by Brooklyn Ann
“Sorry,” she whispered, face flaming. “I fucked up.”
“So?” Klement snapped at her, eyes suddenly gray and stormy with annoyance. IT Guy never sounded that sharp. “That doesn’t mean you should stop. We can mix it out if we need to. Now start over.”
The music began again before she could reply. Kat breathed a silent prayer and played her part. When she came to the solo, she gritted her teeth until it had been executed—flawlessly.
Klement’s voice echoed in her ears. “Okay, that’s enough for today.”
Her headphones went silent as she watched the band file out of the room. But what did it mean, “That’s enough?” Had she blown her audition, or would she be invited back tomorrow to work on another song?
The band came out and unplugged the gear and rolled up the speaker cords while Kat packed her guitar.
She rubbed her shoulder. “Sorry I fucked up that riff.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Klement said. “Just don’t stop next time.”
She dared to raise her head to meet his gaze. “You mean there will be a next time?”
“Maybe. Unless…” He paused and approached her. His great height made her tilt her head up. “Hold out your arms.”
Blinking with incomprehension, Kat complied, extending her arms, palms upward as if in supplication. And as the bassist scrutinized the pale flesh of her inner elbows, realization struck. He was looking for track marks.
Outrage and disgust made her stomach roil. How could anyone think that she shot up?
“I already told you during the first interview that I don’t touch that shit,” she growled.
Klement crossed his arms over his broad chest, resembling a merciless Viking. “Sorry, it’s a precaution that we all decided to adopt. We don’t want to hire another guitarist only to lose them to that shit again. If you’re offended, you can go and we’ll call the next guy on our list.”
“No,” Kat answered quickly, chastened. Of course they’d make double sure that their next guitarist was clean. She must look like a petulant bitch. “I’m not offended, and I completely understand why you want to be careful. You just caught me off guard.”
The tips of Klement’s fingers, long and callused from his trade, lightly touched the palms of her outstretched hands. An unidentifiable tremor coursed through her body at the feather-light contact.
“You can put your arms down now.”
His words broke off in a chuckle. Reeling from embarrassment, Kat dropped her arms and clutched her guitar case. Why couldn’t she be more like Kinley? Kin was tough. She never had stage fright and she always remained cool and professional in front of her band even though she’d had as big a crush on Quinn Mayne, lead singer of Viciӧus, as Kat had on Cliff.
At the thought of Cliff, Kat whirled around to face him, praying he wasn’t looking at her like she was an idiot. He wasn’t looking at her at all. He was cleaning under his nails with a guitar pick.
As if sensing her attention, he glanced up and winked.
What did that mean? Was it a good-job wink, or a flirtatious wink? Kat tentatively smiled back.
Klement’s voice yanked her back to business. “How about you meet us around five at my place and we’ll let you know how we’ve decided to proceed?” He grabbed a pen and wrote down his address and directions.
“Okay.” Her stomach churned with anxiety. Was she hired? What if fucking up that note made them change their minds? What if Roderick or Klement—or worse, Cliff—decided he didn’t like her?
No, she admonished herself. Aside from one mistake, I nailed that audition. They all were impressed, I could tell. And Klement—
The thought broke off as Cliff smiled at her. “See ya later, babe.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she barely heard Roderick’s and Klement’s farewells as she made her way out of the studio.
He called me babe!
As she got into her Subaru GL Wagon, she allowed reality to sink in.
I might be the new guitarist for Bleeding Vengeance! She flipped on the air conditioner and let out a sigh as gradually cooling air blew across her sweaty brow. If I do make the cut, I have to be professional. I can’t be ogling Cliff, no matter how hot he is. I need to see him as a colleague and not a fantasy.
But what if he wanted to date her or something? A rush of dreamy hope came at the thought, only this time it ebbed quickly with cold practicality. She’d lose all credibility with the rest of the band if she did that, and never gain any with the fans. Hell, some Viciӧus fans were calling Kinley “Yoko” ever since she’d started dating Quinn, and she was only a temporary band member.
