by Sienna Parks
Logan has asked me to step in as the manager for the remainder of their tour. It’s a big opportunity. He’s taking a huge risk, and it means a lot that he’s putting his faith in me. I’ve known him for a few years now. He takes his work very seriously, and I could hear it in his voice - these boys are special. They’re not just a band. They’re his friends, and entrusting me with their well-being speaks volumes to our friendship. So, I’ve been tying up loose ends with my current projects over the past week, and tomorrow I meet up with the band for the first time, in Vegas. They’ve just finished their California dates and have a few days off before the next show, so that will give me some time to observe the dynamics of the group. Hopefully I can build a rapport with them. I have huge shoes to fill, and as a newer band, they’ll have concerns about a change of manager in the middle of their first tour. I need to put their minds at ease and assure them I’ve got their back.
I’m busy packing when my phone starts vibrating in my back pocket. I already know who it is before I look at the display.
“Hey dad. You heard then?”
“Hey, sweet-pea. Of course I did. I’m just wondering why you haven’t called your old dad to tell me yourself?”
“You know it’s not that easy being the secret love-child of rock legend Dash Levitt, right?” He laughs - that smooth chuckle that draws everyone in. It’s throaty, with a slight rasp from decades of singing and smoking, yet it still retains a quality that rolls over me, making me feel safe and happy. “I love you, daddy. But I need to do my own thing, and this is a great chance to do that.”
“Any reason you’re changing your name to do it? Am I being dropped?”
“Never! You know that. I just think using mom’s name is better. I used it for the first fourteen years of my life, and I’d like to put some professional distance between us. Flaming Embers are huge right now, on the cusp of worldwide fame. I want to help them get there, and make a name for myself… in my own right. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’m just so damn proud to be your dad. I missed out on a lot, and I don’t want to hold you back.”
“You’re not. I just don’t want people to rate me based on my last name.”
“I get it. You’re a smart cookie. With or without my name, you’ll make a mark in the world, baby girl. Those boys are lucky to have you. Don’t forget that. And don’t forget to give your old dad a call now and again!”
“We’ll probably cross paths on the road somewhere soon! Send me your tour dates and I’ll see if we can meet up.”
“Will do.”
“Anyway, I better go pack. I’ve got an early flight in the morning and I won’t make a good first impression if I’m tired and cranky!”
He laughs, instantly calming my nerves. “Tired and cranky - you’ll still knock ‘em dead! Get some rest sweet-pea. Text me when you land. I know you’re thirty, but I still worry like I did when you were sixteen!”
“Love you, daddy.”
“Love you to the moon and back.”
As I end the call and throw my phone onto the bed, the gravity of tomorrow weighs heavily on my shoulders. I’m about to embark on a massive adventure, and I need to bring my A-game if I want to impress. Tonight, Emery Jane Levitt takes a backseat, and Emy Jacobs has to step up.
I’m ready.
Bring it!
The flight this morning was short and turbulent. I hate flying at the best of times, but this was as close to my worst nightmare as you could get on a ‘safe’ flight. I actually grabbed the hand of the guy next to me at one point. He just smiled and let me hold on until I was ready to give him back his hand… and his circulation! It was so embarrassing.
I spend the entire time at baggage claim, fighting the urge to vomit. This is not a good start to my day. Thankfully I have the cab ride over to the Bellagio to compose myself and settle my stomach a little before meeting up with the band for bunch. Ugh – bunch. I can’t even think about eating right now.
When my bag finally appears, I head for the cabstand, but I’m stopped in my tracks by a sign with my name on it:
The writing is quirky and makes me giggle; the board decorated with glitter, stars, and little musical notes. For a moment, I forget how sick I feel, and even how to breathe as my eyes travel to the man holding the ridiculous sign - none other than Jamie Hunter, in the flesh. There are people staring, taking pictures on their phones, and a crowd of girls directly behind him, waiting to ambush him for autographs, only held back by a team of security guards.
His hair has that just fucked, sexy as hell look to it. He’s taller than I expected, and even better looking than his pictures.
I make my way through the crowd of adoring fans, and with a girlish flutter in my stomach, extend my hand. “Hi Jamie, I’m Emy Jacobs, your new manager. Impressive sign you’ve got there.”
He takes my hand and pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Awright, Jacobs. None of this handshake shite. You’re part of the Embers family now. Get ready for a wild ride!”
The cameras blind me as greedy photographers snap shots of Jamie holding me close. Tomorrow’s headlines won’t mention that I’m his manager, or that we just met, I’ll be labeled his new piece of ass for the week. His image is something I need to work on: Girl after girl, and endless speculation on their broken hearts. The band it too good to have this kind of crap plaguing their press. There’s a fine line between the fans loving a bad boy, and hating a womanizer.
He ushers me into the back of a black SUV, flanked on either side by security guards. Girls are banging on the tinted windows as he climbs in and pulls the door shut behind him. He’s laughing, watching as the girls go wild on the other side of the glass. The car is rocking from side to side with the force of the crowd. I’ve been in some crazy situations with other bands, but this is on a whole other level. He runs his fingers through his messy blond hair; eyes alight with mischief. “Fucking brilliant. Never gets old.” Then he turns his attention to me. “So… Emery Jacobs.”
“Call me, Emy.”
“Well, Emy, you up for this? Logan’s got some big fucking shoes for you to fill. Is a wee slip of a lassie like you up for it?”
