Zenith's Promise (The Zenith Series Book 7)

by Leanne Davis

  She hated her reaction. So typical. Girlish. Unsophisticated. Ooh, she spotted a hot guy and suddenly, her tongue grew thick in her mouth and her words flee her freaking brain. She started to feel like she was a damn thirteen-year-old crushing on the newest boy band member.

  Oh, man. Breath-stealing. That hadn’t happened for awhile. Annoying. She hated it. This pathetic reaction from her. No. Not here. Not while at work. Not with a freaking musician.

  But the man was beautiful. And not in a singular way. His looks were classic, universally appreciated by everyone who would simply have to agree he was ideally handsome.

  Ross was exquisite. He was staring at her, his head tipped, eyebrows raised, and the side of his mouth was tilted up. Was he amused? By her? Perhaps, since he was staring at her. Puzzled by the fact that he noticed her, she wondered why he seemed so amused.

  Oh, Ross. He had swarthy, olive-tinted, lovely skin that glowed in a golden hue. His hair was messy and unstyled. Too long on top, it flopped all over his scalp, looking shiny and luxurious above his well-proportioned forehead. His brown hair defied description. Darkish at the roots, with light strands interspersed, and medium streaks and tips. It flipped around his ear and a fringe stuck out like a shelf at his collar. Ross had a boyish appeal, although most of him was not one bit boyish. He had a cocky, alpha, I-am-the-shit attitude.

  There were some traits one could educe from a single glance at another. Jody knew in her gut level that this guy was a cocky jerk. She sensed it down to her toes. His overly confident, you-owe-me smirk was repugnant. No smile. Total smirk. Like he couldn’t spare the effort to use all of his mouth. Such a mouth. Oh, dear. She needed to fan herself. He had bow-shaped lips, and a slightly bigger lower one. His teeth hardly showed, just the sexiest amount. His wide nose was straight and it evened out his face. High, sharp cheekbones supported his widely-set eyes and distinctive arched eyebrows that matched his sandy hair.

  The jaw was square. Strong. Stupidly statuesque.

  She almost rolled her eyes for her total annoyance with herself. This guy? Way too obvious. She didn’t like incredibly hunky guys like him. Way too ordinary for her taste. She spent her time with an outstanding array of talented individuals from the music world and her downtown life in Seattle. She lived for the quirky, interesting, unobvious, and non-traditionally beautiful people she randomly met and had conversations with. People with innovative ideas or viewpoints that were so different, refreshing and new that they could become just as exciting and wonderful and attractive to her. She liked to talk to eccentric and interesting people with unusual things to share. The ones with good looks usually just scrounged off their appearances and never bothered to develop interesting personalities.

  Now, here she was being shallow and common. Finding someone instantly attractive just because of a tall, handsome, muscled, man with a cocky vibe. Damn her hormones.

  Wearing a t-shirt and scruffy jeans, Ross had the whole careless, casual thing going on. The grungy, haphazard style could make some women’s mouths water and Jody was ashamed of her lustful desires.

  Tipping his head a few centimeters, his eyes sparked as they traveled over her face. Ugh. She could feel her skin heating with a blush so hot, it probably released a few sparks. Reacting to him physically with instantaneous lust was not at all what she wanted. No way. His duffel bag was slung over one shoulder and a backpack hung over the other. The casual stride, a long-legged, slow strut was too measured for him not to realize the intended effect he must have expected from those around him. Most especially, women. Young women, old women, women of all ages and occupations. Jody had no doubt. She all but gulped when his smirk faded and a lazy, insolent look changed his expression as his hooded gaze scanned her face. Thoroughly. More heat. More blushing. She only hoped he could not see it.

  Jody was not prone to baring her attraction, and never while working.

  Surprisingly, although she might flirt, kiss, date, and sex-up outside of work, she never occupied her time doing that at work. She liked parties, bars, dance clubs and people. Lots of people. She might not always be as discerning as she should be. When she flirted, she eagerly advertised her joy in it. With many partners. On weekends mostly. Sometimes weeknights.

  Oh, but never at work. That went triple for a client.

