by Livia Grant
Directly across from her stood a two-story high oval bar surrounded by high-backed glass stools where patrons congregated, ordering top-end booze from well-dressed bartenders. What looked like thousands of bottles of every liquor imaginable were stocked so high, there were rolling ladders bartenders could use to reach top-shelf liquors.
Everything about the space screamed high-class money. Samantha should know. She’d been raised in one of the wealthiest families in her hometown in Texas. Her family were very big fish, but she was reminded often since coming to the nation’s capital that she’d grown up in a very small pond. This kind of opulence was over the top. Suddenly cognizant of the fact that she had shown up looking like the girl-next-door at a royal coronation made her want to spin around and rush back out the way she’d come, but people were pressing in behind her.
She was being urged forward towards what looked like a receiving line and as she got closer to the front, she recognized the threesome she had just talked about with her doorman.
Holy shit. They were welcoming all of the guests. They were going to boot her out.
Sam’s heart pounded hard as she tried to come up with something to say to the owners of the club. Somehow she didn’t think admitting to them that she was there because she was in love with Cash Carter would help her case since literally every warm-blooded woman in the world could say the same. They’d boot her out as a crazed stalker fan.
A beautiful Asian woman with a pixie haircut was checking invitations just before the threesome stood shaking hands. When it was her turn, Samantha held the sought-after paper out with a trembling hand.
“Welcome to Runway,” the woman smiled warmly, putting Sam at ease the tiniest bit. Her smile didn’t waver as she checked the bottom coding on the invitation before looking up into Sam’s eyes.
“Ah, so you’re the lucky recipient of Mr. Horton’s invitation. He almost didn’t make the final invitation cut. Seeing how he decided to profit from the invitation sent by his old friend Roberta instead of coming to the show tells me we should have cut him after all.”
Surely they wouldn’t turn her away. Oh God, please, don’t turn her away.
An older woman with hair dyed a bit too red leaned across to hold her hand out to Samantha.
“Nice to meet you, my dear. I should have known Thomas would ditch out at the last second. The least he could have done is come by to say hi, the bastard.”
Samantha didn’t know how to respond to that. She agreed with red’s assessment of her professor too much to try to defend him.
Red pressed her. “Let me guess. He sold you the ticket?”
“Afraid so.”
“So how much cash did he make avoiding me?” At least she was smiling, good-naturedly.
“He auctioned it off. I paid $1,425 for the ticket.”
The older red-head whistled a surprised whistle, “Well, at least that’s something. I’d be depressed if he’d sold it on eBay for $50.” Her laughter caught the attention of the handsome, tall man standing next to her.
Sam now stood face to face with the one and only Jaxson Davidson. He was even more handsome in person than in magazines. He stood over six-feet tall, looking sharp in his tuxedo. His closely trimmed beard was the only hint of his reputed dangerous side.
“Welcome to Runway.” He reached to shake her hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Davidson,” she managed to say calmly.
“Jaxson. And you are? I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Oh, I’m nobody. I bought the ticket from my law professor.”
He frowned as he stopped shaking her hand, gripping her a bit harder rather than releasing her.
“You don’t look like a nobody, young lady. You should ask my Emma here how I feel about beautiful young women putting themselves down.”
Samantha’s heart was in her throat as surprise warred with anger that he’d chastise her so publicly. Who the hell did this guy think he was, anyway?
His girlfriend, Emma, leaned against him slipping her arm in his intimately to talk softly. It was hard to hear her over the pounding dance music wafting through the open space.
“Don’t mind Jaxson. He’s just had a lot of practice trying to convince me not to put myself down. It looks like he forgot that he only has the right to do that with me, not every guest here tonight.”
Sam didn’t miss the cautioning look Jaxson threw at his beautiful girlfriend who dared to cross him in public. The third lover to the trio, at least if you believed the tabloids, leaned in to hug Emma’s back to his chest.
“You’re flirting with danger, Emma. I’d let this pretty lady pass if I were you before Jax decides to remind you who’s in charge tonight.” Chase Cartwright was as drop-dead gorgeous as Jaxson, even if he was light to Jaxson’s dark. As the men loosely sandwiched Emma, Samantha felt an uncharacteristic surge of jealousy as she realized how lucky this young woman was who looked so much like her.
Jaxson recovered, prodding Sam again. “I promise, I won’t bite. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She kept it simple. “I’m Samantha.”
To her relief, they handed her invitation back. She’d add the paper to her scrapbook as the last tiny link to her childhood friend and crush, Jonah Carter.
“Well, I hope you have fun tonight, Samantha. Please enjoy the cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. They’re on the house for our grand opening. You’re welcome to head to the bar or find a table on the main floor. We’re gonna have Cash and the boys start their show in just about an hour.”
Sam tucked the invitation back into her small purse as she said her goodbyes to the celebrities she’d never see again. As she meandered down the two steps to the main floor, she marveled at how accurate Jonah’s dreams had been.
From the time they became friends, her in the second grade, him in the fourth, he’d known with laser focus that he would be a famous singer and songwriter. She’d always been a bit jealous of the clarity with which he saw his future. Yet if she were honest with herself, she’d loved his dream because she had always planned on being beside him every step of the way.
