Lost For You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 4)

by Jayne Frost

  He threw me face down on the maple hardwood, pressing his knee into my kidney. “Checkmate, son,” he said, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

  “Get off me, Logan,” I wheezed. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “That’s funny. I was about to tell you the same thing.” He leaned close to my ear. “But I really don’t care at this point. You can walk, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

  By the time Logan wrestled me down the stairs, I was fully alert. His smile was gone, replaced by fury.

  “Get off me, fucker!” I bellowed, thrashing as he pushed me into the back seat of a car.

  Expecting to find my brother behind the wheel, my stomach sank when Calista turned to look at me. “Stop fighting, Chase,” she said quietly. “You know the drill.”

  “Fine, take me to rehab,” I spat. “If y’all are dead set on fucking with my life.”

  In a last-ditch effort to break free, I clawed my way across the seat. Prying my fingers from the silver door handle, Logan twisted my arm behind my back.

  “Can we get a move on?” he muttered, using all his strength to hold me in place. “I’m going to knock his ass out soon if we don’t get to the fucking hospital.”

  Hospital …

  “I’m not going to the fucking hospital!” I fought harder as the words sank in, cracking the woodgrain door panel with my boot. “Take me to rehab!”

  Calista was too smart for that trick, and I knew the minute I saw her that I was truly fucked. If it were Cameron driving the car, I’d likely be on my way to one of the many cushy rehab facilities in the area. And by tomorrow morning I’d be breathing free air.

  “Their not going to keep me, Calista,” I snarled, craning my neck to get a glimpse of her. “You’re fucking fired, by the way.”

  “I can always get another job.” She laughed softly without humor. “And with all that shit you’re holding, you better hope they keep you. A seventy-two-hour mandatory hold is a lot nicer than the floor of the Travis County jail.”

  And there it was.

  As I suspected, Calista was taking me for an evaluation, and given my current state, it was a good bet I’d be remanded for a seventy-two-hour hold. Seventy-two fucking hours. An eternity.

  Adrenaline kicked in, and soon I was fighting harder than I had in years. But Logan was a brick wall. When I managed to land a solid blow, his head snapped back, and I smiled.

  Until I saw his fist. And then everything went black.

  I propped up on my elbows and spied Cameron through the small window in the door to my hospital room. His face was drawn and full of worry as he spoke to the doctor.

  Groaning, my head slammed into the pillow when the next wave of nausea hit.

  The door creaked open, and I turned to the wall as heavy footsteps approached.

  “You know most of this is in your head, right?” Cameron said as he pulled out the chair next to my bed.

  “How do you figure?”

  “You haven’t been using that long. It’s only been a hot minute. I saw you go through withdrawal the first time. You chipped a front tooth you were shaking so bad.”

  I pulled the blanket up to fight the chill. Phantom or not, my legs were trembling. “Thanks for the trip down memory lane. Now get the fuck out.”

  “So you’re just going to lie here and wallow?”

  “Until ten o’clock.” I groaned inwardly when sweat popped out on my brow. “Then I’m walking out of here. Seventy-two hours is up.”

  “Whatever.”

  The chair scraped across the linoleum, and the door slid shut a couple of seconds later.

  I closed my eyes, banishing my brother from my thoughts. Guilt was wasted on someone like me. Eleven years, and it wasn’t enough to keep me on the straight and narrow. My teeth chattered in earnest, so I conjured up a thought to warm me. A hint of rain soaked skin wafted to my nose, and a flash of stormy blue eyes drifted through my head. And that was worse.

  Ten o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter 36

  Taryn

  Benny Conner surveyed me with his slick, used car salesman smile. He wore the moniker of salesman with pride, so it wasn’t like he’d be offended by my description.

  Benny C, the most sought-after concert promoter in the business.

  I’d booked my first major tour with his company on behalf of Damaged when I was nineteen years old. The Damaged debut album had just reached the platinum mark, and I wanted to strike while the iron was hot. In all my naïveté, I’d contacted the publicity department at Conner Productions and offered the group up on a silver platter.