  His gaze at her was too pointed, and the gleam in his eyes way too damn knowing. She instantly decided not to like him. He seemed too cocky and insufferable, despite his damn looks, which were way too magical. He was like an incompatible combination: a male model who disdained the runway. Ross had a scruffier, manlier look than any male model she could think of. And he’d probably spit on people who chose such a vain profession. But oh. The undeniable perfection of his looks belonged on the runway.

  Jody expected he had blushing, tittering women following him all the time.

  Stop. She wanted to push her hand in his face and simply shove him back to snap him out of his delusions. She needed to ease her racing heart and stop blushing so much. The sudden bubbling inside her stomach from nerves and hormones for God’s sake. He was just a hot guy.

  Sigh. She irrefutably failed herself just now.

  Clearing her throat before adding a stern, serious expression to her face, she said, “Ross Karahan?”

  “Yeah.” The images of silk and raw steel flashed repeatedly in her brain. That was how his voice felt when it slid over her skin and stole her breath, thrilling her right down to her bones. Even her skin seemed to shudder. He was way too smooth. Maybe he sang too. It was not listed on his tersely short biography or any list of his talents.

  “I’m Jody Lassiter, the liaison for Zenith’s Promise.”

  “Were you just crawling through the crowd?”

  She cringed. He ignored her polite, authoritative introduction. Ugh. Clearing her throat, she gave him a stern look. “I… I simply had to make my way through,” she replied as she waved the sign with his name in front of his eyes. “How else could you see this?”

  “You were pretty hard to miss as well as the big guy that was following you.”

  “Oh, him…” Jody sniffed, lifting her chin and sharpening her tone with the clipped professionalism she often practiced before she answered, “He’s just a bodyguard to protect me as I tried to make my way over here. Now. Do you have any bags besides those?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just the carry-ons? You do realize you were allowed to bring as much equipment as you needed? Our intent is for you to relocate over here. Are you planning to have the rest of your stuff shipped soon?”

  He lifted his two bags and retorted, “All I own in the world is right here.”

  Her brow furrowed. Huh. Not so unusual to deal with; lots of musicians were all but broke. The stereotypes had some foundation. But usually, they valued their instruments as their most prized possessions. Jody once carried a cello as big as herself out of the airport. She also lugged plenty of drum sets and steel guitars that weighed twice her body mass. Dramatic? Yes, but she was well acquainted with heavy stuff.

  “You don’t have anything else to your name? No drums?”

  He shrugged, lifting his eyebrows halfway up before he replied, “I can play whatever.”

  Okay. That was very unusual. Carefree musicians who sailed through life and relationships without any sense of destination were definitely not unusual to find in the music industry, but someone who was so casual about what he played? No, not in her experience. Not any of the people who applied to be part of this program. She pressed her teeth together and held her tongue without commenting. She could only wonder what he was doing here with her if he truly didn’t care? He could play whatever?

  Ugh. Was his ego so enormous that he thought of himself already as the star? Jody had a sinking feeling. The look, the attitude, the phony act of nonchalance and apathy. Ick. Nothing appealed about him to her now. Those who were destined to become famous or well-known because of their talent were a definite type.

  Jody had already de
alt with the quiet, deep artistic types that refused to sell out. They made their art for themselves and disdained commercial consumption of it.

  Or the kinds who were so insecure despite the endless praise they might receive; yet they never believed in themselves or trusted what others claimed they heard and witnessed. That type might end tragically since they never believed that their creations were true manifestations of what they actually wanted to portray.

  She also met plenty of desperate, sad, depressed but creative people.

  Of course, the industry also attracted the opposite types who were already cocky, carefree and convinced they would be stars. That was exactly the kind Jody thought Ross Karahan was; her sinking feeling was always spot on. Thinking they’re already too good and above others, before they even earned it. By far, they were the most annoying. Not only to be around but also to talk to.

  “Shall I provide you with a set of pots and pans and a wooden stick? You good with that?” she snapped sarcastically.

