by Andrea Dale
The fact that he hadn’t written a single new note in the last two years was something only he and Sam knew.
And now here he was on the cusp of a tour for an album of cover tunes—and terrified of all the temptations waiting on the road.
He had to relax. T’ai chi helped but it wasn’t enough to smooth the tense ache in his shoulders, not enough to ensure he slept through the night.
Maybe he needed to get laid, he mused. He let his fingers play across the keys, stroking them as if they were a willing woman. Still, casual sex with some random bimbo had ceased to appeal, which left him very short of options.
He could only imagine how the tabloids would spin that one.
This was getting him nowhere, and he had work to do. There were a million details to pull together, and the tour was due to start in less than a week.
Despite himself, Nate found he was actually looking forward to meeting the new publicist. He’d liked her when he’d interviewed her over the phone. She had some good ideas, and her previous record spoke to her capabilities. She’d done a great job with the fallout from Jenna Glenn’s stage fright. This could be his opportunity to take control of his publicity, rid himself of some of the bad-boy image Sam seemed to think was so important, but which had led to such problems.
In spite of himself, he grinned. Maybe she’d even be cute.
*
Hannah presented her ID to the young man behind the desk while gracing him with a warm smile. “I’m here to see Sam Granby.”
“Of course, Ms. Montgomery,” he said. “Mr. Granby is waiting for you. Take the elevator to the fourth floor. He’s in conference room forty-two.”
“Thanks,” she said. Pocketing the ID, she headed towards the elevators, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She gave a quick glance to the oversized bronze sculpture rising up into the atrium on her left. Something about its flowing lines suggested the passion of music, the freedom of movement.
It made her think of Nate Fox, and sex.
It wasn’t helping.
She pushed the elevator button. What was taking so long? She glanced at her watch. The flight had been late getting into San Francisco, and the car Sam Granby had sent for her had gotten stuck in traffic. The universe was obviously conspiring against her, right down to the slow elevator. She pushed the button three more times for good measure.
Her cell rang. She switched her briefcase to her other hand and answered it.
“Where are you?” Gina demanded.
“Elevators,” Hannah said.
“And how many times have you pushed the button?” Gina asked.
A smile quirked Hannah’s mouth. Her best friend knew her too well. “Only four. I think.”
“Calm. Down.” Gina said. “Take a deep breath, or I swear I will bitch-slap you when I see you tonight.”
Hannah’s tension bubbled out as a giggle, and she felt a little better. Thank god Gina was there to ground her. Gina had juggled her schedule as a fashion photojournalist to be available to take shots of Nate for concert publicity.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. “I’m just nervous.”
Gina snorted.
“I don’t want to come across as a rabid fan.” Hannah fiddled with the earpiece of her sunglasses, realized she was doing it, and shoved them into her briefcase.
“But you are a rabid fan,” Gina said with a laugh. “You still have that poster of him hanging in your apartment.”
“But it’s not in my bedroom anymore,” Hannah pointed out.
“Only because your last boyfriend complained that he felt like he was being watched in bed,” Gina said. “Good thing you’re past him now—he’d get in the way of your vow.”
Her vow. To have her night of passion with Nathaniel Fox, the man she was now working for.
Gina had been the first person she’d called after she’d gotten the offer from Sam Granby. And, of course, Gina had immediately asked if she remembered what she’d sworn as a starstruck teenager.
Oh, Hannah remembered it all right. When Sam had made the initial contact about working for them, it was the first thing that had gone through her mind.
She’d seen Nate Fox a few times over the years at industry parties. Had even spoken to him a few times. He’d never connected her with the gawky teenager who’d fallen into his arms—or if he had, he hadn’t mentioned it. He’d always had some svelte and gorgeous model or starlet on his arm, a drink in his hand. He’d been a hard partier, on the A-list, in demand for every opening at every new hot spot.
And then he’d fallen.
