Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1)

by Bryan, Rebekah N.

  Brit with the Pink Hair

  The Rockin' Austen Series, Volume 1

  Rebekah N. Bryan

  Published by Rebekah N. Bryan, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BRIT WITH THE PINK HAIR

  First edition. August 19, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Rebekah N. Bryan.

  Written by Rebekah N. Bryan.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  BRIT BYERS ONCE WENT out with a guy named Crazy.

  She almost didn’t see him come into the club that night. She came out of the restroom after bemoaning the sight of the brown roots of her magenta-colored hair and reapplying her berry lipstick with an audible smack of her lips. Brit had waited a week too long to get back to her colorist and hoped the lighting was too dim to notice. Had she primped a minute longer, she would’ve missed Crazy trying to get in the door.

  Growing up in one of the hottest nightclubs in Toronto, owned by her former rock star father, Brit was always around musicians like Crazy coming and going. And Crazy did a lot of that. In every sense of the word.

  And here he was again, in Club Stanza, her father’s nightclub. With her father’s advanced age, he only owned it in the legal sense of the word. He had stopped making any real decisions without an excessive amount of guidance a decade ago. Now running the place was mostly Cord McCutchen’ job. Cord was the opposite of Crazy. Brit and Crazy had not had the best relationship, so to see him both at the door to the club was unnerving to say the least.

  It was a busy night, and the light show from the stage cast the silhouettes of those two men into long dancing shadows on the wall behind them. Between breaks in the crowd, Brit could see Cord’s blond hair, which stood out in the darkness. Meanwhile, Crazy’s tanned, weathered features under a baseball cap blended in with the darkness, all except for his silver tooth glinting in the spotlight. Which he didn’t have when they were dating—that came later. Like he was some hip-hop artist instead of a former guitarist of a once moderately successful alternative rock band.

  The soda-water and lime Brit had been sipping created a tidal wave of nerves in her stomach. Then it boiled when her nerves turned to anger. How dare he show his face in here again? She could see Cord’s tight smile from across the room. He was being too polite. She knew it. Cord didn’t have any other setting besides “friendly.” She had to get over there and get Crazy out of here before he caused a scene.

  Bumping into a few well-meaning partygoers, she advanced through the crowd in a nightmare-like state—the one where she was trying to run as fast as she could, but her legs moved in slow motion. A giddy coed who looked too young to be there grabbed her elbow and begged for a selfie. Although Brit was nowhere near as famous as her father once was, she was a recognizable face in the Toronto social scene, a fact she sometimes lamented.

  Brit obliged to the picture, smooshing her cheek against the girl’s and giving her signature full-lipped pout. With the back-facing camera, the picture would inevitably turn out way too dark anyway. Normally, Brit was wary about appearing on social media she couldn’t control.

  When she finally reached the entrance, Cord had all but ushered Crazy out the door. Walter, the white-haired, loud-mouthed bouncer on duty that night was helping, and Rube, the VIP host (also Walter’s boyfriend), was on hand as well. However, Rube was only there for the drama—he might as well have been eating popcorn à la Michael Jackson in the “Thriller” video. In fact, his red leather jacket and skinny frame reminded Brit of just that.

  “Crazy!”

  The light hit his false tooth as he sneered in her direction. “Hey, baby.”

  Brit flipped her hand in his face, a wrist full of bangles jingling at the motion. “Dream on. What are you even doing here?” The next dance song pounded after the last, requiring her to yell the question.

  “I was invited, Sweetheart.”

  Cord touched her on the shoulder, but she shook him off. “Bullshit. By who?”

  “None other than Lonnie Byers.” Crazy ran his tongue over the silver bullet in place of a tooth.

  Brit crossed her arms under her chest, knowing full well that her cleavage was on display to taunt Crazy. The chill of the night air wafting in from the open door raised goosebumps over her arms, but she didn’t want to show weakness. “My dad did not invite you.”

  “Wanna bet? Go ask him.”

  Walter took over and jostled Crazy the rest of the way through the door while another wave of scantily clad ladies walked in, tittering to each other about the grungy D-list celebrity who exited.

  Brit sniffed with indignation. Yeah, like her father was still awake this late. By this time of night, the party people of T.O. were howling at the moon around the outskirts of the happening Entertainment District. But Brit had every intention of paying her father a visit the next day and insisting they tighten up on the club’s scumbag policy going forward.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “DAD?” BRIT KNOCKED on the door, and it swung open. She dropped into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  Lonnie Byers’ office was a shrine to the eighties complete with a framed picture of himself behind the mahogany desk from when he was on the cover of Creem magazine. In the glossy shot, he wore a gaudy gold and topaz pinky ring with his hand resting on his opposite fist. Completing the look were orange-tinted aviators and yellowish hair that was already balding down the middle, prematurely at the age of thirty.

