IntheMood

by Lynne Connolly

  “I came back for the books. We had a few deliveries and I didn’t have time to record them.” It sounded reasonable. Jack was meticulous about recording the scrappy pieces of paper on to the computer program they used for their accounts. She wasn’t half so good, would put them aside until the spike was nearly full. So she smiled, although she could have done without his input today.

  She turned back to the customer she was serving, her smile far too broad, but she couldn’t stop it. “It was a great night,” she told him, one of her regulars.

  The guy gave her a shit-eating grin. “Anything to do with your new boyfriend?” He shared the grin with the barista standing at the cashpoint, and the woman had the nerve to giggle.

  The stillness behind her told her Jack was waiting for her answer. She told herself she didn’t care. She and Jack had been over for nearly a year. She wouldn’t deny her growing relationship with Matt. “He owns the studio that recorded the single and the new album. But the band had to okay me. He says he can put some session work my way from time to time.”

  “Oho.” The cop waggled his bushy gray brows. He reminded her of a knowing squirrel. “You’ll be too big for this place soon. Our little V on national TV.” With a swift move that belied his size, he reached out and put a beefy hand over hers. “You take care, you hear? Don’t touch any drink you haven’t seen poured, and don’t take sweets from strangers.”

  “I promise.” He didn’t just mean the drugs, she knew. He meant all the other dangers as well; the late nights, the hangers-on, the other things that musicians had to take in stride.

  “I still have half this place to keep me grounded.”

  “And you have me,” Jack said quietly from behind her.

  She turned to him, gave him a quizzical look.

  He shrugged. “I can’t help it, darling. You still have me.”

  “We’ll always be friends.” She could give him that.

  Jack paused. “Yeah. We will, won’t we?”

  She had to force her smile, but she concentrated on making it real, adding warmth to her eyes. “Always, Jack.” She meant it, she just didn’t feel as strongly about it as he seemed to. If he walked out tomorrow, she’d miss him, sure, but not for long. The Jack-sized gap in her life would soften and heal over. Although she’d caught that expression of helpless longing more than once in his eyes, she thought she’d imagined it. Or rather, she wanted to think that.

  Now she knew she hadn’t and he was letting her see it.

  The café entered a quiet period. Cops left and weren’t immediately replaced. Shift change-over, probably. She checked her watch. Yep, that was it. Maybe she had time to clean the milk-frothing tubes before the next bunch of cops going off shift arrived. Keeping the coffee paraphernalia cleaned and in good working condition was one of the banes of her life, but since the cleaning process was an important part of making good coffee, she did it herself on a regular basis.

  As she picked up the empty milk jug and walked to the machine, she glanced into the little office. Jack sat behind the desk, frowning at the laptop, but as she passed, he looked up and their eyes met. At one time, she’d have given him a sweet smile and moved on, but today that didn’t seem appropriate.

  But she still intended to move on, until he leaned back and lifted his chin. “I never meant to let you know.”

  She went into the office and closed the door. “It will pass.” Jack was a good friend and she’d hate to lose him. Their parting had been amicable, or as much as a breakup could be, and she’d prayed they’d both moved on. She had. He would, if he didn’t see her so much, she was sure of it. Habit and fondness remained, and they could be mistaken for love.

  Or could they? Because what she felt for Matt transcended that.

  Shock tore through her, with an almost visceral reality. Oh no, no, that couldn’t happen. She was spending time with him, that was all. She couldn’t think about how she felt about Matt, because it put fizz into her system and sent longing coursing along her veins. If Jack saw what merely thinking of Matt did to her, he might take it for himself. She had to make matters clear. Right now.

  “You’re right, of course.” Jack’s voice was steady. Too steady. He was controlling it the way he used to in court.

  “Jack, you know things weren’t right between us for a while before we split.”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his black hair, ruffling it up into short spikes. “I know. It was my fault. I got too obsessed with this place, and with sorting out my life. I didn’t give you enough attention.”

  That made her sound like a spoiled brat. V didn’t care for that one bit. “No, it was us.” Their split had started when Jack asked her for a break. Six months had turned into a permanent arrangement.

  If Matt asked her for a break, said he needed to sort out his life, she wouldn’t have hassled him.

  On second thoughts, she’d go nuts without having him inside her for more than six months. She’d miss their rambling conversations that could go anywhere. She’d miss him. “We weren’t going anywhere, Jack.”

  He gave her the lopsided grin she used to love. Now she merely liked it. She preferred Matt’s more cynical expression when he smiled, that quirky one-sided grin that flashed across his face from time to time. “That’s what I like. Not going anywhere. You know that, V. And in a place like Chicago, there’s no need to.”

  She leaned against the door and folded her arms. From here, she could keep an eye on the café through the glazed upper part of the door. The two baristas on duty were doing fine. The gauze curtain gave a semblance of privacy if they needed it, but in her time with Jack, it never had been needed. He’d never taken her with a desperation that turned her on like whoa and damn. Whereas she knew exactly what the pressure of a few sliders and knobs felt like against her back.

  “You’re a great guy, Jack. But you’re not for me, and I’m not for you.”

