Easy Glamour

by Maggie Marr

  “No problem,” she said and hustled off to the kitchen.

  “I hate fucking tea,” I said.

  “And I hate wasting time and money.” Tasha took another bite of her pie. “Here’s the thing—making an album and then going on tour is a marathon for a voice. Some people can do it and some people can’t. Part of my job is to get the best sound from you without blowing out your ability to sing. And, believe me that can happen. Doing a gig three times a week, drinking and carousing, does not build vocal stamina. Today you spent ten hours working an instrument that is used to being used nine hours a week, tops.”

  I took a long deep breath. Trudy set down the hot tea in front of me. Tasha was right. As much as I fucking hated to admit it, Tasha was right. And I knew it. This was my shot, my chance, and I couldn’t blow it. This opportunity might not come around again.

  “You have to take care of the instrument. This is your God-given gift. You have an opportunity to share this with the world. You don’t want to blow it, nor do you want to have surgery now, at the beginning of your career. You could be out for a year.” Tasha took a sip of her coffee. “And I don’t want you out for a year. You’re our next big thing. We’re betting on you.” She looked up at me and her blue eyes lasered into me. “I’m betting on you. I’m betting everything I have on your success.”

  The realization of what that meant hit me. I had overheard Tasha’s conversation at the wedding. I knew that there was something bad going on at Left Coast. I didn’t know all the players, or all the details, but I knew it included her uncle and some big-ticket dough.

  “I want you to rest your voice and then start going to a vocal coach. I want you to give yourself at least three weeks off.”

  I settled back against the booth. My attitude oozed no fucking way, but I didn’t say the words. I held back with the badass bullshit. Tasha wanted for me the same thing I wanted from myself: megastar success.

  “We want the same things.” Her eyes softened. Her tongue darted over her lips. Damn that tongue. I wanted to feel it running across my skin. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I will always respect your talent, but you have to respect my decisions. Deal?”

  I nodded. She’d been raised by a big-name music talent. She’d been a part of some of the best albums in music history. She knew artists and she had to know how to help them take care of their voices. Hell, she’d called my voice a God-given gift and an instrument.

  “Deal,” I said.

  “Great,” Tasha said. “I’ll set up an appointment with a coach. She’s good. Quite possibly the best there is.” Tasha picked up her purse.

  “I got this.” I said and threw some bills on the table. She looked at me funny. Maybe because she was the president of the company she always expected to pay, but I was no mooch. I’d learned early on how to carry my weight. We both stood to leave and I waved good-bye to Trudy. I followed Tasha out the front door. The air held a slight chill. Tasha rubbed her hands up and down over her arms. I threw my jacket over her shoulders.

  Again, that look of surprise. I moved closer. I couldn’t help it. There was something about that toughness, that smart savvy woman that was her, but I guessed deep down underneath there was more going on. More to Tasha Jones than she let most people see.

  “Thank you for the pie,” she said. She looked up at me. My heart ka-thwapped in my chest. Probably not smart to sleep with the president of my label, but when had I ever chosen smart over a fine piece of ass? We were close now and the heat of her body called to me. She had to feel the desire that pulsed between us.

  “No problem,” I scratched out. My throat getting worse every minute.

  “Don’t talk tomorrow,” she said. Her gaze was serious. “You have studio time in three weeks and you’ll need every one of those days between now and then to rest and to work with your coach. Take the time to write some new songs.”

  My eyebrows popped upward. Did she know that I hadn’t finished the songs for this album?

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she said. “I don’t know how many songs you have written, but I’m guessing it isn’t enough.”

  “I’m feeling a little blocked,” I whispered.

  “And don’t whisper,” Tasha said. “Get unblocked. Go to a movie. Go listen to some good music. Go do what rock stars do other than smoking and drinking.”

  “That only leaves women.” I stepped closer. Her lips parted and her tongue traced over that gorgeous bottom red lip. Damn, there was only one thing left to do.