  Strictly speaking, Lonnie didn’t need an office anymore, but his stash of marijuana was hidden somewhere in there, and he used his office to privately smoke it when he thought Brit didn’t know. Brit had seen too much over the years and was thus drug and alcohol free. Not that she minded if others indulged. Even her father. It only made her feel slightly superior in her abstinence of the stuff.

  The door clicked behind Brit, and Cord’s tall frame filled the doorway. His barely there blond eyebrows jumped as if he was surprised to see her in the office that early. His broad shoulders were made broader by the suit coat, and his hair was slicked to the side. Most days, Brit wanted to go up to him and mess it up to see what he would do if a hair were out of place.

  Brit crossed her arms around herself. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t help being reminded of how she had demanded the same question of the unw
elcome visitor the night before. It made the blood rush to her ears just remembering it.

  “I’ve been here for hours. Going over the numbers with Lonnie. You can stay if you want.”

  “Oh, Brit doesn’t care about numbers. Do you, honey? Have you written that song you were thinking about writing yet? I’ve been trying to get her on stage.”

  Brit shook her head in frustration as he spoke. “I may write a little here and there, but I’m no singer. Unless it’s in the shower.” In slight embarrassment, she inspected the red circular pattern on the carpet to avoid seeing Cord’s reaction to her shower comment. His stepbrother was engaged to her sister, which kind of made him like her brother.

  Lonnie addressed Cord again. “Maybe Brit’s not a singer yet, but with the right producers, she could make an album.”

  “She could work anywhere she wanted in the industry.” Cord’s ice-blue eyes flashed in Brit’s direction, demanding her attention that time, but they read frosty and teasing to her.

  “I told you, Dad. I’d rather work here for you someday. Although everyone, including Mom, expects me to follow in her footsteps.”

  Cord chuckled, but then caught himself when Brit glared at him. “Your mom ran an escort business,” he said.

  “Matchmaking. For now, maybe I’ll work in the talent and booking division here. If I make some matches along the way, even better.” She stuck her finger in Cord’s face. “Don’t forget how I got your brother to come spin here before he was a hotshot talent manager. Then I set him up with my sister. Now they’re engaged.”

  Cord eased back into the chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “So you want to book talent that would be good for your friends? That doesn’t sound like a good way to pick bands.”

  “I disagree. I have excellent taste in music.”

  “You do,” agreed Cord.

  Brit looked at him in surprise. Everyone at the club loved music to some degree, sure. She had never thought much about his taste, but she didn’t know he held hers in high regard.

  “You have a good ear. I just question your taste in men.” He directed the next part to Lonnie. “Crazy stopped in last night. Remember Crazy?”

  Lonnie scratched his beard, creating a sandpaper sound with his fingers. “That was the cat from that band with the lead singer who whined when he sang? A style choice, as I recall.”

  Cord covered his mouth to hide a laugh, passing it off as a cough. “Yeah, Asinine Swine. That’s the one.”

  “He was...eclectic.”

  Lonnie didn’t believe in burning bridges. He’d insult someone in the nicest tone to make it sound like a compliment. He’d been adored his whole life for his gentle spirit, which Brit attributed to the marijuana some of the time. Because some of the crap he put up with...

  “So what did Crazy want?”

  “To cause trouble.”

  “He said you invited him, Dad.” Brit rolled her eyes. “He was fine. He didn’t do anything. I mean, he could’ve, but he didn’t. Walter pushed him out the door before he could do any harm. He pretty much just gave some people bro-hugs and left.”

  “He was a talented musician in his day.” Lonnie shuffled through a drawer to his left, but then seemed to forget what he was looking for and settled back into his chair again. “They had a hit or two, right? Asinine Swine? They certainly brought in the ladies.”

  Cord glanced at Brit in the chair next to him to catch her reaction, but she ignored him. Her father was being oblivious, and she didn’t care. She was so over Crazy, it wasn’t even funny. But still, seeing him the night before had brought up a lot of feelings she hadn’t let herself feel in a while. Like rage.

  Lonnie must’ve remembered what he was looking for because he opened the same drawer again, shut it, and then reached for a file folder on his desk and held it out to his daughter.

  “We just got a new contract in from an up-and-comer. She’s supposed to be a DJ-slash-folk singer. Not sure how that all goes together, but I wanted you to take a look at her. It seems like something you’d have an opinion on, at least, and it’s more interesting than looking at numbers.”

  “I don’t mind the numbers, Dad. I did major in business. For a year anyway.” Fighting back a blush that threatened to creep up under Cord’s scrutiny of her, Brit sat up straight and took the folder. “Plus, remember, I got all the papers together for taxes last year.”

  Lonnie blew up through his mustache. “Bah, taxes.”

  Brit had changed her major after her first year at university and dropped out halfway through her second year. At the time, she had hoped that nepotism would carry her through, which was embarrassing to think about in retrospect. Now, she felt like she had to prove herself.