No. No matter what, Kat couldn’t give in to temptation and do anything with Cliff.
She put the car in gear and headed off to her hotel room. Her IT guy was supposed to call in an hour. With all the new traffic the site she and Kinley owned was generating, the comments section had exploded with spam.
Despite the irritation of dealing with computer errors, she looked forward to talking to him. He had a gentle lullaby voice that made her worries flee, if the echo from the speakerphone was annoying. He never yelled at her like her father or her ex-boyfriend, even when she jumped ahead of his instructions and clicked the wrong key. During long nights when bad dreams and depression kept her from sleep, Kat was tempted to find out more about him: where he lived, what he did when he wasn’t helping people with their computers. If he was single.
But she never dared. Not only would it be unprofessional, he probably lived across the country. And he could be married, or one of those antisocial overweight guys that lived with their moms and spent all of their income on video games. That’s what Kinley said when Kat brought up her speculations.
Would it even matter if he was chubby, though? After her last relationship, looks were starting to matter less to Kat. All she wanted for her next boyfriend was for him to be kind. IT Guy definitely fit that bill.
Either way, they had a good friendship. She took pleasure in that. He’d known she had a big audition and would be excited to hear how it went. Of course—Kat grinned—she hadn’t told him that the audition was with Bleeding Vengeance. Even though he’d never mentioned the band when they’d talked music, he had to have heard of them.
She wouldn’t tell him that he sounded like one of the band members, she decided. That would be weird.
Chapter Two
All three members of Bleeding Vengeance watched Katana’s swaying hips and deliciously curved ass as she walked out the door. Klement tried not to look—it wasn’t professional—but hell, he was a guy. And she was a lot more attractive than he’d expected, with her wavy black hair, ebony eyes, and exquisite figure.
Cliff whistled. “Damn, I could hit that all night long. What do you think, Klem? Should we keep her?”
Klement nodded. “Yes, but not so you can bang her. I want to get some actual work done. Katana has all of our songs down better than our other candidates. So for fuck’s sake keep your hands to yourselves and maybe we can get this album recorded on time.”
Cliff’s eyes narrowed, and his chin jutted out like a rooster’s beak. “You may call the shots in the studio, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fuck her brains out when we’re off the job.”
“That’s correct,” Klement replied mildly, though the mental image made his fists clench. “I don’t give a shit what you do as long as you put out a decent album and keep your nose and veins clean. After Lefty, I just can’t.”
Cliff’s competitive aggression fled as fresh grief settled onto his features like a funeral shroud. “I know, man. And I haven’t touched the dope since, I swear.”
Roderick cut in. “I miss Lefty too, but we still haven’t figured out who’s going to replace him.”
“If Katana works out…”
Cliff snorted. “Oh, c’mon, the studio is one thing, but onstage? I mean, we can’t have a chick guitarist. We’d be a laughingstock.”
Klement crossed his arms. “You’ve heard her shred.
She has Lefty’s riffs nailed to the point where she sounds just like him. Are you telling me you’d rather have a substandard guitarist just to appease the more sexist faction of our fan base?”
The singer frowned. “I think more than just a faction would be pissed.”
“They’re going to be pissed no matter who we tour with, because it won’t be Lefty. I want to at least replace him with someone good,” Klement countered. “Besides, I think most fans aren’t as shallow as you’re making them out to be. Rage of Angels has been outselling us since they debuted, and they’re three chicks and a gay guy.” Klement envied the latter, in fact. The kid was an incredible bass player.
Shaking his head, he ticked off his list. “There’s also Otep, Halestorm, Warlock, and many others. White Zombie had a female bassist until Rob Zombie went solo. And don’t forget that when Kat’s friend Kinley stepped in for Viciӧus she upped their sales by twenty percent, despite all the shit-talking on Rocktalk’s site.”
“Okay, I get your point.” Cliff ran a hand through his hair. “So you think she’ll do good for us?”