  His eyebrows quirked up and he replied with a smirk, “Well, a drum set would be preferable, but I’m sure I could make whatever you got work, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, no.” She instantly straightened her body upright, rising a few inches. “No way are you allowed to call me names. No sexist monikers tolerated here. We are not dating and I am not your fawning puppy. So don’t do that.” Clenching her teeth fiercely, she fought the urge to turn him all the way around and send his stacked, packed, muscular ass back on the plane to whatever rock he crawled out from under.

  He didn’t flinch or even act slightly chagrined. Great. Sexual harasser? No knowledge of how to treat a woman with respect when she was merely doing her job? Yeah? Not on her fucking watch and not in her fucking company.

  One of the biggest perks of being rich was being the one who set the rules.

  “Will that be a problem?” She kept her voice cool and sharp, lifting her chin to create more height. The idea of slapping his hands with a ruler to gain his attention even crossed her mind. She sensed his amusement with her, although, he didn’t say anything to establish it. The smirk wasn’t there any longer, but she could damn well read that gleam in his eyes.

  “No. Ms. Lassiter.”

  There was nothing impolite or disrespectful in his words, but he smirked when he said Ms., and the emphasis he put on it was too obvious. She pressed her lips together tightly and said, “Just call me Jody.”

  “Right.” Drawing out his reply, he paused long enough to make her expect another word until he said, “Jody.”

  She winced with annoyance but didn’t respond to him otherwise as she spun around, assuming he’d follow her to her car. The sky bridge took them across the road below where all the buses, rideshares, cars and taxis gathered to unload people and luggage before taking off into the loop of travelers all over again. It seemed like a never-ending continuum.

  She walked fast but he soon closed the gap and appeared beside her, his stride obviously very long. Her shorter, clipped steps emphasized their height difference, mostly to her. She glanced up and then hated herself for doing it since he noticed it with another smirk, raising his eyebrows before she averted her face, turning forward and becoming far too affected by him. More intense heat. Blushing. She really had to get her physical reaction to him under control.

  Why couldn’t he make polite, casual conversation? Why did he insist on giving her those hot, steamy looks with total smugness? It wasn’t like he even tried to put her at ease or make her the least bit comfortable. He probably didn’t consider it his job. Even though she had no proof for it, she knew he was intentionally trying to provoke her.

  Closing in on her car, she clicked the fob. It was another emblem of her parents’ wealth. Yes, they bought her car and insured it. Yes, she was spoiled. Privileged. Brazenly and ridiculously so.

  She was the first to admit it.

  One either had to forgive her or detest her. She couldn’t undo her heritage. She worked very hard to keep her attitude humble. Never the diva she could have been, given the excess resources she had unrestricted access to. But her parents didn’t allow that. They were good, solid people, who managed to acquire wealth and power, which they mostly gave away, and they tried to instill deeper values into their children. Jody lived her life according to them.

  Jody did drive a fancy car, which was one of the safest models ever designed and why her parents insisted on buying it for her.

  Conspicuous consumption and the display of obvious wealth were repellent to some people, while they made others envious, and still others, eager to find ways of celebrating Jody’s wealth and getting closer to her.

  “Lassiter. You’re related to Nick Lassiter?”

  She nodded, stopping to pull her car door open. “Yes. He’s my father.”

  Ross opened his side of the car and tossed his bags into the back. Flopping his bulk and height into the seat, he laughed softly and she almost snapped, what? Defensive? Of course, she knew what. The typical reaction to her being a diva. Whatever. She’d been called every name and much worse.

  She refused to let others’ opinions about her matter to her own sense of self. It wasn’t as if she could undo her lineage. She was very close to her parents and her brother, so she had no desire to disown any of them. She grew up with many people around her assuming the wrong things. But that was a small price for belonging to the family she came from and she was very grateful for them every day.

  Starting her car, she flipped a look over her shoulder, “You heard of him?”

  “Yeah. His philanthropic efforts put him on the map. And Seattle too. Quite the self-starter, a middle-class hero who raised his own capital and started Next Generation Consulting to become what he is today.”

  She side-eyed him as she navigated through the parking garage and towards the street. “You read the headlines. Not the story?”

  “Never.”

