Lost For You

by Jayne Frost

  Shifting her focus to the cheap laptop on the coffee table, she smiled. “Have you seen what I have?”

  Reading people was my superpower, and detecting the hidden desperation in Harper’s tone, I tipped forward, smiling. “Have you? That tape of yours—it’s a gift. I should be thanking you. You’ve just guaranteed Dylan and Leveraged an insane amount of publicity. If I were just his manager, we wouldn’t be speaking.”

  I waited a few beats for Harper to digest her reversal of fortune, then mused, “I’d have to do a little fancy footwork to explain how the tape came about. It would take a lot of interviews to make sure that every single rag in this country knew the details—how you recorded Dylan without his knowledge—then threatened to release the footage to get traction for your own album. But once that was done? He’d be the victim.” I sat back, drumming my fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Then, I’d really bury you. I’d make it my personal mission to ensure that you’d never get paid for singing another note.”

  When I was certain that every last drop of blood had drained from Harper’s face, I let her off the hook.

  “The payoff for most managers is well worth the nuisance,” I said as I pulled the stack of papers from my briefcase. “But not for me. Dylan’s my friend. He might want to have a family someday, and I don’t want your little sexcapades hanging over his head. So, as much as it pains me, I’m willing to offer you a deal.” I tossed the thick stack onto the table. “A one-time only offer. But know this, if you don’t take me up on it, you’d better learn to like making money on your back. Because the only offers you’ll be fielding will have the words “threesome” and “girl on girl” attached. You won’t be complaining about a suite at the Omni, because the only room anyone will ever pay for again is the Motel 6 where they film your next porno.” I looked around. “I don’t think they have room service, but you might be able to convince your fluffer to run down to the gas station and pick you up one of those pre-made sandwiches.”

  Harper gulped, cutting her gaze to the papers. My pulse returned to a somewhat normal beat when she snatched the stack from the table. “How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?”

  “You don’t. But I can assure you the offer is legit. I’ll manage you, promote the first album, and negotiate a tour in exchange for an ironclad confidentiality agreement and the tape. Then we part ways. There’s no option to renew, but you’ll be able to pick up a new manager.”

  Unable to contain her smile, Harper’s leg bobbed as she scanned the documents.

  “Look at me, Harper.” Distracted, she met my gaze. “That agreement binds both of us. If anything leaks, anything, I’ll sue you. And my lawyers are better than any you’ll ever hire. All the money you make from the album?” I snapped my fingers. “Gone. Just like your reputation. So save yourself the trouble and tell me right now if anyone else has seen the footage.”

  My stomach sank as she squirmed. “I showed the reporter from the Statesman,” she admitted. “But I have the only copy. Me and Dylan.”

  I discretely let out the breath I’d been holding. “No one else?” She shook her head. “All right then, I’ll give you a couple of days to have an attorney look over the deal, if you can find one that doesn’t mind dealing in extortion.” Grabbing my briefcase, I shoved to my feet. “And another thing—you may be in my stable but consider yourself off limits to my other clients. It’s in the paperwork. You don’t speak to Dylan or anyone else on the roster. Are we clear?”

  Harper’s smirk turned my stomach. “Crystal.”

  I strode to the door with bile rising in my throat. I’d made a lot of deals, but never one this distasteful.

  Alone in the elevator, I toasted my new low as I tapped out a message for Dylan.

  Mission Accomplished.

  Once the text to Dylan was sent, I swiped my finger over the newest name on my contact list—Chase Noble.

  I’d done a Google search this afternoon, and found out very little about the man. Despite owning a good chunk of the city, Chase had managed to keep himself out of the public eye. Which accounted for the look on his face when we met.

  Something came up. I’m going to have to cancel. Maybe some other time.

  My heart sank just a little when I pressed send. But it was for the best. The farther Chase stayed away from me and my brand of chaos, the better.

  Chapter 14

  Chase

  I doodled on my notepad while Davis, the project manager for the Arboretum overhaul, droned on about budgets and permits.