“Maybe. If she can handle herself on a big stage. She’s only played small shows in clubs, but you’ve all seen the videos of her performing.” God she was so vibrant, so alive, so—
Roderick interrupted that dangerous line of thought. “Yes, she’s a talent, in more ways than one, but only on the vids. In here she resembled a bloody wax statue.”
“That’s because those songs are new to her,” Klement argued. “Not to mention the fact that this is her first time in a studio. She was too busy concentrating on playing the songs right, not on having fun with ’em, which is what we need from her at the moment. Then we can see if she loosens up enough to give a good show.” He prayed that she could. He didn’t want to audition another guitarist. He wanted Kat.
The intensity of his desire gave him pause.
Because she’s talented, he reiterated to himself.
Cliff waggled his eyebrows. “Ten bucks says she gives me a good show tonight.”
Roderick offered his hand to shake. “I’ll take that bet.”
“C’mon, Rod.” Cliff laughed. “You know they always go for the singer. Quinn got a piece of her friend. Now it’s my turn.”
The drummer frowned. “Hey, now, some of the ladies pick me first. They love my accent. You can’t compete with that, Yank.”
Klement rolled his eyes at both of them. “I’ll see you guys at my place. When you get there, just come in. I got a tech support call.”
Cliff shook his head in bemusement. “I don’t know why you still bother with that shit. It’s not like you need the money. What are you worth now, twenty-six million?”
“I’ve been working with some of these clients for years,” Klement answered over his shoulder, already heading out the door. “It doesn’t feel right to ditch them. Besides, we probably won’t be famous forever. Eventually we’ll go out of style—or, if we’re lucky, just get too old. I like having something to fall back on.” Okay, his client base had been pared down to his sisters and one other lonely website, so it wasn’t exactly making him money anymore, and he really didn’t need any more money, but whatever.
The door closed on Cliff’s response.
Klement crossed the parking lot to his ’58 Suburban, fighting off annoyance. He knew Cliff would probably win his bet and seduce Katana. He’d seen the way she’d looked at the singer, and he hated the sinking feeling he’d gotten when he saw it. He wasn’t supposed to care. The last thing he needed was to get involved with their new recording guitarist. Hell, at thirty-five he was probably too old for her, too, and with all of his issues he wasn’t suited for a relationship.
At least he didn’t have much to worry about in that respect. Cliff was right. They always went for the singer first. It had gotten to the point where it wasn’t even satisfying to hook up with the groupies, knowing they were just settling for him. He wasn’t usually too bothered, but for some reason Kat’s crush on Cliff stuck in his craw. She’d even listed Cliff as #1 on her website list of Top Ten Hottest Rock Stars. He himself hadn’t made the list.
Klement’s stomach knotted. Quinn had been at the top of Kinley’s list. Now those two were together. Was it an omen?
The flatlands gave way to pine trees, cliffs, and hills as he left Denver. His Suburban rallied up the treacherous terrain. The winding roads seemed to match his vacillating thoughts.
None of us should be fucking her, anyway. That’ll cause us even more problems that we don’t need. I’m just glad she nailed her audition so I didn’t have to break her heart by telling her she couldn’t be part of the band. Besides, at least I have a good friendship with her, even if she doesn’t know it.
He wondered what she’d do if she found out exactly who had been providing tech support for Metalness.com ever since the site first went live.
Shortly after passing a sign that read WELCOME TO DARK SCORE, POPULATION: 130, his Suburban climbed a steeply inclined driveway. Pressing the button to open the gates at the top, he pulled up in front of his five-car garage. There he couldn’t help but wonder if Katana had a vehicle able to make the same trek as she’d need to do to come over later.
He set his keys on the cluttered kitchen counter and made coffee before heading into his giant office with a view of the Rockies. Firing up his computer, he logged in as administrator to Metalness.com and assessed the problem. Yup, their comments section was under attack by spammers again.