  Kiss her.

  Tasha

  His lips were on mine and the crush of heat pulsed through me. I knew better than this. Kissing Rhett Legend Delgado was the worst thing that I could do, but my body didn’t listen to my head. His hands grasped my arms and pulled me close. Heat burst through me and a thick desire rounded around my core. My hands were up and around his neck, one hand snaking through that rich lush black hair. His tongue licked along the seam of my lips and my mouth opened to him, my hips arched to him, and my entire body pressed along his hard maleness.

  Damn.

  His tongue tangled with mine and little sparks of want cascaded through me. His kiss deepened and his hand slid down my body and cupped the round part of my ass. He pressed me forward. I wanted to keep kissing him, but I couldn’t keep kissing him. Finally he pulled back from me.

  I caught my breath and looked at Rhett.

  “Come home with me.” His want was so clear in his eyes, almost like a child needing a yes.

  What a pathetic line, and yet I wanted to go home with Rhett. My body wanted Rhett. I wanted his touch, his body pressed to mine, the beautiful oblivion that would come from having sex with this man to whom I was wildly attracted. But I couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That shouldn’t have happened.” I stepped away from Rhett. Cold night air wound around me and I instantly missed the warmth of his body pressed against me. “I don’t date musicians, and I especially don’t date musicians on the Left Coast label.”

  The pure desire in his eyes remained, but the openness, the vulnerability that I’d seen for an instant, disappeared. Rhett slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. “This a new rule, or one since you and Johnny Tucker broke it off?”

  My heart hardened. I crossed my arms over my chest. A flame flashed from Rhett’s Zippo as he lit his cigarette.

  “It’s a smart business decision now that I’m running Left Coast.”

  “Gotcha,” he said. He flicked ash on the ground.

  “Stop smoking those,” I said. I reached to grab the cigarette from between Rhett’s lips, but he snagged my wrist instead. Heat thrashed through me. Our gazes locked. This desire was thick and rough. Damned dangerous. My breath hitched in my chest. He still held my arm.

  “There are some bad habits that take time to break,” Rhett said. He dropped my arm and swung his leg over his bike. The engine roared and without looking back he took off into the darkness of the Los Angeles night.

  Chapter 4

  Tasha

  Two weeks later, David and Harold were sitting in my office, their faces grim. “You’re telling me that it’s worse than you originally thought?” I asked.

  Harold Blumenthal wasn’t an attractive man. He was a little short—under five six—and, if I were pressed, I’d say he looked very similar to a meerkat … on a good day. But I didn’t care what Harold looked like. He was the best, kindest, and most trusted person at Left Coast Records. He now sat in front of my desk with his laptop and a binder balanced on his knees.

  “Much worse,” Harold said. “It seems your uncle not only took off with the money, but he assigned Left Coast contracts to a new entity. A corporation called SJ Music.”

  “How could he do that?” I looked at David, who was standing looking out the window. “How is this possible? My father’s majority interest passed to me. He would have had to ask me to assign contracts, wouldn’t he?”

  “There’s a power of attorney within the compa
ny’s foundational documents. If he tried to reach you and couldn’t, then he, as the person running Left Coast, could make those decisions, if they were in the best interest of the company.”

  “Well they weren’t in the best interest of the company,” I said. But neither was my disappearance into grief after Daddy died. I sat in my chair and pressed my hand to my forehead. This was my mistake. “If I’d been willing to take over Left Coast right after Daddy died we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up for that,” David said. “You can’t. Why would you suspect that your uncle would do any of this? He offered to help, you said yes, and then he robbed Left Coast blind. That’s not your fault, it’s his.”

  I disagreed with David’s very generous assessment. Instead of stepping up as I knew Daddy would have wanted, would have expected, I wallowed in my grief. I wandered around Los Angeles and the world aimless and unfettered. I even convinced myself for a bit that I could have a rock ’n’ roll lifestyle with Johnny Tucker.