A familiar sadness settled into her gut. It was the melancholy of abandonment. She’d always suspected a long-term romance with a man larger than life like Jonah was a long shot, but never in a million years had she expected him to walk out on their friendship. Sure, her father had been a bit of an obstacle for them by not approving of his daughter’s choice in friends, but Jonah hadn’t even stayed in town after high school long enough to give their budding romance a fighting chance.
She was forced to give up on her walk down memory lane in order to plot out where the best place would be to watch Jonah from afar—undetected, yet close enough to experience the show.
As the club name suggested, a six-foot wide expanse of stage jutted out at least ten yards into the center of the dance floor, creating a runway for shows and concerts. She moved off to the far right side of the room, next to one of the circular pillars that supported the second-story balcony.
Samantha grabbed a high-back barstool as she passed a tall-top table and dragged it into the shadows next to the farthest pillar. She wasn’t far from the hallway that led to the restrooms. She’d have a perfect side view of the entire runway and could still see the majority of the main stage.
The pounding beat of dance music was just loud enough to make it difficult to carry on conversations, which suited her just fine. There was no one she wanted to converse with.
The heavy techno vibe set an upbeat mood for the opening extravaganza. She craned her neck to get a good look around. On the second floor was the DJ’s balcony, lit up with a spotlight on Elixxir, the big name DJ that Runway had famously nabbed from a club in L.A.
“Care for some calamari, miss?” The waiter in a white suit jacket and black pants, bow tie and cummerbund, held out the tray and a stack of napkins. She turned him away—the thought of putting food in her stomach made her nauseous.
; With each passing minute, she became more nervous, questioning why she’d come. The last time she’d seen Jonah had been the fateful night of his senior prom almost seven years before. It was to have been such a special night, but it had ended in disaster instead.
In many ways, at least romantically, she’d been stuck in limbo since that pivotal night, pitifully waiting for Jonah to come back for her, which she knew intellectually was utterly ridiculous. There was no question that he’d moved on. Her hope for tonight was to get closure for her heart so she could finally move on herself.
The wait for the show to start was messing with her confidence and had her questioning if she'd done the right thing in coming. The litany of self-doubt was on auto-loop in her head again.
He won’t even remember me if he sees me.
Even if he does, he probably hates me.
He has a girlfriend.
No, he has many girlfriends.
You’ve wasted enough of your life regretting losing something you never really had.
This time she didn’t rinse and repeat. This time she flagged a waiter down to grab a flute of bubbling champagne. She held up the glass in a silent toast to her long-lost best friend.
Her pulse raced as she recognized that while she may not be able to see him, he was currently less than a few hundred feet away. It was the closest they’d been in almost seven years.
Tonight was about ending her insane obsession with her teenage dreams. Tonight, she’d see with her own eyes that Jonah had moved on. She could celebrate his magnificent success from afar and when she left this building, she vowed she’d be moving on as well.
She guzzled the flute of champagne with her final toast.
To closure.
“Fifteen minutes, Mr. Carter.” It was the fifth countdown warning in the last hour. Someone seriously needed to tell the clueless stage manager to take a chill pill. She’d been running around like a crazy lady and it was giving him a headache. He was already nearing exhaustion. He didn’t need a migraine on top of it. He’d learned long ago—pounding music and pounding headaches didn’t mix well.
“I hope Jax and Chase know how fucking huge this favor is you’re doing for them.” Just what Jonah needed. Frank, the band’s manager and lawyer, bitching for the umpteenth time about having to divert the whole crew to D.C. for what he thought was a pro-bono concert. “This is costing us a small fortune, not to mention, we’ve pissed off the entire crew by canceling part of their one week hiatus.”
Jonah “Cash” Carter sighed, catching the eye of his personal stylist in the mirror who was putting the finishing touches on his ‘show face.’
“Give us five, will ya, Sasha?”
“You got it, boss.” The talented artist put the eyeliner and brushes down and stepped over towards the buffet table filled with opulent food and drink.
Only when the two men had a modicum of privacy did Cash lean over to set his manager straight. Frank may carry the title “manager,” but Cash needed to remind him every so often just who was in charge and it sure as fuck wasn’t Frank.
“For the last time, I told you to take the week off. I don’t need a babysitter here in D.C. Hell, I don’t need a babysitter. Period.”
Jonah wasn’t in the mood for Frank’s signature snarky bark of laughter. “The hell you don’t….”
“I’d shut the fuck up if I were you. I’m not in the mood,” Jonah warned.
His manager wasn’t afraid to go head to head with him, which was the only reason Jonah kept him around. He’d found that the more popular his music became, the harder it was to find people strong enough to stand up to him when he needed it. The only problem with his relationship with Frank was that they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on when Jonah needed it.
“You’re not in the mood because you’re exhausted, too. You needed this week off. You’ve been balls-to-the-wall busy for six months between recording and touring. I know you’re a damn workaholic, but even you have to get some downtime sooner or later.”
“I’ll rest when I die.”