I take offense at his insinuation. “Let’s get something straight, Mr. Hunter – I’ve got ten years on you, so don’t call me a ‘wee lassie.’ Secondly, I’m well aware of Logan’s prominence in this business, and if he didn’t think I had what it takes to manage a bunch of skirt chasing Scotsmen, he wouldn’t have offered me the job. I’m as professional as they come. Don’t let my size fool you – I’m fierce when it comes to the well-being of my clients. If you respect me, I’ll respect you, and I’ll get your band where you want to go.”
I catch a glimpse of the driver smirking in the rearview mirror. I’m guessing this guy hasn’t had a dressing down in quite some time. The look on Jamie’s face is confirmation enough. “Well fuck me sideways. Girl’s got balls as big as mine.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s start again shall we? It nice to meet you, Emy Jacobs. I look forward to working with you.”
I give him a firm shake. “Likewise, Mr. Hunter.”
The ride to the Bellagio is interesting. Listening to Jamie is mesmerizing. His thick Scottish brogue can be difficult to understand at times, but once I grasp it, I enjoy his comical tales of the tour bus. I hope the rest of the band are as easy-going. He gives me a quick rundown on the others, putting his own spin on them, I’m sure. Campbell McCabe seems to be the linchpin, and if Jamie’s assessment is correct, he’s the conscientious one of the group - the one that understands this is a business. If I’m going to manage these guys properly, I need to get Campbell onside.
Traffic sucks at this time in the morning, and I’m still feeling a little queasy from the flight. It’s already 9.30 a.m. and we’ve only just pulled up to the valet. I’ve got an hour and a half until I have to sit down with the whole band, and sell myself as their best option right now. Jamie wasn’t wrong when he said I have some big sh
oes to fill. If I’m not firing on all cylinders, this could ruin my reputation, and any hopes of a career without help from my dad.
Jamie is out and opening my door in seconds, holding my arm to steady me as I step into the warm, morning sun. “Thanks.”
“Chivalry is alive and well in Scotland.” A sly grin spread across his scruffy jaw line. “You go and get some rest. I’ll meet you in the lobby with the boys at 11 a.m. I’ll make sure they’re on their best behavior.” He winks at me, puts on his shades, and disappears into a crowd of waiting, adoring girls. He’s like a freaking lothario superhero.
As soon as I open the door to my room, I drop my bags, start the shower, and strip off my clothes. I feel gross after spending hours trapped on a plane, with strangers breathing and coughing in my personal space. The hot water beats down on me, washing away my anxiety, calming my insecurities. I need to be on my game today – make or break time. I have no other choice but to wow these guys, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
The laughter filtering out from the bar in the lobby is infectious. A low bellowing chortle, and an array of chuckles, closely followed by the familiar cackle of groupies. Great. I’m going to have to chase off a bunch of horny college girls to get to my morning meeting. Don’t these girls have jobs, or classes, or somewhere to be other than spreading their legs for celebrities?
I turn the corner, the volume increasing exponentially with every step I take. Jamie is in the corner, surrounded by women – each one of them clambering to touch him. He holds his hand up in acknowledgement. “Over here, Jacobs.”
At the mention of my name, I’m suddenly the focal point of the room. The girls are all throwing daggers with their eyes, and three tall, stylish, stage ready gods appear in my peripheral vision - each more stunning than the last. This job is going to be harder than I thought. Looking at this kind of hot all day long could be quite distracting.
A voice from behind me sets off a chain reaction – An electrical charge running from the tips of my fingers, to the tips of my toes, igniting an inexplicable fire inside me. “Time to go, sweetheart. You can jump their bones later. They have a… prior engagement.”
I turn to put a face to the voice. “I’m not a groupie.”
“Sure you’re not. None of you are. Now take your slut buddies and come back later.”
My cheeks flush, and I steel my nerves. “I have my work cut out for me if that’s the way you talk to your fans.” I hold out my hand. “Emy Jacobs – your new manager.”
A look of horror spread across his features as realization hits home. “Campbell McCabe. I…”
His large, rough hand envelops my own. “I know what you were doing. Guess I’ll have to go back to basics and teach you and your friends some manners before we go any further.” My hand is shaking. An imperceptible nervous tick, but I know he can feel it. He doesn’t let go – staring at me in disbelief. “Can I have my hand back, please? We have business to attend to.”
I turn on my heels, anxious to avoid his judgmental gaze. “Okay ladies. Sorry to be the bad guy, but I need to get these boys to an important meeting. Please, do come and see them tomorrow night and we’ll see what we can do about getting you backstage after the show. Thank you.” And just like that, my nerves are gone and I’m back in control of the room. The girls make their way out, eager to leave their numbers for whichever band member will give them the time of day. They seem friendly enough, smiling and posing for pictures - all except Campbell. He blusters by everyone without a word, pulling up a stool at the bar. “Vodka -neat.”
The bartender obliges and I watch as he throws it back in one gulp, slamming the glass down on the bar before asking for another. I turn my attention to the others. “Hey guys. I’m Emy Jacobs, your new manager. Logan has gotten me up to speed on what you have going on right now, so I just want to take some time to answer any questions you might have. Shall we take a seat?”
They introduce themselves, with a firm handshake and a smile. I try not to stare, but it’s an involuntary reaction when Campbell stands and makes his way over to where we’re sitting. This boy missed every branch on the ugly tree. He is stunning in every way…
“Let’s get this thing done, I’ve got shit to do today.”
… Except maybe his personality.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Description
Dedication
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Vienna
Chapter 7
Prague
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Paris
Chapter 13
Budapest
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
New York
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Los Angeles
Chapter 22
Epilogue
About The Author
Acknowledgements
Social Media
Sneak Peek
