by Brooklyn Ann
“Yeah!” Kinley’s foolish mouth chimed in. “I didn’t need their help. And I’ll handle working for you fine as well.”
Quinn’s eyes widened then narrowed as he spun to face her. His long dark hair hung in his face, making him look dangerous. “That’s all well and good, but what makes you think you can be a roadie?”
His scathing tone sent a prickle of anger up her spine. Kinley squared her shoulders, rising to her full five feet eight inches, and returned his glare. “I happen to have over two years’ experience loading and unloading gear, setting up instruments, working with sound, basic lights, and all the rest.”
“Who did you work for?” Quinn asked.
“Just a small-town band. You wouldn’t know them.” She looked down at her boots.
She didn’t want to reveal that her experience came from being in a local tribute band, and she and her band mates had been their own roadies, by necessity. If Quinn Mayne mocked her for that she’d die from embarrassment.
Defensively she added, “I’ve also worked for five years as a construction laborer, so I’m good with grunt work.”
The manager’s eyes gleamed with interest as he scratched his silver beard. “I see…”
Quinn frowned. “Still, I don’t think—”
“Quinn, may I speak to you in your dressing room for a moment?” the man interrupted with subtle authority before he addressed the other band members. “And could one of you help Ms. Black clean up and show her to the other dressing room? I don’t think it’s a good idea to have her near Harry when he wakes up.”
“I’ll take her.” Tony beckoned for her to follow him.
Normally, Kinley would have been ecstatic to spend time with her favorite drummer. Now, the burning intensity in Quinn Mayne’s eyes continued to haunt her as she followed Tony with a sinking heart. I finally met the man of my most secret fantasies and I blew it.
Chapter Two
Quinn cracked open a beer with so much force he broke the tab. “I don’t like this, Gaffer. I don’t like this at all.”
The road manager fixed him with an implacable stare as he opened his own beer. “I know the situation doesn’t look good, but it could get a lot worse. We don’t want a sexual discrimination lawsuit on our hands. I’ve seen enough of those, and I gotta warn you, they get ugly and the ladies usually win. And if Kinley Black is denied the job, she could get pissy and sue for sexual harassment as well, thanks to Harry’s jackassery. Not to mention the fact that one of your crew ended up in a fight with a fan—a prominent blogger, no less.” His voice lowered, enunciating slowly to emphasize the severity of what he was saying. “That’s bad publicity, Quinn. I don’t need to tell you what that can do. I mean, what if she blogs about what happened tonight?”
Quinn closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, but bringing a woman on the road with us? How will that help us avoid a lawsuit? It’ll be like dangling a bone over a pack of rabid dogs.”
“Come on, Quinn. The guys aren’t animals, though sometimes they smell like ’em. And she may be pretty, but she’s no centerfold.”
“But you know how some guys get when they’ve been on the road awhile and without company. I mean, look what happened to Harry.”
The road manager didn’t answer. Quinn opened his eyes and frowned at Gaffer, who was glued to his phone.
The road manager looked up. “Sorry. I was checking out Ms. Black’s site. It’s really good, actually, and high profile—which is exactly why we need to tread carefully. Now, I could write up a waiver for her to sign so she can’t sue for sexual harassment as long as she’s under our employ. It wouldn’t fly in court for a second, but she likely wouldn’t know that. That could very well change her mind about wanting to work for us.”
Quinn nodded, optimism rising. “Yeah, and you could make the job so hard for her that she’ll give up right away.”
With a big laugh, Gaffer shook his head. “This job is hard enough as it is. I don’t need to make it any worse on her—and I won’t anyway. I’ll be fair to her just like I am with all the newbies. Either she’ll sink or swim. Hell, my initial interview might be enough to scare her away, though I doubt it.”
“Why not?” Quinn couldn’t conceal the frustration in his voice.
“For starters, she worked Harry over real good.” Gaffer’s gray eyes twinkled with obvious merriment at the memory. “Also, her website proves she’s familiar with the music scene. And if she was telling the truth about her experience, she might be capable of handling the job. After all, she’s in great shape—and she’s wearing good work boots. I think they were Georgia’s.”