Turning his phone to speaker, he dialed the website owner’s number. When she answered, Kat’s soft voice seemed to caress him.
“Hi, IT Guy.”
“I told you this would happen,” Klement said, immediately dropping into his tech-support voice, a gentle, helpful tone with just a hint of the West Virginia accent he’d ridden himself of when he moved west. “Chatzy is a crappy comments system. Their captchas are illegible for humans but easy for robots to learn.”
“I know.” Kat sounded undeniably abashed. “Kinley wanted to save money.”
Klement laughed. “And look how that worked out. Your comments section is exploding with offers for weight loss pills and places for lonely housewives to hook up.”
A sigh echoed through the phone. “So, how do we go about fixing this? Should we go back to the default?”
“No, your traffic is too high. I’ve written a comment-moderation program that features custom captchas. Legible ones.”
Kat’s voice perked up. “Oh? How much?”
“Nothing. Aside from being the guinea pig to test the prototype.” He’d given her free software more times than he could count, but he didn’t like to dwell on that. Maybe it was because he knew what it was like to work a second job while struggling to gain traction in the music business. Or maybe it was just because the promotion she and Kinley did for Bleeding Vengeance led to new fans. “I want to see how it works on a high volume site. I’m sending you the file now.”
“Oh, my God, I love you!” Kat exclaimed.
Warmth trickled down his spine. He wondered what it would be like if she said that to him for real.
They worked together with their usual amiable efficiency. As always, Klement admired her competence and aptitude for this sort of thing. Most of his clients were morons when it came to computers. Hell, some shouldn’t be allowed even to operate them. Kat’s partner Kinley wasn’t as good, and she could be impatient and short-tempered and have trouble understanding what Klement considered to be the simplest instructions. Which was why, to Klement’s everlasting relief, Kat had taken over handling the tech issues.
He tried to tell himself he was only happier to deal with her because it was easier, but he also couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed talking with her. And even if it wasn’t professional, before he’d learned the truth he’d been unable to stop wondering what she looked like and if she was single. Now he knew, and her intoxicating beauty played havoc with his mind. Not that her looks would have played into her chance at auditioning
for his band. No, it was when he discovered that Kat was a guitar virtuoso that his interest in her spiked to a maddening level—even as it placed her out of his reach.
Once in a while, early on during tech calls, they’d talked about subject material for Metalness. At first the conversations stayed relevant to work: which music equipment stores paid the best for affiliate advertizing, which bands were due to tour or release an album soon—Klement was always careful to not sound too knowledgeable—and when was the best time to run software updates. But as their working relationship progressed, he’d noticed that she plucked out intricate and enticing melodies on her guitar as she waited for applications to install or scans to complete. Klement’s curiosity was piqued. He’d thought himself the only one to do that.
“You a musician too?” he’d finally asked.
“Yeah. Kinley and I play in an all-girl Megadeth tribute band.”
Her voice had sounded defensive, as if she expected him to laugh, and Klement thought it adorable. But he’d also burned with curiosity. “You any good?”
“We get regular gigs.” Pride rang from her voice. “And we get a ton of views on YouTube.”
He’d checked out the videos as soon as they got off the phone. They were indeed good. But the video quality was crappy and he’d found himself frustrated that he couldn’t make out her features very well. Not that he could have seen much with her hair flying as she head-banged like a pro. However, two things were clear: She had a nice body, and she was ungodly talented. Good enough to play in a professional band. So was Kinley for that matter. The bassist and drummer had been acceptable but forgettable.
Why were they wasting time in a small town in Idaho? That would never get them a record deal.
Klement had broached the subject during their next support session, and her laugh was light and musical yet somehow brittle.
“Aw, we’re just doing it for fun.”
But he could hear the longing in her voice.
Maybe some of them saw it as a hobby, but Kat and Kinley looked pretty damn serious on that stage. And his suspicions were confirmed during their next call when she sounded so down that he broke off from his coding instructions and asked what was wrong.