“Keep it up, and that won’t be so far away,” Frank warned.
Damn if he didn’t regret letting his manager in on his dark little family secret he should have kept buried. Just because Jonah’s father and grandfather had both died before the age of forty of heart attacks didn’t mean he would suffer the same fate. They’d both been lushes, which had to play a major role in their health.
“Are you two butting heads again? Cash promises to keep his dick in his pants tonight, don’t you Cash? At least until Mr. Lawyer here gets the groupie’s signature on the NDA.”
Jonah appreciated his best friend and keyboard extraordinaire, Ryan “River” Trubach, coming to his aid, but tonight his friend had guessed wrong on what the men had been discussing. It had been a good conjecture though, since sleeping with unnamed women without a nondisclosure agreement was the men’s normal pre-show dispute.
“Stick around. We haven’t even got to that argument yet tonight. We’re still on the ‘you’re gonna run yourself into the ground’ debate,” Cash groused.
River grinned. “Shit. You guys are running behind. Time to wrap up the foreplay. We have a show to do in exactly….” he paused dramatically.
“Ten minutes to showtime,” the nervous stage manager hollered.
“Just like clockwork. You think someone should tell her we know how to tell time?” River teased. His normal jovial grin was plastered on his face and it eased some of Jonah’s tension.
The two musicians had known each other for over ten years—growing up together and forming the band together. The music industry may attribute all of Crushing Stone’s success to the writing, producing and distinctive voice of Cash Carter, but Jonah knew there would be no band if it weren’t for River. His friend’s humor and devoted friendship through the worst times in his life were the only thing that helped pick Jonah up after he’d fallen apart almost seven years before.
“Let’s just wrap this up, shall we?” Jonah pinned Frank with his best dominant stare. The glower that made lesser men shrink back and made submissive women he enjoyed playing with cream themselves hoping for a few minutes of his attention. “I owe Jaxson and Chase. You weren’t around back then, but they were the first celebrities that got into my music. They gave a shit enough to talk about it publicly. You, me, River, and everyone else on tour with us owe them, and I pay off my debts. Got it?”
Frank leaned in closer so only the three men could hear his next words. “Fuck you, Cash. Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you’re opening Runway. Could it have something to do with a lifetime membership to a private club just under our feet?”
Fuck. No one was supposed to know about Black Light. No one but Cash and River. This complicated things.
“Have you been hacking my private laptop again? No one, and that includes you, are supposed to know the club even exists.”
“I didn’t hack shit.” Sensing Jonah was about to call his bluff, he admitted, “Next time you have a tattoo artist come and tattoo your wrist, you’d better have him setup in a more private location.”
Shit. He knew they should have waited to do the tattoo back at the hotel. Still, that didn’t explain how Frank had put it together.
“Since when do you have invisible tattoos that can only be seen under a blacklight? He had the barcode displaying on the monitor next to him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you were being given access to a secret location in the building. Knowing a bit about the proclivities you and Jaxson Davidson share, it didn’t take long to sort it out.”
“Well, you need to unsort it. It’s none of your damn business.”
“The hell it’s not. Every time you play too rough with a new sub is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Do I need to remind you of the two subs I’ve already had to pay off to quietly go away?”
Both men sprang to their feet, bumping chests as anger flared. Cash did not need this kind of bullshit just before a show. He could feel his bloo
d pressure rising, pumping through his body as he fought to control his temper. Some days the thousands of dollars in anger management therapy just didn’t feel like enough to keep him from pounding his fist through something. Right now, that something was Frank’s face.
River instinctively stepped between the two angry men, facing his friend and pressing against his leather-covered chest. “Don’t do it, Cash. You’ll fuck up your hand and then it will hurt like a sonofabitch plucking strings tonight. Save up some of that anger for downstairs later. I’m sure there’ll be a nice little subby who’ll be more than happy to be on the receiving end of some of that hostility.”
Frank injected, “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I’ll start prepping for lawsuit number three.”
Jonah forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. “Screw you, Frank. That was years ago. The NDA and written consent forms you insist on having sure as shit kill the mood, but I agree, they also stopped all the legal problems. I’ll be sure to get you consent signatures.”
“You see that you do, because one of these days, you’re gonna run into the wrong kind of woman who could take everything. And I’m not just talking about money.”
The men had been so distracted, they’d missed their host’s arrival. “Am I interrupting something?” Jaxson had taken up a defensive stance close to Frank. Jonah hid his grin as Frank took a step back. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear his manager was afraid of the tall model turned entrepreneur.
“Five minutes. Please, Mr. Carter. I’m begging you. Finish getting ready.” The petite Latina stage manager pleaded, looking as if she were about to hyperventilate.
Cash tried to smile. “You really need to chill out, sweetheart. Nobody is going anywhere if we’re a few minutes late.”
The nervous woman looked like she was about to puke. Jaxson answered for her. “It’s okay, Ariana. I’ll make sure Maxine knows it isn’t your fault Mr. Carter is dragging his feet.”
Jonah shot his friend his best fuck off glance only making Jaxson’s grin widen.
“You’d do that? Really?” The young woman looked ready to faint.