  “You should read the stories, that’s where the most interesting things are.”

  “So Zenith’s Promise is one of his things? That’s why you work there?”

  “No. I work there because Rob Williams is my uncle and he offered me the job.”

  Boy Wonder turned in his seat, gripping the handle of his door and Jody finally received a genuine reaction from him. Surprise, surprise.

  “Your uncle?”

  She smiled. “Yes. He is. I’m his favorite niece. So I guess you better not piss me off…”

  “I expected some nepotism, but…” He shook his head. “Your dad is a billionaire and your uncle is the lead singer of a famous rock band?”

  “Yes.” She stared forward. “We’re quite talented as well as resourceful; it runs in the family.”

  They were also goofy, fun, interactive, caring and close, ridiculously so and unlike most would assume. Her uncle’s family lived far out in the country with an abundance of security that kept them as private and as safe as possible.

  Her smile dissipated. “Did you not know any of this? Karlee, his daughter, works with me too. The information is all on the website. We’re a family endeavor. Non-profit too, and in that vein, we have to keep it small. We only bring in musicians we believe we can actually help and find real work for and jobs and rapid results. Didn’t you know all this before you applied?”

  “I didn’t read the website.”

  “Then… what did you think you signed up for?”

  “You guys give money to musicians and ask them to play. What more do I need to know?”

  “Oh. Okay. Not quite that. We don’t exactly give money to anyone.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, you provide stuff for people with talent. Make them famous.”

  “We give you a platform, for a limited and pre-agreed upon amount of time, to live and work in Seattle. We allow you a safe place to create your music, whether making demos to distribute or by finding new ways to apply for employment. Our primary goal is to help musicians find sustainable, liveable, wage-paying jobs. We can’t make y
ou a rock star. We give absolutely no guarantee of stardom or anything like that. In fact, that’s not even the point. Of course, if it happens, it’s a wonderful bonus. Our program requires a commitment to hard work and you know, unconditional participation from anyone who joins it. You get that, right? You agreed to it?”

  “I guess.”

  She drew in a long breath for patience. “Well, it is what’s required. What… what other reason do you have for being here?”

  His answer was an overly dramatic, off-hand shrug of his too big and too wide shoulders. “What else? Zenith. I’m mostly here for that. Worked as a bartender at a dive bar. Wasn’t leaving much of a future for me. This was something new to do.”

  If Jody were not driving, she might have shut her eyes with visible annoyance. She thought of all the other applicants they rejected in order to give Ross, this ungrateful jerk, a spot. He didn’t even bother to go to the website? What about the contract he signed to join them? Though it was not really enforceable, but more of good faith agreement between two parties, it did mean something.

  Being honest, she shook her head. “You might not be long for this.”

  “I might also be perfect for this. I can play the instrument you brought me here to play.”

  “Right, but so can a lot of others. Luck sometimes directs your future, but usually you have to put in the hard work, find the connections, learn the craft, and start networking while being interested enough to stick to it. I can’t do that for you. I hope you understand.”

  “No need for that. No one can play like me.”

  She rolled her eyes at him but faced forward to keep the car in the lane. Passing through Tacoma, she veered to avoid swinging onto the shoulder. Wow, what an ass. “Really? Is that why you’re playing gigs absolutely nowhere?”

  He snorted. “You’re right about that. But only because I never tried.”

  “You never tried?”

  “Yeah. I only play for myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Something to do. I didn’t like school or playing sports, certainly not making art or reading or anything else really. I picked up an old toy set of drums at a garage sale when I was eleven, which I later upgraded with real, but banged-up ones. My parents hated it. That gave me lots of joy.” His small smile, and the remote look in his eyes as he said the word joy was… chilling. Dear God, had she just picked up a psychopath? Did he murder his parents? Rarely did Jody worry about strangers. A security car always followed her. Ross, no doubt, failed to realize she had a bodyguard covering her at all times. But still… What an odd thing to say to her about his musical gift from someone older than thirteen. Sure, an ADHD child might play loud, banging drums to piss off his overprotective parents, but this guy? Wasn’t he an adult by now?