  There came that grin again, with the addition of a dimple. “You’re probably right. And right about giving it time.”

  Right then, she knew that he thought he’d give her time to burn out with Matt and then she’d come back. He didn’t have to say anything. The cocky gleam in his eye said it all for him. “V, you can’t blame a man for trying. You are one gorgeous package.”

  She tweaked her practical apron and smoothed back her hair, conscious of the way it frizzed around her head today. Served her right for deciding to skip the mousse after her shower. She hadn’t had time to style it that morning, so had tied it back in a practical ponytail, but short strands escaped and she’d tucked them behind her ears. “Like this, I’m just another coffee shop girl.”

  “Not to me. Besides, you’re the coffee shop owner.”

  “Part owner,” she reminded him.

  He smiled and bowed his head. “Part owner. V, I don’t have any reason to force you to do anything. And I won’t press you to do your shifts. You’re heading for a hell of an adventure, so go have it. I can employ extra staff if you need—we can handle it. As long as we have the cop business, the tourist trade is gravy, so we’ll do fine until you get back.”

  “You could still go back to lawyering full time?” She didn’t want him to throw everything at this place. It was her father’s idea to buy it, and her idea to allow Jack in as a partner. A minor partner. Dear old Pop held the few percent that would matter in a dispute. He did that with every family enterprise when the owner wanted to raise money or, as in her case, share the responsibility and the hours. It should have been their concern as a couple, but up ‘til now she thought they were doing fine as business partners. She’d thought she loved Jack. It might have been enough, once. But not now, not when she’d found out what she could have with Matt.

  Jack grimaced. “I hate it. Don’t care enough to fight my way into a corner office. I mistakenly thought the work was about the cases, but it isn’t. I’m giving it up, V.”

  She stared at him in shock. He’d never told her that before. He’d just said the café w
ould give him a sideline, something else to do and another income stream and of course she knew he’d taken on fewer cases recently and spent more time in the shop. She’d always assumed he’d go back eventually. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “Because until recently I thought it was me. I thought I wasn’t good enough, and I didn’t want to tell you that.” He shrugged. “Who does want to admit defeat? But it’s not true. You have to play the water cooler game, work the right cases. And then, when they found out my uncle had one of the hottest practices in New York, they were all over me. They hadn’t connected the names, you see, until he called to invite me to a family party. The receptionist told the PA, who told the boss, who suddenly wanted to give me some great cases. I left in disgust and I haven’t been back since. They’ve given me leave, but I don’t know if I want to go back. If I’d had the heart for it, it might have meant something, I might have tried, but I didn’t. To me, it was just a job and the clients deserve more.”

  “Surely not all firms are like that.”

  “I don’t know, but I think they are.” He hadn’t shifted his gaze from hers since he’d started to tell her. This was the plain, unvarnished truth. “I’d rather see what I can make of this business. I’d love to do more. I have ideas.”

  She raised a brow. “First I’ve heard.”

  Jack leaned forward, his dark eyes sparkling as they never did when he talked about his job. “Why not try for a small chain? We have to make the name popular, and we’ve done that, especially in the cop community. So we open more.”

  “The cop business.” She hated to admit it right now, when she was feeling uncomfortable about the way he was feeling for her, but he did have a germ of a great idea.

  As it happened, it was more than a germ.

  Jack reached into a drawer and drew out a slim folder. “Here,” he said, sliding it over to her. “Look it over. It’s a proposal. I can afford the expansion myself, at least the first two cafés, so if you don’t want to buy in, that’s fine. We’ll just visit your father again. If I have to get finance, I’d far rather get it from your family. I think this will do well, and I’d rather the Hamids got the benefit than a bank. But I can get the finance anyway. I’d prefer to use the company name, and I’d prefer to have you involved, but I also know that things are happening for you right now. Go have fun. Tell me your decision within a month. Okay?”

  That sounded reasonable. “Sure. I won’t say anything, good or bad, until then.” She pasted on a neutral expression. “And you came to see me at the TV studio?”

  “I did.” He smiled. “Very nice. You know I’m not into rock particularly, but it was pretty good.”

  Pretty good. “Why did you come?”

  “I never saw you before.” He frowned. “I’m surprised your family didn’t come.”

  Her mouth flattened. “You know why.” Did he know, did he come, hoping she’d chicken out and turn to him? Or was this yet another attempt by someone who cared for her to shelter her?

  He shrugged. “It’s all in your head. You stood up in front of five hundred people and played. There you go, you’re done. And you only made a few mistakes. I bet none of them noticed at all.”

  But he had. Glancing out the window, she groaned. “Here comes the next shift.” The excuse gave her a reason to go. Pretty good, he’d said. A few mistakes, he’d said. He was right. She was probably average at best.

  *

  “I can’t possibly play Madison Square Garden!”

  “Why not?”

  Faced with that frank question, she found it hard to answer. She stared at Matt, trying to understand why she couldn’t. “Because I have stage fright,” she said eventually, stating it bluntly.