  “Unreal, absolutely unreal. What can we do?”

  “We can continue looking for him,” David said.

  “Any luck with that?”

  “There have been one or two leads in Buenos Aires,” David said. “Our guy is trying. I’ve been considering going to South America for a few days. Meet with our investigator. Try to get a feel for just how effective his investigation is.”

  “Whatever you think is best, David. I trust you. Daddy trusted you. You know you’re like family to me.”

  David nodded. He’d spent the majority of his life building Left Coast. He’d sacrificed just as much as Daddy had to turn Left Coast into a super-label. He had to be as pissed as I was at Uncle Lewis.

  I looked at Harold and then back at toward David. “What about the contracts that were assigned?”

  “We’re working on it,” David said as he nodded to Harold. “We can only go so far before it becomes public. How far do you want to go?”

  I looked at Harold. “How bad is it?”

  “Technically, nearly everything that’s been produced in the last five years now pays to SJ Music.”

  “You’re kidding!” This was awful—worse than I had imagined.

  Harold shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not.”

  “That may not be completely true,” David said. “I believe there is a restrictive clause in the original artists’ agreements that prohibits assignment by Left Coast without an artist’s approval. I’m guessing Lewis never asked our artists if he could assign Left Coast’s money to another entity. I’ll pull them and see what I can find. I’ll draft a letter to our distributors asking them to hold off on disbursement to SJ Music because we think there is an error.”

  “That keeps Uncle Lewis from getting more money, but that doesn’t get the money flowing in the door to us.” I looked at Harold to confirm. He nodded.

  I took another deep breath. “If Johnny’s new record hits then we have that, right?”

  “Right,” Harold said. “I’m guessing he didn’t try to assign that one because you two were so—”

  Harold stopped talking as he caught himself. My relationship with Johnny seemed like a lifetime ago.

  I changed the subject for a minute. “Our next big launch will be Rhett Delgado,” I said. “We need him to be a big success, but he’s a complete unknown. How do we power launch an unknown?”

  “He’s not completely unknown,” David said. He looked at me.

  “Right, his name. He’s a Legend,” I said. “But he won’t want to use the Legend name.” I knew from Amanda just how uncomfortable Rhett was with his new family status.

  “Then convince him,” David said. “If you want a power launch then you need all the rocket fuel you can get. Rhett as a Legend, coming out about his life and his father? The press will eat that story up. We couldn’t buy that kind of publicity for him if we tried.” David looked at Harold. “Especially now.”

  Rhett

  The second week out of the studio my voice was not much improved—at least it didn’t sound that way to me. My coach still insisted that I not speak. I had been meeting with her a couple of times a week and I had a feeling things were going better than she was letting on. My throat still burned sometimes, and every sound that came from between my lips sounded like a dying frog. I poured hot water over my fifth cup of fucking chamomile tea that day.

  I hated tea.

  Being holed up in my apartment sucked, and I sure as shit hoped all this R and R and therapy was going to fix my pipes. I sat on the couch and grabbed my guitar. I was close to nailing another song. While I couldn’t sing any of the tunes, I heard every note in my head. I played a chord and closed my eyes and listened to the hook I’d developed for the bluesy rock ’n’ roll song that I hoped would make it to number one. Fuck, I needed a number one, but I needed a voice to get to number one. Even I knew that. I pounded my fist into the side of my guitar and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table.

  Empty.

  Fuck. Quitting. I had quit. I’d sworn off them but sometimes, on days like today, I wanted that hit of nicotine more than anything else in the world. Two weeks without nicotine? How long had it been since I’d gone two weeks without nicotine? Maybe when I was fourteen and Dad had walked into our house out of the blue and found me in the backyard smoking a cigarette? The son of a bitch had been so angry he’d slapped me upside the head and shoved a crushed-up unlit cigarette into my mouth. Dear old Dad. Did Sterling and Amanda have stories like that? Stories from when he was drunk out of his mind and belligerent? Or had their life in the Legend household been all buttercups and daisies?