  Opening the folder, she found a very cute girl staring back at her. The Asian girl had dreads and a pretty, makeup-free face. Brit could see where the hesitation came in. Her resume included only open-mic bars and coffee shops. She had appeared on one of those talent competition shows on TV, which would always bring in the crowds. Unfortunately, she had been eliminated early.

  Cord peered over Brit’s arm and pointed to the line she had been reading. “Eliminated week three. Why would her manager put that on there? Remember last year when we had another contestant from that show? They made the finals, and they could barely pull a crowd. Wasn’t one of our new bartenders on that competition show too?”

  Brit shrugged. “I don’t know about the bartender, but that gig you’re talking about where no one came was a Monday night,” she reminded him. While he had been discrediting her merits, Brit had retrieved her phone and navigated Twitter with her free thumb. “Check this out.” She held her phone inches from Cord’s face. “She’s got tons of Instagram followers.”

  Cord smiled in a teasing manner. “How do you quantify tons, exactly?”

  Brit pinched the screen to zoom in on the number. “This many. If we get her in on a Friday, Saturday, or even Thursday, I know we could—maybe not fill this place—but have a solid crowd.”

  “Her act looks complicated. She stands behind a DJ booth with an acoustic guitar around her shoulders and a harmonica around her neck? Really?” Cord froze his confused face and paired it with a dramatic shrug.

  Lonnie scratched his beard again. “She sent a video along with her resume. Her act does have some amusement value. If nothing else, she is a talented girl.”

  “She’s very cute. The male clientele would enjoy her. Dreads and all. Cord, don’t you think she’s cute?”

  He shrugged. “Not my type.”

  “Whatever, she seems great. Get her in here, Dad. I’ll vouch for her. I’ll take her out and show her the town. Maybe even set her up with a nice boy or girl, if she’s single.”

  Cord’s body reacted with a jerk, but he said nothing. He either hadn’t thought about the fact that she might be gay, or he was surprised that Brit had considered that fact. Whichever it was didn’t matter. In that moment, Brit had decided that this girl would be her new project. Her mind churned with outfit ideas she wanted to put her in and people she wanted to introduce her to.

  “Maybe she’d be Crazy’s type.”

  Brit snapped out of her reverie. “No, absolutely not. This girl looks nice. Crazy’s...crazy. I wouldn’t stick any girl with him unless someone happened to be looking for a deadbeat baby-daddy type. Even if she was straight, I’d much rather set her up with a woman than Crazy.”

  “When are you going to meet someone nice, dear?” her father asked with a sleepy look that all but confirmed her suspicions that he had smoked a joint at some point in the last couple hours.

  “I’m not in any hurry to get married.”

  “I don’t mean get married,” he rushed to add. “You mom and I never got married.”

  Brit resisted the urge to laugh. Her mom, Femke, wasn’t here. Her escort-slash-matchmaking business wasn’t here, although she tried to make it in Toronto at one point. When she had Brit, Femke started her franchise in Amsterdam. With Femke’
s legacy in The Netherlands, and Lonnie’s in Toronto, Brit had become a bit of a socialite D-list celebrity in Canada and most of Europe. Not that she took advantage of that often.

  “When is Mom visiting again anyway?”

  “Visiting? Toronto is still home whether she has her place in Amsterdam or not. Have you brushed up on your Dutch recently? I hear they have a booming music industry over there as well.”

  “No.” Brit wanted to keep scrolling through Daisy’s Twitter, but talk of her mother and the Netherlands left a sour taste in her mouth.

  Cord shifted uneasily at all the family drama. “I know a little. I have been there once.”

  “Yes, Cord, I remember! For the engagement party, of course.”

  “And to do some business.”

  Since Brit’s sister and Cord’s stepbrother got engaged, Brit’s mom had insisted on hosting the engagement party in Amsterdam for some reason. The wedding would be there too later that year in the winter. Lonnie was not hard to convince since just about everything was legal there, including his favorite past-time drug of choice.

  Brit pushed herself out of the chair. “Well, you boys enjoy your numbers. I’m going to snap up this Daisy girl for her first big show before someone else in town does.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  FREE FROM THE JUDGMENT of the executive staff in the main office, Brit wandered into the back room where the lower rung of the business took their breaks. One vending machine that had been there since the club’s heyday in the eighties provided the staff with quick-fix snacks. A vintage Zotz candy package, likely also from the eighties, was jammed into one of the compartments. Employees through the years had left it there for posterity, and it had become a running gag. One year, general manager Mike had made “Club Zotza” T-shirts as a funny take on Club Stanza. It was the only time she had known Mike to have a sense of humor. Brit still used her T-shirt as a sleep shirt sometimes even though there was a tiny hole in the collar now.