Well, at least she wasn’t beating around the bush. Not that Shiori had the first idea how to answer that question. She wasn’t aiming for another job, but would she turn one down?
She smiled her practiced smile and met Sophie’s level gaze. “To be honest, I came into this hoping to fill the spot you’d made the casting call for, but I think I’d be willing to consider other options.”
“You think you’d be willing to consider them?” Sophie took a seat behind her desk, her eyes fixed on Shiori’s face. “Why do you want to work with Winter’s Wrath, Shiori? Very few models would even consider getting on stage with a band as a way to start their career.”
“But Danica Tallien did and you represent her. From what I’ve read she signed on with them to change her image.”
“She did, but she already had an impressive portfolio. Only, she was seen as a child star and that wasn’t helping her move forward. You don’t have that issue.” Sophie placed her hands on her desk, her eyes narrowing. “You’re a beautiful young woman, Shiori. I could find you work. But you implied being on stage with the band was what you wanted, more than anything.”
“It is.”
“Why?”
Not easy to answer, without revealing too much. Or looking like a desperate fan. Shiori clasped her hands on her lap and took a deep breath. “There are…personal reasons, but I don’t want them to matter. I want the job because you think I’m the best for it. The rest? I…I don’t know. I didn’t plan that far ahead.”
“But you did plan something?” Sophie’s frown drew lines in her forehead. She shook her head. “Shiori, I will tell you this. I need to see you dance. See you with the band before I make my decision. That said, they’ve had more than their share of drama. I’m not ready to sign up for more.”
Drama? Shiori hadn’t considered that. And maybe she should have. The headlines about the band had been nasty for a while before the press got bored. Drugs, sex and violence sells. They could have used the tawdry gossip to their advantage.
Instead, they ignored the speculation and focused on their new album. On creating cutting edge music videos that reached their core audience and kept fans begging for more.
They were known for their talent and worked hard to keep it that way.
Shiori’s presence could change all that. Sophie deserved the whole story. And a promise it wouldn’t be the next headline.
Media attention wouldn’t save Shiori. Or Hiro.
But the job just might.
“I don’t want the spotlight…” Shiori ducked her head as Sophie arched a brow. “Okay, on stage, yes. I want to be seen. But I want people to love the band. And I’m good with being a pretty prop.”
“Oh, sweetie. You’ll be so much more.” Sophie reached across the desk and took Shiori’s hands in hers. “If it helps, there is a non-disclosure clause in your contract. Which works both ways. Anything you tell me remains between us.”
Saying she didn’t need a clause in her contract to trust Sophie would be easy, the woman was a wonderful mix of professional and approachable, something she hadn’t expected.
Shiori had read so much about different models, how they got into the industry, horror stories of being manipulated by their agents. Danica’s Instagram posts covered some of her journey, showing her on tour with the band, her trips around the world to different fashion events whose coordinators competed for a chance to have her make an appearance. And scattered among those posts were pictures of her and Sophie, with captions that showed how close they were.
Danica spoke of Sophie as though she was family. Something between a maternal figure and a close friend.
What must it be like to have someone like that in your life? Shiori couldn’t even imagine. And didn’t dare to. Not yet.
But she could have someone who’d work hard to give her a successful career. Who’d have her best interest at heart. It was no secret Sophie did that for all her models, giving that personal touch which made her one of the best in the industry.
Her future would be in Sophie’s capable hands.
After she gave the woman a glimpse of her past.
“I hope this doesn’t change your opinion of me. Or ruin my chances to work with the band.” Shiori took a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to begin. Or…or maybe I am. I should tell you about my sister. Because as much the opportunity to work with the band means to me…I need to do this for her.”
Chapter Two
Another crumpled paper filled with lame attempts at lyrics. Five new songs to write and this one had become an obsession. Brave Trousseau slumped on the leather sofa spanning the front lounge of the tour bus. The noise from the other bands hustling around the parking lot outside wasn’t helping him brainstorm. He tossed his notepad on the cushion beside him.
I fucking hate that bastard. Why write a song about him?
Worst thing was, no one had asked him to. Well, no one besides Winter’s Wrath’s ex-manager who was stuck in prison for the next three-to-five. That son-of-a-bitch had insisted a song about the ‘tragic’ death of the eldest Trousseau brother, Valor, would bring a spike in sales.
His other ideas for publicity almost ended the life of Brave’s younger brother, Alder, so fuck what he thought.
Still, Brave couldn’t shake the urge to write the song. And nothing else seemed to inspire him. With a studio deadline looming he didn’t have time for writer’s block, but there was no way around it.
The front door to the bus opened, bringing in more noise. He looked over to see Jesse Vaughn, their new tour manager and longtime roadie, climb up the steps with a clipboard in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“No fucking smoking on the bus.” Brave scowled at the slight quirk of Jesse’s lips, but at least the man tossed his cigarette out on the curb. “And I’m good on time, so don’t get on my ass.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jesse chuckled as Brave ground his teeth, making the innuendo even more obvious. He stepped up to the dinette across from Brave, setting down the clipboard before turning to face him. “You asked for an update on the security detail. Their van’s still stuck on the side of the highway—they gotta wait for Triple A. Your bodyguards won’t be here in time.”