  I crumpled the empty packet and tossed it toward an empty pizza box that lay on the kitchen table.

  Then I heard a knock at the door.

  The band had gone up to Oxnard without me to grab some fun in the sun while I suffered in silence. Fuckers.

  I heard the knock again.

  This time it was less patient. I could wait it out, or I could answer.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  This time it was a pounding. Fuck it. I stood and jerked open the door. I definitely hadn’t expected to see that tight little body in high heels and a skirt on the other side. My eyes started at her feet: bright red toenails peeked out from her shoes and then, further up, the edge of her skirt fluttered around her knees, not to mention that waist and those round breasts that I wanted to touch and lick. Her neck was turning hot pink under my eyes.

  She felt the heat too.

  A smiled widened across my face with the knowledge that she was blushing. I leaned my shoulder against the open door and crossed my arms. My eyes finally locked with hers. I saw desire, I saw want, I saw a whole lot of things rush over Tasha’s face that I was pretty damn sure she’d prefer to keep hidden.

  “You’re here,” she finally said.

  I nodded. Speaking was unavailable to me, at least for today and probably tomorrow, too.

  “I brought you some home remedies.” She lifted a plastic bag. Her eyes brushed past me. “Can I come in?” I waved my hand toward the open door and stepped back just enough to let her squeeze by. Her body brushed mine and the heat, this infernal heat, shot through me. She made my body quiver. I wanted to get into her panties. While Tasha might be trying to ignore my musician tricks, I knew from her blush and that kiss weeks before that she wasn’t completely immune to me.

  Now she was at my place. Which made it even more possible that I could simply reach my fingers up over her thigh and slide down the lacy panties that covered her hot spot and make her moan. Then call my name. Aside from finishing my album and charting a number one, thawing the ice princess that was Tasha Jones was my one true desire. If only to be able to say that I’d accomplished my goal.

  I closed the door behind her. She turned her head and looked at my apartment. A dump sure as shit, but I didn’t need much. A couch. A coffee table. A kitchen table. A bed and a guitar. She walked to the kitchen and set the b
ag on the counter.

  “I see you’ve got some chamomile tea,” she said.

  I stood on the edge of the kitchen. Her gaze met mine.

  “Don’t answer.” A smile curved over her face and she crinkled her eyebrows. “I think I might like you better like this.”

  Very fucking funny. She was hilarious. I mouthed “ha ha” and she continued to smile.

  “I have an herbalist that I use all the time. I asked her to make you some special tea.” Tasha pulled the kettle off the stove and filled it at the tap. She lit the stove and set the kettle on top. “Plus, I’ve got this.” She pulled out a jar of brown goo that looked like shit shoved into a jar.

  I crinkled my eyebrows and took a step back. She unscrewed the lid. It smelled better than it looked, with a flowery mint scent coming from the jar.

  “A compress for your throat.”

  I shook my head no. Even though it smelled okay, I didn’t want that stuff on my throat. I waved my hands and shook my head.

  “No? Are you telling me no?”

  Damn straight, I nodded.

  “You do realize that you are meant to go back into the studio in about a week’s time? Your voice is still fragile and, as of a few days ago, you didn’t have enough songs. I certainly hope you’ve written something good to take care of the ‘no songs’ bit, because I’ve brought you something that is sure to take care of the ‘no voice’ bit.”

  My nostrils flared.

  “Do you want to finish this album?”

  Fuck, she was just like Amanda, and she knew just how to grab me by my balls. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Of course I wanted to finish my fucking album. I just didn’t want to smell like a damned mint bouquet to do it.

  “Okay, then. Get me two towels and let’s get this compress on your neck.”

  I lay back on the couch with my shirt off and a giant towel beneath me. Tasha sat beside me. Her legs, those lush legs, right next to me. My eyes ate up that flesh. She bent forward and the black lace of her bra peeked out of her silk shirt.