  “Everybody does.” He cupped her shoulder, his gesture warming her despite her rising panic. “If you don’t, then you’re probably too smug to be any good.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.” His mouth turned up at one corner in a wry grimace. “But I wouldn’t recommend you use the same solution I did. Ask the band, see if I’m right. Everybody gets stage fright. Everybody who’s any good. And you are good.” He curled his hand and she stepped forward, finding reassurance in his arms. “Two nights, they said. The tour’s later in the year, in a couple of months, but those two dates were suddenly available and Chick snapped them up. He has contacts everywhere, and with the help of the record company, they’ve set this up. It’ll be a basic show, because the lighting and staging aren’t ready yet for the tour, but it’s doable.” He kissed her forehead. “C’mon, you’ll be great. Think of it as an expenses-paid trip to a luxury hotel.”

  She laughed. “You’re coming?”

  “You bet. We can get a room with a great spa bath.”

  “I bet you shared them with hordes of groupies in the past.” She turned her face up to him and smiled. “As long as you don’t do that now.”

  His responding smile warmed her right down to her bones. “I’m the groupie. But only with you, honey. Only with you.”

  She leaned up so she could kiss him. Every time he kissed her, he made her blood fizz with excitement. It hadn’t dissipated in the time they’d spent together. Every night for a month and much of the days too She was beginning to think it would never dissipate, although only one thing would test that. Time. She was willing to give it all she had, but was he?

  He finished the kiss but kept his arms banded around her. “So what do you say? You’ll give it a try?”

  “Sure.” After all, she’d done the studio and she played at Claud’s from time to time. She’d be fine. And he was right—everybody was afraid. She’d let this fear control her life far too long.

  Now she’d confessed her stage fright V felt a million times better. Of course she could do this, and of course she wasn’t alone. He was right.

  *

  Less than a week later, V found herself traveling to New York in the kind of comfort that made her wish the flight was a longer one. Truly the first time in her life she’d ever felt that way. They traveled on a commercial flight, and the press was waiting in force at the airport.

  They’d discussed it and decided she would go with the band and Matt would travel to the hotel separately. Nobody was ashamed of anyone, but Matt said he didn’t want to divert the news from the album to his participation in it. Once the new lineup had been established, then he’d consider not doing a Cynthia Lennon. For years John Lennon’s wife had crept out of back entrances of hotels, left the plane when nobody was watching because the Beatles’ management had considered her a liability to the band’s image.

  It didn’t help much. Although the band’s manager, Chick Fontaine, had announced no press conference, they still shouted questions.

  What seemed to be a million flashing lights and two million jabbering, yelling voices met them off the plane. She followed the band, just before the girlfriends and family, trying to blur the connection, but it didn’t help either. They entered the main building and lights went off in her face.

  “We’ve heard rumors about you and Maxx Syccorraxx. Is he rejoining the band?”

  “Are you joining Murder City Ravens, V?”

  “Is it really you on the sax?” That one she chose to answer.

  While the band lingered, answering questions they’d carefully selected, the manager, a huge giant of a man, hovered by her side, clearly keeping an ear on what she said.

  She gave the questioner a sweet smile and held it. She might not have experienced this kind of frenzy for herself before, but she’d seen it. Claud knew a lot of people in the music world and some had their share of fame. Though the media hadn’t had to be held back by a combination of a rope barrier and beefy security guards, as if any minute they’d burst through and mob them. “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, you play the sax?”

  “Come to the concerts. You can see then.” She didn’t raise her voice or try to compete with the cacophony. They’d pick it up.

  “Are you sleeping with Max
x Syccorraxx?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Who’s that?”

  Raucous laughter followed. “He’s calling himself something else these days. Matt Sinclair.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “She is!” the man crowed. “Is he good in bed? Can he still get it up?”

  “Not very subtle,” she murmured, this time deliberately keeping her voice low. “You want to get me annoyed? Get some pictures?” She struck a pose, foot slightly forward, head tilted on one side, three-quarter profile. Then she moved on. They’d get the kind of pictures she wanted them to have—not the other kind, the candid shot.

  After this carefully controlled short length of hallway, they passed into relative privacy. The band grinned and slapped each other on the back, and Jace waited for her. “I want to hug you. I won’t because of the power of the telescopic lens, but you handled that crowd out there real well.” He laughed. “The album’s out in a couple of weeks, and that’s when it all starts for real.”

  They passed through to a private lounge and silence fell when the doors closed.

  “This is a kind of test, to see if you like us and we like you.” Jace paused, glanced around and she saw them give nods. “We’re thinking of asking you to come in and work with us. You did real well in the studio and you handled that TV performance well.” His casual tone didn’t deceive her.

  Shock hit her between the eyes and she blinked. “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. It’s about time the sax made a comeback.”

  She couldn’t resist. “As far as I’m concerned, it never went away.”

  He grinned. “Think about it. We liked what you did to the album, the extra tracks. You didn’t add too much, but just enough, and you left some tracks alone.”

  “They were perfect as they are,” she said. “I only played with the others because you let me, but they’re amazing. You’ll set the world on fire with this album. It’d be cheating to come in so late.”

  “Not if you work with us on the next one,” Hunter said. It was the most she’d heard the drummer say at one time. It shocked her into silence.