  It was my first coup. My first major score. In truth, the only thing I’d asked for, besides a huge chunk of change for the band, was to have Leveraged on the bill as the opening act. In exchange for an eighteen-month tour where we visited every corner of the globe, Damaged became superstars and Leveraged was launched.

  I’d stayed close with Conner Productions throughout the years. Their tours were grueling, and Benny himself was the biggest shark in the tank, but they served their purpose in the business. And if I wanted to re-invent myself and break away from Twin Souls, I couldn’t take a step down.

  The people at Conner were quick to respond when I’d sent my résumé, setting up the interview within a day of my initial query. But I might have overreached just a tad. Even in my nine-hundred-dollar business suit and Louboutin pumps, I felt underdressed. Hell, the secretaries dressed as well as I did.

  Mandy, the head of Benny’s public relations team, surveyed me from her spot across the conference table, a frown tugging the corners of her collagen-enhanced lips.

  I tried to hide my disappointment. If the head of PR wasn’t a fan, it would be challenging to get a job here.

  “Taryn, we’re so happy you agreed to meet with us before you went elsewhere,” Benny said smoothly.

  “I’ve only been here a few days,” I joked. “I haven’t even unpacked yet. Y’all work fast.”

  “That we do.” Benny chuckled. “I asked Mandy here to sit in on this meeting. If you decide to take the position I’m prepared to offer, she’ll be one of your most valuable resources.” He gave her a smile that she didn’t return. “Having someone work for you with Mandy’s credentials could lead to some great opportunities.”

  Work for me?

  My knees shook beneath the conference table, rattling the chair, so I took a large swallow from the green bottle of Perrier to calm my nerves.

  “I’m sure once you take a look at what we have to offer,” Benny continued. “You’ll realize that Conner Productions is the best place for you to showcase your talents.” Benny slid a thick, elegantly bound book across the desk.

  I didn’t know whether to open it, or just admire it. My fingers slid along the cover, which was not paper, but soft leather.

  “I’ve outlined the responsibilities for the position, along with the compensation and bonus structure.” Benny’s smile widened. “Of course, we can always negotiate the compensation. Money is not an issue. We want you on the Conner team, Taryn.”

  I opened the cover, fusing my lips together when I saw the salary. And the job title.

  Senior Vice President.

  Apparently, of everything, from the amount of responsibility diagramed. But the actual job title was: Senior Vice President/Talent Acquisition

  “This is …” I cleared my throat, “a very generous offer, Benny.”

  “I’ve had my eye on you since the first contract you negotiated with us.” He leaned back in his chair. “I never thought we’d be able to steal you away from Tori Grayson.”

  Prickling, I took another drink of water and then smiled tightly.

  “It wouldn’t really be theft. Tori and I are partners.”

  Sort of. Kind of.

  Benny’s gaze shifted to the folder in front of me. “In that packet, you’ll find a very generous profit sharing package. I’m a believer in rewarding my team with profits, not titles.” Releasing a chu
ckle, he shrugged. “Of course, there was no VP of Talent Acquisition before I got your résumé, so I guess I’m a believer in titles as well. Because they are important.”

  Mandy glared at me. Apparently, she wasn’t happy with her title. Or with me. Whatever it is that she did, Mandy was well paid if the diamonds dripping from her ears and her wrist were any indication.

  “I’m going to need to look this over.” Keenly aware of its weight, I picked up the folder. It could double as a telephone book in a small city. “There’s a lot of information here.”

  Benny laughed, nodding to an assistant who tapped on the open door.

  “We wanted to give you the full meal deal.” He waved her in. “Some of the perks that aren’t mentioned include the use of our private jet. That’s at your discretion. Say, if you’d like to fly home and visit your old team.” He laughed. “As long as you bring back a signed contract for a tour, that is.”

  I jumped when the cork popped on the champagne bottle. Benny’s wide-eyed assistant handed me a flute before passing one to Mandy and Benny.

