s acting out because he doesn’t know how to accept his circumstances.”

  “What if I don’t want to accept them?”

  “Then figure out how to change them.”

  “Ever hear of lost causes?”

  “I’m not saying everything in your life can be repaired with the flick of a switch. But if you accept your situation and try to make positive changes, that’s progress. Things may not be perfect, but you’ll be true to yourself, and forgive me for saying so, but I’m pretty sure you’re hiding behind those vices because it’s safer than baring your soul and being perceived as vulnerable.”

  “I thought you were a publicist, not a shrink.”

  She winked. “Double major in college.”

  “I’m still not doing any of it.”

  “Okay. It was only one of my ideas and I wouldn’t be a very good publicist if I didn’t have an arsenal of other press-battling weapons.” She re-opened the lid of her laptop.

  “Your fingers haven’t cramped up yet?”

  “Nope.”

  Click, click, click. The speed was impressive. And her ten-cent therapy session wasn’t too far off base. “I guess I’ll just wait until your fingers need another break before you divulge the next—” His iPhone vibrated on the table, the number on the screen stopping him mid-sentence. He jumped up and stabbed the Accept button. “Hey, Millie.”

  Sara’s eyes crept upward, though her fingers never stopped moving. Avoiding her gaze, he walked toward the large picture window, watching the crystal blue waters of the waterfall spilling into his Olympic-sized swimming pool. “How’s Luke doing?”

  Millie, the head nurse at the Children’s Cancer Center at MD Anderson, let out a deep sigh. “Not good, Dax. He really wants to see you. I know you’re busy, but things aren�
�t looking good.”

  The tightness in Daxton’s chest squeezed the oxygen from his lungs. He wanted to cry, to throw things, to scream for the mercy of this little boy, who wouldn’t have a chance to live much beyond his nine years. They’d become fast friends ever since Luke had become Jase’s roommate. After Jase passed away, Daxton continued to visit Luke and the other kids whenever he had down time, even though it hurt like hell not to see his brother in the crowd of smiling faces. He wrote new songs for the kids, brought treats, and gave music lessons… anything to make them happy and hopeful, since there was so much darkness clouding their days.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Thanks, Dax. It’ll mean so much to him.” Relief was evident in Millie’s voice. The sharp pang in his chest warned him that he was on borrowed time. His friend needed him.

  “I’ll see you soon.” Daxton clicked off the phone and squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. Things were always going to end in this way, but dammit, he wasn’t prepared. It was too much of a harsh reminder of Jase’s final days. How quickly the Band-Aids had been ripped from wounds that were now open, raw, and exposed. Memories exploded in his mind…Jase’s cold, lifeless fingers laced with his own, his pale face and vacant expression, his withered body against the stark white sheets.

  Pull it together. Be there for someone else. Do it for Luke. Do it for Jase. Do it for yourself.

  “Daxton?”

  He raked a hand through his hair, still staring out the window. “I have to go.”

  “We only have a few more days before the tour starts up again. There’s a lot more to cover.”

  “It can wait. This can’t.”

  “Um, okay. Can I come with you? Maybe we can keep talking for a while longer? I have a meeting with Jake tomorrow, and he’s going to want—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about Jake. And no, you can’t come. I have to do this alone.”