To his annoyance, Quinn found himself pondering her shape a little too intently. Lithe and muscular, she looked like Lara Croft from the old Tomb Raider games, complete with a long braid of silken dark hair. He frowned. Her shape was a big part of the problem. A man would have trouble keeping his hands off her.
“And what about her website? What if she blogs about what happens on the road?” The more he thought about it, the more it made sense: She was hunting for a scoop to get her website in the spotlight. Why else would a beautiful woman sign up for months of nonstop drudgery?
The road manager interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll make confidentiality another condition for the job. Look, Quinn, if we don’t placate her, things could get ugly.” He continued in a gratingly patient tone. “She got roughed up pretty bad by Harry and her hands are a mess. Given that, it’s unlikely she’ll make it through the night. And if she does, she probably won’t last much longer, considering the tight quarters and grueling schedule of the tour. When she caves, I’ll pay for her ticket home.”
Quinn’s sense of decency railed against the prospect of putting a vulnerable and injured woman to work. Let her rest tonight and start tomorrow, his conscience prodded him. Instead, he bit his tongue and took a deep breath. Discouraging her was the right thing to do.
“Fine. Give her a shot,” he grumbled with feigned indifference. For her sake he prayed she couldn’t handle it.
***
Fist clenched in a death grip on the cold washcloth, Kinley dabbed at her bleeding knuckles and did her best not to fidget on the worn sofa. This night was a disaster. She still couldn’t believe she’d made such an ass of herself in front of Quinn-freaking-Mayne. Oh yeah, and the rest of the band—and their tour manager.
At least Tony had been nice. He’d given her a new Viciöus tour shirt to replace the bloodstained one, and then he escorted her to a restroom and guarded the door while she washed her face and hands. When they’d arrived in the dressing room, he’d grabbed two beers out of the ice bucket and handed her one.
“I want to thank you for kicking Harry’s ass. We’ve all been dying to for a long time, but Gaffer wanted to give the douchebag one more chance since he’s been working with us for so long.” The drummer held up his bottle of Michelob.
“Thanks,” she murmured awkwardly. The cold beer was bliss on her swollen hands.
Tony clinked his bottle against hers. “I also want to say that I love your site. And I think you’re a riot on Twitter. You’re ‘MetalKin,’ right?”
Kinley nodded, torn between awe and dread that the drummer of Viciöus was aware of her online presence. Had he read her giddy status updates before the concert? She’d probably sounded like a dork when she’d raved that she had an exclusive interview with Quinn Mayne. Her chest tightened as an even more disturbing thought emerged.
“Oh, shit,” she groaned. “What am I going to tell my readers? After what I did, Quinn’s never going to give me that interview.”
And what was she going to tell Kat? Her best friend and cohost of the website had been heartbroken that they’d only been given one backstage pass. She’d wanted to meet the opening band, Bleeding Vengeance. She was going to stick around and see if Kinley could get her in, too, but then her asshole boyfriend had called and guilt-tripped her into going home early.
Now Kinley wouldn’t have any good news to
cheer Kat up.
She took a big swig of beer to hide her grimace. Hell, Quinn’s probably going to file a restraining order on me.
To her humiliation, Tony nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the interview’s probably a no-go tonight. He’s pretty pissed— at us, not you. But you know how it is. Anyway, I know I’m a poor substitute, but you can interview me right now. And if you get the job, Quinn will probably be willing to do it later when he’s in a better mood. He’s not a bad guy, for a tyrannical bastard, anyway.”
She managed a wan smile, wishing she could share his optimism. “Thanks. And you’re not a poor substitute at all. You’re one of my favorite drummers.”
As she removed her tablet from its case, Kinley fought off another wave of dejection and embarrassment. She should be more grateful that Tony was willing to help.
To add to her torment, her original fantasy meeting with Quinn Mayne whispered through her mind.