  Turning in my chair, my focus shifted to the general vicinity of the Twin Souls offices.

  Maybe I should text Taryn and try to reschedule our date?

  Date …

  Sure, I wanted to fuck the girl stupid, but that didn’t make it a date.

  Not that it mattered. She was pretty clear in her text.

  Something came up. I’m going to have to cancel. Maybe some other time.

  “Chase?”

  I shook my head to clear the fog, and found eight sets of eyes peering at me with concern. Clearing my throat, I focused on my notes. But the only thing I’d written was a bunch of lyrics about sliding doors and missed opportunities.

  “So where were we?” I asked, clasping my hands in front of me.

  Davis tossed his pen on the table and sighed. “Let’s revisit this at another time, folks. Our fearless leader is a bit distracted today.”

  Davis was ten years my senior, and well respected in the business, but he didn’t run the Phoenix Group. I did.

  “I appreciate your concern, bud,” I said. “But time is money. My money. We’ve got a crew at the Arboretum waiting on permits. Let’s figure this shit out.”

  Chatter erupted once again, and Violet, my CFO, slid some documents in my direction. “You okay?”

  What the fuck was with everyone today?

  “Fine.” I glanced over the numbers, and none of them sank in, so I shoved the paperwork aside. “Bottom line it for me, Vi. What are we looking at?”

  Following along as Violet went over the raw numbers, my gaze flicked to Davis. And since he looked sufficiently chastised, I gave up on the idea of ordering him into the field for the rest of the week to grind it out in the Texas sun.

  When the meeting adjourned, I went back to my office and tried to concentrate on the paperwork, but all I could think of were Taryn’s fingers in my hair and the way the sunlight framed her body when she was above me.

  Snatching my phone from the desk, I turned it over and over in my hand.

  “One more taste.”

  The words no sooner left my lips than I was tapping out a message.

  Is this an all-night kind of something, darlin’?

  Licking my dry lips, I stared at the screen, my pulse racing when dots jumped around the little box.

  I’m not sure.

  I sat back, smiling. “Me either, baby.”

  “Who are you talking to?” asked Calista, hovering by the double doors to my office with a look of confusion.

  A flush rose from my collar, and I tossed the phone on the desk like she’d just caught me trying to place a call to my dealer. And then I was smiling, because, maybe she did.

  “No one. What are you doing here?”

  Calista took a seat, twisting her hands in her lap. “It’s about Laurel.”

  A twinge of apprehension corkscrewed in my chest. If Laurel had scared Calista off, my chances of helping her dropped by half.

  Grabbing the folder of checks Violet had given me, I picked up a pen. “What about her?”

  “I thought maybe you could join us at a meeting tonight.”

  A meeting.

  As in: gut dumping in front of a room full of strangers in a church basement.

  I allowed one uncomfortable shift in my chair before replying, “I thought Vaughn was taking her.”

  A zen-like smile curved Calista’s lips. She was a hardcore twelve stepper, saved from falling over the edge by the meetings she attended. “Ther
e’s always room for one more.”

  “I’m a little busy,” I said with a shrug. “I’m sure y’all have it handled.”

  Calista’s smile faded, and after a long moment she leaned forward. “You wouldn’t be under the impression you’re cured, would you?”

  I wasn’t cured. I’d never be cured. And if I had a doubt, the look on Calista’s face served as a stark reminder. We’d met in rehab, and sometimes when I looked at her, that’s all I saw. The reflection of who I used to be in her eyes.

  “Nope,” I said flatly. “But I’ve got it handled. It’s my program. I’ll work it my way.”

  “And what way is that?”

  Averting my gaze, I searched for an answer. In reality, I hadn’t worked my program for damn near fourteen months.

  “Fine, Calista.” I smiled, hoping the mock irritation masked my true emotion: dread. “Where and when?”

  She checked her watch, a worn timepiece far past its fashion expiration date. “A half hour.” Hopping to her feet, she slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “First Baptist on Trinity.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  As soon as she was gone, I picked up my phone to get directions. Because unlike Calista and Vaughn, I didn’t make a habit of memorizing the addresses of every NA meeting location in the city.