Here it was, nine years later, and despite his history and the scandal, she still got hot and bothered when she saw him in concert. “Pavlov’s bimbo,” she and Gina called the phenomenon. The sound of his voice coming through the microphone was all it took to get her panties wet.
“I know what you’re thinking about!” Gina said with a laugh, breaking into Hannah’s thoughts.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah said. “I’m a professional, and I’m here to do a job.”
“Uh-huh,” Gina said dubiously. “And you’re a rotten liar.”
The elevator pinged, saving Hannah the need to answer. Inside, she pushed the button for the fourth floor. Once.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, unsure if it were butterflies or the airplane coffee that was responsible for the state of her stomach.
Of course, if she were being honest, she would admit that it was entirely due to meeting him again. She could close her eyes and picture the midnight silk of his hair brushing against his shoulders. The thick fringe of lashes that threw his dark blue eyes into shadow.
The curve of his mouth that spoke of hot passion.
This time, she knew what to do with him. She was no longer small enough to be thrown back into the pond. The glasses were long gone, banished by Lasik surgery. Her Bozo the Clown curls were gone, too. It had taken years and the aid of a pricey hairdresser, but she’d finally learned to tame the frizz, smoothing the curl into sleek waves that flowed down her back.
Hannah had dressed carefully for this meeting, searching for a combination of utterly competent businessperson, gracefully creative publicist, and sexually confident woman. The pale-green silk noile of her suit highlighted her complexion and outlined her curves without being tight or obvious. The skirt was professional but short. A hint of dark green lace at the vee of the suit jacket was the only indication of the stretch lace camisole beneath.
“I have to go,” she told Gina.
“Okay. The captain just said we’ll be landing in half an hour. Call me when you find out where we’re eating, and I’ll meet you at the restaurant. And remember not to be tongue-tied when you meet him. You can put your tongue to better uses when you seduce him.”
Hannah hung up, still laughing.
The elevator let her out into a long hallway, the cream walls lined with framed posters of the stars who’d recorded at the studio. Hannah recognized all of them, having met a good many of them over the years. Her career had taken off in college when she’d turned a young college band into a regional, and then a national phenomenon.
With the intimate knowledge of the music business gained from watching her father, and the contacts she’d made from her work with Konfused Khildren, Hannah had worked her way up until she was one of the best PR people in the music business. She’d been using her mother’s maiden name since college, and most people didn’t even realize she was the daughter of Everett Forbes, producer extraordinaire.
And now here she was, working for her idol.
The first thing that Hannah saw when she walked into Sam Granby’s office was the poster of Nate Fox on the wall. It had been taken a few years after the one she had hanging up in her apartment. His guitar was slung at his side, an extension of his body, one hip propped lazily against a stone wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked dark and dangerous. The leather that clung to his thighs was pulled taut, outlining lean muscles.
She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands along the material, feeling the hardness beneath. To follow it up to where the cloth clung, cupping his crotch. She felt an ache between her own thighs, making her aware of how the thong she wore rubbed against her, heightening the feeling of arousal.
Hannah tore her eyes from the poster, belatedly aware that Sam Granby had extended his hand and was waiting for her to take it.
Lovely. Caught fantasizing about Nate Fox in front of his manager like some starstruck groupie. Squaring her shoulders, Hannah gathered her professional persona and met Sam’s hand with her own.
“Sam, it’s a pleasure to meet you again,” she said. He was a compact, barrel-chested man, making up in strength what he lacked in height. His curly hair, once dark, was salted throughout.
Sam motioned her to a seat. “I’m thrilled you’ve agreed to work for us, Hannah.”
Hannah deliberately chose a chair that placed the poster at her back. There was no sense in tempting her eyes to seek it out. She didn’t need to make a fool of herself by drooling. “Now that you’ve hired me, I have to admit that I’ve wanted to work with Nate for years.”
“You’re a fan, then?” Sam asked.