His eyes flared in admiration as they met hers, his hand warm and strong in her grasp as she introduced herself. Their conversation flowed so naturally, he asked her out to dinner. His gaze devoured her over the candlelit meal. Unable to part from her company so soon, he invited her to his hotel room. The second the door closed, Quinn pulled her into his arms. Kinley’s hands plunged into his thick hair as his lips came down on hers—
“So what’s the first question?” Tony yanked her from the blissful daydream back into harsh reality.
Kinley forced her focus to the interview template. It was a stupid, girly fantasy anyway.
“What’s been your favorite venue on this tour so far?”
Though she had to change and reword a few of the questions, Tony was an amiable subject and even managed to get her to laugh a few times. He also talked a lot about Quinn. Whether it was to make up for Quinn’s absence or it was just that highlighting the front man was standard marketing policy, she didn’t know. But she was grateful to get to know more about her favorite singer.
“Quinn’s always been the backbone of the band. Without him keeping us on task, we’d never finish an album.” Tony grinned. “Sometimes the guy’s a slave driver.” He stiffened and his eyes widened, obviously realizing it was a bad idea to speak ill of his cohort. “Please, don’t put that in the interview.”
“Put what in the interview?” Quinn’s voice rumbled like thunder as the door opened.
The beer bottle slipped in Kinley’s hands. She caught it before it could spill, grimacing as the pungent liquid splattered her knuckles.
“It’s already forgotten.” She smiled at Tony.
Unable to stop herself, Kinley turned to look at the singer as he entered the dressing room flanked by what appeared to be the entire road crew.
Oh shit, they’re going to escort me out of the building now.
Quinn’s eyes were inscrutable. “We’ve decided to give you a shot, but not at security. The whole reason for tonight’s disaster was that no one believed you were capable of kicking Harry’s ass.” A hint of a smile curved his lips. “We’d prefer to keep the bloodshed to a minimum, so Mike got a promotion and we’ll put you with the sound crew. You’ll be hauling our gear and making sure our patch cords are hooked up right and stay that way during the shows. It’s backbreaking work.”
Kinley fought to keep her legs from trembling in reaction to that smile as she stood.
“I can handle it. Thank you,” she managed with calm dignity, barely resisting jumping with joy and throwing her arms around him.
Still looking disgruntled, Quinn nodded and ran a hand through that gorgeous midnight hair. “Well, I gotta go sign autographs. Gaffer here will take over and get you started. C’mon, Tony.”
Tony high-fived her gently, mindful of her bandages. “Welcome aboard.” He gave her an encouraging smile before following Quinn out the door.
Her gaze traced the singer’s broad back and she fought the urge to pinch herself. I’m going to be working for him.
Gaffer stepped out from the throng of roadies and sent them away with a wave. A few gave her disapproving looks on their way out, but she didn’t give a shit. She’d show them.
“Before we get started, I want to ask you a few questions,” the road manager began.
She nodded cautiously, keeping a tight grip on her euphoria. “Okay.”
“First, do you have anyone at home? A husband or boyfriend? Kids?” His tone was as solemn as if he were asking for her criminal background.
Kinley gave him a respectful nod at the practical question. Families held one back from pursuing this life. Proof of that lay with the breakup of her own band.
“No, there’s no one.” For some reason, she felt a pang of sadness at the words. She hardly spoke to her father anymore and her brothers were busy with their own lives. Straightening her spine, she hardened her heart. No, I’m happy to be alone. It’s the only way to true to myself, not be a man’s slave.
The tour manager nodded, oblivious to her internal struggle. “What about your job?”
She lifted her chin with growing confidence. He was taking her seriously. It was about time someone ignored her lack of a penis and treated her like a capable human being. “I just have the website and I can manage that anywhere as long as there’s an Internet connection.”
Gaffer’s eyes widened. “You bring in that much from the site?”
“My partner and I get a pretty decent amount from advertising and stuff, but not a livable wage. Yet.” She looked down. “I also received an inheritance from my mom.”
“My condolences.”