  “Here’s to future alliances,” Benny toasted.

  When my glass was empty, Mandy steered the conversation from pleasant chatter about my trip, and Austin, to business.

  “We’re in the process of looking into a band that’s just signed with Twin Souls,” she said casually, her finger wicking the side of the crystal flute. “Would you have any insight as to what it would take to get Caged to sign on for the European leg of our next tour?”

  Benny feigned indifference, though he seemed just as interested in my answer.

  “Any information I have concerning past clients at Twin Souls is proprietary.” My gaze shifted to Benny. “I’m sure you understand.”

  While Benny nodded, Mandy kept the pressure on.

  “Do you have a confidentiality agreement?” she prodded. “A non-compete? Given your friendship with Tori Grayson, I would think those stipulations wouldn’t be in place.”

  I cemented on a smile. “They aren’t. That’s my stance on the matter. Nothing is in writing.”

  Agitation etched Mandy’s brow. At least I think it was agitation. I suspected Botox was to blame for her inscrutable features.

  “What I’m getting at,” Mandy said as she leaned forward and clasped her hands, “is that your close personal relationship with the members of the Big Three, as well as Caged, would go a long way in easing the bands’ minds when it comes time to negotiate. Tori seems intent on picking and choosing the schedules, and she hasn’t been inclined to hear any proposals from Conner Productions. I’m sure you can see how that might be a detriment to all the bands’ future growth.”

  Defensiveness stiffened my spine. “Twin Souls manages all their clients with an eye toward their future,” I bit out. “As far as the bands’ schedule, that was my area. It wasn’t Tori blocking your efforts. Conner tours are not for the faint of heart, and the Big Three all have a lot on their plates.”

  “Well, I’m sure that once you join the team, you’ll be able to handle all the pesky details, so the bands’ will feel comfortable signing up,” she said as she held out her glass for a refill. “Our tours are rigorous, but the rewards can’t be denied.”

  “It depends on the kind of reward,” I said quietly. “And what you have to give up to achieve it.”

  For a minute, I almost forgot who I was dealing with. Why I stayed in Austin—and why I put my heart and soul into the company I started with Tori.

  “Of course. I just …” Mandy looked to Benny for guidance.

  She needn’t have bothered, since I suspected he was in on it. And if they brought me in, this is how it would be. They’d be paying me half of that fat salary so I’d convince the boys that Conner was the place to be. And it wasn’t. I’d kept the Big Three on top of the music industry for years without selling their souls.

  My heart sank a little as I gathered my things.

  “Leaving so soon, Taryn?” Benny sat up, confusion furrowing his brow. “I thought we could have lunch. Kind of a pre-celebration.”

  At the Ivy, I’m sure. With a contingent of press snapping photos for the news story that would “accidentally” leak about my new job.

  “Thanks, Benny.” I rose from the cushy leather chair. “But you know I’m here on business. I wanted to meet with you, and I’ll definitely take a look at your offer. I’ve got to get back to the studio.”

  I rolled my eyes, as if it were a bother. The real bother was sitting in the room with these two clowns.

  In all fairness, Conner Productions was typical of the industry in general. But I didn’t want typical. I wanted awesome. Hell, I’d started awesome from the ground up.

  An idea popped into my head, the notion so brilliant I nearly squinted.

  “I’ll let y’all know.” I was suddenly relaxed enough that my southern twang, the one I tried to hide at all costs when I was anywhere near the west coast, came shining through. “Thanks.”

  I rushed out, the receptionist and the grand foyer a blur as I made my way to the elevator. Powering up my phone, I scrolled through the contacts, smiling triumphantly when I found the number I was looking for. I waited until I was in the parking garage to get a clear signal before I placed the call.

  “Elise Donnelly.”

  Smiling at the familiar voice, I slid behind the wheel of the rental car. “Elise, it’s Taryn, you can drop that fake ass generic accent,” I joked. “If I don’t hear someone say ‘y’all’ in the next two minutes, I’m going to scream.”