Hannah laughed. “Guilty as charged. Since I was a teenager,” she admitted. Opening her bag, she drew out a file, placing it on the desk. “I’ve reviewed the material you sent and everything looks fine.” She slid a sheet of paper across the desk. “I’ve written up a press release based on what we discussed over the phone. I’ll get that out to all the majors as soon as you approve.”
“Nate’s the one who signs the checks,” Sam said. “He gets the final stamp of approval.”
Her stomach fluttered at the sound of his name, at the reminder that she’d meet him again soon—really meet him this time, on her own terms, and not as a palm to be pressed at an industry party.
And definitely not as a gawky teenager.
“I’ve let it leak that we’ll be shooting publicity shots at Fisherman’s Wharf tomorrow afternoon. I want a crowd there. I want people talking about how good he looks. I want fans to spread the word that Nate Fox is back.”
“That sounds good,” Sam said. “I’ll meet with our security guy tonight after dinner and make sure he’s prepared.”
“Good,” Hannah said. “I’ve arranged for Gina Salvatore to take the photos. You’ll meet her at dinner tonight. She’s going to do some digital work for us, even though she usually works in film. It would be great if she could get some shots of him with fans, signing autographs, that sort of thing. I want them posted on his website by tomorrow night.”
Sam nodded, scribbling a note on a piece of paper. “If you get the digital pics to me after the shoot, I’ll send them to our web master.”
“I’ll give you the memory card,” Hannah assured him.
Sam leaned back in his chair, restlessly turning a pencil between his fingers. “I’ll be frank with you, Hannah. Since the accident, he hasn’t done well dealing with the publicity. The new album, Cannibal Eyes, is a covers album—well, you know all that. You also know that sales aren’t great. We did it to fulfill Nate’s production contract, and the label doesn’t feel like investing much money in promoting it. With the tour due to start, I want to flood the market with his image and sound. I want this tour to be his comeback. I want you to show the world that he’s back in top form.”
“To show them that he’s not a drugged-out, used-up has-been?” Hannah asked.
Sam’s mouth tightened, but he answered easily enough. “Yes. That’s why I want you on the road with us, Hannah. I know that’s not a publicist’s normal job, but it’s important to me that you keep on top of every little development, and spin it the way we want.”
She leaned forward, her grey eyes holding his. “Is he clean, Sam? And will he stay that way?”
“Yes,” he answered. “He will.
“Good. I’ve cleared a huge block of my time, for which you are paying me nicely,” Hannah said with a quick smile. “I’ll be on the road with you as long as you need me. I may have to spend some time working with my other clients, but Nate will be my first priority. We’ll put him back on top, and make sure he stays there.”
Sam spread his hands, giving her an easy grin. “What more could I ask for?”
Hannah crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt over stockinged thighs. “You’ve been with him a long time.” She knew he had: He’d been Nate’s manager all those years ago when she’d met Nate so briefly.
“Yeah,” he said. Sam’s ankle rested on his knee. His foot bounced restlessly. “Ever since I heard him sing in a little bar in Redwood City. The band he was with was mediocre, but he stood out. Women swooned whenever they heard his voice, and the music he could pull out of his guitar showed me he had true talent. The rest is history.”
“Hardly,” Hannah said with a laugh. She twisted a lock of hair back from her cheek. “It was two years before you got him a recording contract.”
Sam’s eyebrows arched. He gave a rueful smile. “I knew you’d do your homework. Nate’s music was just out of the mainstream, always has been. Boy bands were in, and Nate just didn’t fit the image. He’s never been the innocent charmer that mothers would accept on their daughters’ walls. He’s the one who steals their daughters’ hearts, makes them hunger for something forbidden. And deep down, where they’ll never admit it, the mothers want him, too.”
Hannah suppressed a shudder at the thought of her mother and Nate.
“Women love a bad boy,” Hannah said.
Wasn’t that the truth.