  The box with Taryn’s text begged for a reply, so I tapped out a message.

  I’ll be around all night. If you get finished early, or late, come by.

  The drive to the church took all of five minutes, not nearly enough time to prepare. And though I’d never been here before, I trudged down the rose-lined path on the side of the building, the sweet scent invading my nose as I searched for a set of stairs. Meetings like this were always tucked away, perhaps for privacy, but more likely so unsuspecting churchgoers wouldn’t stumble upon the ugliness.

  I took a seat behind Vaughn and Calista, who had Laurel caged between them. She turned, a surprised smile curving her mouth when she saw me.

  I’m as surprised as you are, darlin’.

  I smiled back.

  Fifteen minutes later when the quasi leader of the group opened the floor for confessions, I couldn’t force my lips to bend with a forklift. I hated being here. Loathed everything about the weakness that made it a requirement.

  My phone buzzed and, latching onto the reprieve, I fished the device from my pocket, a calm washing over me when I saw Taryn’s name. If I were honest, it was like the feeling I used to get before I scored.

  I could probably drop by. It may be late though.

  That was as good as a yes in my book so I nudged Vaughn’s shoulder.

  “Gotta go,” I whispered when he twisted to look at me. “Business emergency.”

  Confusion creased his brow, but I didn’t stick around to explain. As I headed for my car, I tapped out a text to Taryn.

  Good. I really want to see you.

  Fuck, Desperate much? I held down the delete button.

  I really want to fuck you.

  I smiled at that one, because it was true. More than true. But still not the vibe I wanted.

  You feel like sharing a pizza?

  Satisfied, I hit send, then slid behind the wheel of my car. The air conditioning blasted my face as I pulled onto Trinity Blvd, gunning the engine like someone was chasing me.

  Patting the pocket of my T-shirt for the phantom pack of smokes, I tightened my grip on the wheel.

  You don’t smoke.

  As I waited in line at Rudinos Pizza for the custom pie, I wondered if my control was an illusion. Did old cravings ever really die, or did they wait for a moment of weakness, rearing their ugly head when you least expected it?

  Chapter 15

  Taryn

  Cheers thundered outside the conference room door at Twin Souls. Sometime in the last hour, an impromptu game of NERF basketball had started in the fishbowl, the outer office where the junior managers and their staff had their desks.

  From the chatter filtering through the door, it sounded like a heated match between Dylan and Beckett, and each of the boys had a cheering section that rivaled that of an NBA basketball team.

  Rubbing my temple, I thumbed through the batch of signed contracts from my last trip while Tori sat at the other end of the table scowling at the speaker phone.

  “That’s not going to bring him to the phone any quicker, Belle,” I said wearily. “And please try to hold onto your temper.”

  She chuffed out a breath and I could almost see the smoke come out of her nose.

  “Ms. Grayson.” Councilman Harlson’s voice blasted through the speaker. “Thanks for your patience. I was just looking through your file.”

  Cutting through the pleasantries, Tori rushed to say, “Councilman, your office has been in possession of our check for three months. Twin Souls has acted in good faith, securing vendors for this event. Why was our permit denied?”

  I gave Tori a small smile of encouragement, rewarding her for her professionalism.

  “Well,” the councilmen drawled, “it seems there was a clerical error.”

  Tori’s butt rose out of her chair, and I sighed, wondering how much ass I’d need to kiss if she cussed out the man in charge of the City Planning office.

  “You rejected our permit due to a clerical error?” she growled, incredulous.

  “Ms. Greyson—”

  “Mrs. Greyson,” Tori snapped.

  “Of course, Mrs. Greyson.” A long sigh. “The clerical error was not solely our fault. A Ms. Ayers from your office proffered a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and the bank rejected it.”

  “What?” Tori screeched. “There’s got to be some mistake. Our business account has plenty of money to—”

  “Oh, no,” the councilman chuckled, “it had nothing to do with the funds. According to your bank, Ms. Ayers is not on the corporate charter.”