  “Howdy, Taryn,” Elise drawled, using her best down-home Texas twang.

  I laughed, straight from the belly. And it felt so good. “Even better. How would you like to meet me so we can discuss a little business venture? As long as it’s not tofu or sushi, I’m buying.” I pulled onto the busy street, leaving the Connor Productions building behind. “Is there any place to get a decent slab of ribs around these parts?”

  Chapter 37

  Chase

  I threw my knapsack on the small twin bed and stepped back. The orderly dumped the contents while I looked out the window.

  “Standard procedure,” he said apologetically. “But, I gotta ask, any needles?”

  I shook my head and lifted the water bottle to my lips with a shaking hand. The setting sun shimmered through the dirty screen turning the whole world shades of gold, red, and orange. My gaze fixed on the sliver of water in the distance where the trees parted.

  “Group therapy tonight at eight.” The orderly stuffed the items back inside the green canvas bag. “Breakfast is at six. Miss it, you don’t eat.”

  Without waiting for me to acknowledge him, he left the room, his tennis shoes squeaking on the polished floor behind him. I sank into the uncomfortable chair, the plaid tweed itching me through the thin fabric of my board shorts as I continued to stare at the scrap of shore. My jaw ticked when the door swung open again.

  “Great view, huh?” Dr. Briar’s voice sounded behind me. “You can earn a two-hour pass after your first twenty hours of group.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  The guy must’ve forgotten that I’d checked myself in voluntarily. I could walk out the door and call a cab from the nearest pay phone.

  They still had pay phones, didn’t they? The random thought trailed off.

  “Our counselors are pretty familiar with the Guadeloupe,” he continued. “If you bank a few hours, you can take an afternoon and float the river. It’s very relaxing.”

  “You don’t say.” My chest ached as the sun sank behind the rocks, and I squinted to catch the last ray that danced off the water.

  In my periphery, I saw him lay the beat up black guitar case on the small bunk. “We made an exception for this. But we can just as easily rescind the privilege if you break the rules.”

  My fingers curled around the armrests. I ached for the feel of the wood in my hands. The guitar was the only thing my old man ever gave me, and I’d kept the Fender when I’d sold or traded every
thing else I owned. The guitar was a beacon of light. My assurance that when it was said and done, the music would be waiting for me.

  I shot him a bitter smile. “So, I guess that means I should cancel the party in the mess hall?”

  Dr. Briar chuckled as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “I know you’re here of your own accord, Chase.” His tone turned serious. “But there aren’t any shortcuts. You can’t buy sobriety. You’ve got to put in the work.”

  My Fender called to me. More than anything I just wanted the fucking dweeb to take a powder so that I could play. Briar crossed his arms over his chest and held his ground, waiting for a reply. These kind of doctors were big on acknowledgment—“owning” your disease.

  Swallowing against the metallic taste that lingered in my mouth from the non-narcotic medication that was supposed to help with my transition, I pulled out my guitar. “I get it.”

  The tips of my fingers tingled when I laid them against the strings.

  Since I had no say so in the matter, it was futile to tell Briar to take a hike, so I went about my business.

  The first strum sounded tinny to my ears, so I adjusted the tuning pegs until I got the right sound. Then I began to play. “Blue Eyed Summer,” the song I wrote for Taryn. Unable to help myself, the words poured out in a soft whisper.

  I forgot the doctor was there, only coming back to myself when the last chord died on my strings.

  Briar sank down onto the edge of the bed. “That was really beautiful. Did you write it for someone in particular?”

  I could lie. It’s not like he’d ever know.

  “A friend.”

  Friends … at least.

  “Does your friend have a name?”

  Sweet Taryn.

  “Taryn.” The ache in my chest spread, and my temples began to throb.

  Briar eased his back against the metal headboard. “Do you want to talk about that?”

  Pondering the question, I strummed absently without looking at him. Did I want to talk about Taryn? No … it hurt too much.