“Your work paid off,” she said. She liked Sam Granby, she decided. He was blunt and focused, but there was an energy about him that came out in small ways, in the twitch of his foot, the play of his fingers. His enthusiasm filled the room, and she sensed that he used it as a tool to get what he wanted.
“Yes, it did,” Sam said. “But there were days I’d have gladly gotten him a choreographer and taught him some dance moves to get him noticed.”
Hannah laughed at the image. She had a great imagination, and Nate had long featured in it, but there was no way she could stretch it to include him in a trendy hat and earnest expression, bopping across the stage.
“He got his first hit off the CD we were marketing at the clubs,” Sam said. He used the pencil to point at one of the records framed on the wall.
“’Strange Desires’,” Hannah murmured.
Growing up in an industry household, she’d actively avoided a real interest in popular music. The artists who came to her house for meetings or parties were just her father’s colleagues and business associates, nobody special. They treated her like the little kid that she was, or ignored her, and if she heard their music on the radio, it was with little more than a passing note.
Until one day, hanging out with a friend, she caught the “Strange Desires” video on MTV.
Her adolescent hormones flared, her heart fluttered, and an hour later she was at the Galleria, intent on finding the CD. The band was named Fox, but it was Nate’s show all the way. He was the only one she had any interest in.
So she hadn’t really had to research the nuances of his career for this job. She could, in fact, recite them by heart.
A local DJ had picked up “Strange Desires” and played it on a show featuring new music, and the song took off. That led to a recording contract and Fox’s first platinum album. He won Best New Artist that year, and his second CD showed that he wasn’t a one-hit wonder.
“He was riding so high,” she said to Sam. “What happened to him, Sam?” She was aware of the almost wistful tone in her voice.
Sam gave a short laugh. “He took to the life like he was born to it. Started believing too much in his own PR. Too many long nights, too much partying on top of a brutal schedule. He started with a few pick-me-ups and it all went downhill.”
“And now we have to get him back on top,” Hannah said. “Luckily, bad PR isn’t the death knell it used to be. If we d
o it right, we can turn it around and he’ll be the golden boy of the music business again.”
“That’s what I want,” Sam said. He glanced at his watch. “Why don’t you see if you can track down Nate and then we can get out of here and get some dinner?”
“Sounds great,” Hannah said. “I’ll have to call Gina and let her know where to meet us.”
Sam named a restaurant and Hannah made a quick note of it before standing up. As she stood, her eyes wandered once again to the poster.
She was about to meet him again. That thought made her mouth dry up. Other parts of her weren’t so lucky. Just looking at a picture of him had her hot and needy. How on earth was she going to be able to handle him in the flesh?
The fantasy of handling him in the flesh was not helping her state of mind.
But she had to. She was a professional. She was going to represent him, and she was going to do a damn good job. And then, after she’d gotten him back to the top of the charts, she was going to seduce him and give him the most mind-blowing night of his life. And hers, too.
First, though, she had to get through meeting him again, and dinner. One baby step at a time.
Sam had said the studio that Nate was in was down the hall and to the right. She stopped in the ladies’ room first. A swipe of dark red lipstick and a dab of powder and her confidence was restored. She made a quick call to Gina, who had just landed and was dealing with her camera equipment. Her friend promised to be at the restaurant in time for dinner.
A last look in the restroom mirror and she was as ready as she was going to get.
Hannah peered through the glass in the studio’s door. The recording booth was empty, but through the window that separated it from the performance room, she saw Nate Fox again.
He sat at a piano, his back to the door. That surprised her. She’d have thought he would be playing his guitar. Her heart gave a curious thud and she felt adrenalin shoot through her body, heightening her senses. Glossy black hair fell over the collar of his teal blue shirt, shorter than it used to be, but still long enough to wrap around her fingers. The muscles of his shoulders moved easily beneath the shirt as he played, and she imagined running her fingers up his back, over his shoulders….