Kinley shrugged. “She passed away when I was young, but the money didn’t start coming in until I came of age.” Though Mom had been gone for nearly thirteen years, an aching hole gaped in Kinley’s heart, filled with simmering anger at being burdened with the impossible task of taking her mother’s place.
To her relief, Gaffer changed the subject. “Why do you want to be a roadie?”
“I’ve loved music all my life and I want more than anything to be a part of it.” She flinched inwardly. God, that sounds so corny. Recovering herself, she smiled and added, “That, and Viciöus is my favorite band.”
The road manager chuckled. “Well, you might not think they’re so great after being on the road with ’em. They can be a pain in the ass, and they stink just as bad as anyone else in close quarters.” His hazel eyes suddenly turned speculative. “Tell me, Kinley, do you play any music?”
She blinked, startled by the question. “Just a little guitar, but I can only imitate songs I hear. I don’t have the creativity to write my own stuff.” Kat was the real musical genius. “It’s really not worth mentioning on the job application, if there is one.”
“Hmm. I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
An unreasonable fantasy of jamming with the band flitted across her mind. She tamped it down, retaining her grip on reality. “Um, okay.”
He nodded and went on to ask her some questions about her health, then described the less-than-glamorous wages roadies received, as if in an attempt to deter her. But from his tone, Kinley could tell she was in.
Sure enough, Gaffer reached into his pocket and pulled out a crew pass to stick on her shirt. “Okay now. Let’s get you started.”
Holding the pass like a priceless treasure, Kinley forced a dignified nod. She could give in to the giddy squeals later when she told Kat the news. That is, if her friend could get away from that jerk for even five minutes.
As she joined the crew, the other roadies gave her looks ranging from leers to curiosity.
“Did you really beat up Harry?” one of them asked as he helped her carry a speaker cabinet.
She nodded, biting her lip as she adjusted her grip with bandaged hands.
“Impressive. He’s a big dude. Most of us didn’t like him anyway, but Phil did.” The guy shook his head as they loaded the cabinet into the cargo truck. “And now you’re working with us. That’s gotta be the craziest way to get a job I’ve ever heard of.”
&nb
sp; She grinned. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Maybe she’d start fitting in sooner than she expected. That hope was dashed when Gaffer called her over to help the guitar tech wind up patch cords.
“Who the fuck are you?” the scrawny, pockmarked guy snarled as she approached.
He must not have been with the others when Quinn announced she got the job. “Kinley Black.” She pointed at her crew pass. “Gaffer told me to help you.”
“Where’s Mike?”
Recognizing the name, she searched her memory. “Uh, Quinn said he got promoted to security to replace Harry.”
He froze at her words. “You mean it’s true? Harry actually got beat up by a girl?” He did a double take at her bruised face. “And they hired you? Un-fucking-believable.”
“Yeah, it was a surprise to me, too, but I’m here, so I’ll get that other cord if you’re just going to sit there.” She smiled to take the bite out of her words, but his attitude still irked her.
He ignored her and jerked a cable out of an amp. “Gaffer must be going senile. Harry was worth ten times what you could be.”
“You must be Phil,” she surmised. Her hands throbbed as she wrapped the electrical cables, giving with a silent prayer of thanks that she remembered the correct method.
“And you must be a bitch.”
Kinley ignored him with gritted teeth and scrambled to obey Gaffer’s barked orders. There were assholes on every job site. It didn’t surprise her that this one and piggy Harry were close.
The pain was soon forgotten as she hefted cases and amps with the same ease as the rest of the crew, earning respectful glances from a few of her new coworkers and indifference from the rest. She cast a longing look at the guitars—Quinn played a Fender Stratocaster and Curt, a B.C. Rich, and they used an incredible array of pickups that she’d never seen before. Looking away before she could torture herself further, she heaved a sigh of envy as Phil finally got up off his ass and handled those delectable pieces of equipment.
***
Quinn’s breath caught in his throat as Kinley crouched down, presenting him with a view of her denim-clad backside. The muscles in her thighs tightened beneath the material as she lifted the Marshall amp with more care than any roadie had taken before.