  Silence hung thick, and I stared down at my hands.

  I’d never pushed Tori to make me a partner and I never would. Twin Souls was her company, built on the legacy of her husband, her twin soul.

  “Taryn Ayers has full authority to sign any check on behalf of this company,” Tori finally said. “Clearly this is an issue with your bank.”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, I don’t have any control over the bank the city uses,” the councilman said. “But since the funds have been verified, I’m happy to report that our office issued your permit today granting Twin Souls full use of Zilker Park for the Ron Grayson/Paige Dawson Memorial Endowment Concert.”

  Tori sank into her seat, staring at the phone, her face growing paler by the second.

  Sliding out from behind the desk, I made my way to her side. “It’s Rhenn Grayson,” I corrected the councilmen. “The Rhenn Grayson/Paige Dawson Memorial Endowment Concert.”

  Tori blanched when the councilman offered another weak laugh. “Yes, I see … It’s right here. Rhenn Grayson.”

  Bracing a hand on Tori’s shoulder, I said, “Thank you for taking the time to clear this up, councilman. We appreciate your help.”

  I hurried to end the call before the old fool put his foot in his mouth again. Tori swiveled her chair and gazed out the window, but I knew that expression; she was somewhere else.

  Resting my butt on the table, I said gently, “Have you ever seen Harlson?” No response, so I nudged her chair. “Huh?”

  Tori shook her head, listless.

  “The man is pushing seventy-five. Of course he doesn’t know who Rhenn is. I’m sure the last musician he could name wore bell bottoms.”

  A smile ghosted Tori’s lips. “I guess.”

  I took my seat, and after a moment, Tori let out a staggered breath and then returned to sifting through files.

  “We have to get this right,” she said quietly. And when I looked up, her watery gaze was locked on mine.

  “We will, Belle. I promise.”

  An hour later I stretched my legs. Though the ruckus in the other room had died down, it h
adn’t diminished completely. As long as Dylan and Becks were here, unpaid interns and hourly employees, long off the clock, remained.

  “Drink?” I asked on my way to the break room.

  Tori nodded, and when I returned with a Dr. Pepper for each of us, she lifted a confused gaze.

  “What is this?”

  My mouth went dry when she flipped the file around, revealing a photo of Dylan and Harper. They were at the studio, with Dylan’s chest barely grazing Harper’s back as he looked over her shoulder, studying an arrangement she had in her hand. All in all, it appeared innocent. Unless you’d seen what I had on that tape.

  I cracked open the soda and then took a drink to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “That’s Harper, um, Rush. The girl I scouted in Biloxi a few months back.”

  Tori pulled out a memo and, glancing it over, her frown intensified.

  “What is it?” I managed to croak.

  “The label wants to know if they’re an item.” Tori’s gaze flicked to mine. “So they can use it to promote the albums.”

  Joint, as in both albums.

  “I’ll talk to Dylan,” I said as casually as possible.

  Tori was quiet for a long moment, then shoved the picture back into the file. “It’s probably nothing.”

  Placing the folder in our “pass” pile, she moved on.

  “We’re not passing on Rush,” I said as I sank back into my chair.

  “I don’t like her.” Tori scribbled notes without looking up, like the subject was closed.

  “That doesn’t matter, Belle. Harper is talent, my domain.”

  My only piece of the kingdom, and the one thing I’d insisted on from the start. I handled talent acquisition, period. And I’d hide behind that privilege now, except, I shouldn’t have to.

  Irritated, Tori lifted her gaze. “The whole damn company is my domain, Taryn. Since I own it.”

  Whether she meant to say it or not, it was out there. And rather than back down, I eased farther into my chair. “That’s not the way it works.”

  My dry tone caught her off guard. Hell, it caught me off guard.

  Tori narrowed her eyes, then shoved to her feet. With deliberate steps, she walked to the door and dumped Harper’s file in the trash on her way out.