“Cancel the show.” Brave took a deep breath, rising slowly as Jesse shook his head. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
“No. It isn’t.”
I’m about to knock this asshole’s teeth in. They were in Detroit for the first time since Alder had been stabbed. No fucking way in hell was the band getting on stage without bodyguards. Jesse claimed to love his brother, but he had a fucked up way of showing it.
“Brave, listen to me. I get it. Every goddamn time you guys hit the stage I’m watching the crowd, wondering…” Jesse rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s been seven months. There are no new threats.”
“You need one?” Brave fisted his hands by his sides, leaning heavily on his newfound restraint. “Not that we’d know if there’s another psycho out there since Reese has all our mail screened.”
“She does that so you don’t have to stress about it.” As usual, Jesse acted like Winter’s Wrath’s new manager walked on fucking water. Sure, she was great for the band, but she hadn’t been there while Alder almost bled out on stage with a ‘fan’ holding a knife to his throat.
Seven months and everyone treated Alder’s brush with death like old news. Everyone except Brave.
Recording the first few songs for their new album rather than going on the road had given Alder time to heal, and releasing a new single, along with a kickass music video, had kept the band relevant. Brave had delayed the tour as long as he could, but then Reese called a meeting to cement the importance of building off fan excitement. Avoid hitting a plateau.
The band took a vote.
And he’d surrendered to the overwhelming majority. Not that he’d had a choice, but the team of military trained bodyguards shadowing them seemed like a reasonable compromise.
Now they
wanted him to give that up too?
Not happening.
He had one card to play. And he didn’t think twice before tossing it on the table. “The band can’t go perform without me.”
“True… Alder could probably sing a few songs on his own, but the fans will be disappointed.” Jesse glanced around, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You never mentioned how much the bus cost you. I know you’re all making good money now, but I suspect our new house was cheaper.”
‘Our’ was Jesse, Alder, and Danica Tallien—the band’s stage performer. The happy trio had bought a nice little bungalow in upstate Michigan. Which they’d be renting out now that they were back on tour, because they were all about the purchase making good business sense.
Brave was fine with his old apartment. Investing in the band meant more to him. His first big paycheck on signing with their new label went to buying the bus, a slick 2014 Prevost XLII. A few of the guys had wanted to pitch in, but he needed to do this for them.
He’d almost destroyed the band once in a spectacular meltdown. Winter’s Wrath was his whole world. And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to prove it.
“Get to the point, Jesse.” He folded his arms over his chest and held Jesse’s level gaze. One that once would have been filled with lust. Lust Brave could have used to get anything he wanted.
The game had been fun while it lasted. The big, muscular man had a mouth meant to suck cock. And a hard body, with sleek muscles and an ass Brave could—
He belongs to your brother. His ass is off limits.
Right. They had a professional relationship now. One that grated in moments like this. Jesse had been an excellent choice for tour manager because his extensive knowledge of the band members’ strengths and weaknesses left them all at a disadvantage.
He knew where to find Tate Maddox, their drummer, when he went AWOL. He effortlessly kept heated arguments from coming to blows, making it easy to forget how volatile he himself had been less than a year ago. The man had become calm and collected, slipping into his new role like it had been made for him.
And he’d probably figure out exactly how to get Brave up on that stage no matter what he said.
Let him fucking try.
“You are aware you signed a contract with the label? You’ll be fined if you don’t perform barring medical reasons. And that’s not in the fine print, so no way you could have missed it.” Jesse shook his head when Brave glared at him again. He went to the fridge to grab a beer. “Unless I’m wrong, you can’t afford the fine. Which will create all kinds of issues for the band. Possibly screw up the recording schedule, the promotion, pretty much everything the label supplies.”
“For missing one show?” Brave snorted, but his confidence faltered. Reese had been clear that the label was taking a chance with them. She wasn’t tough on them for the fun of it. They had a lot to prove. “Security concerns are a good reason to postpone.”
“If there were any, I’d agree.” Jesse opened the fridge again, grabbing another beer and holding it out to Brave like a peace offering. “Do you think I’d put any of you in danger? Seriously, Brave. You know I love your brother. The venue has its own security and I’ve met their guys. They don’t fuck around.”
“They’re not our guys. They don’t know—”
“They do know. Damn it, haven’t I earned your trust?” Jesse set the bottle aside when Brave didn’t take it. “Look, business aside, I get it. I was with you on postponing the tour, but the band needs this. Alder needs this. He’s been going nuts with everyone trying to put him in a fucking bubble. He can’t let that night cripple him forever. He needs to get past—”
“Can you? Can you get past seeing him up there, bleeding out? Am I the only one not willing to put him at risk again for the almighty dollar?” Damn it, Brave felt like he was losing his damn mind. Part of him wanted what was best for the band. Another part was fucking scared to death, because success wasn’t worth losing another brother. Not Alder. Alder was better than them all.
“No one is risking him—or any of you—for money! No one’s risking you at all!” Jesse slammed his fist on the table, losing his annoying as fuck composure. “I thought you were done pulling this diva shit!”
Diva shit? Brave let out a cold laugh. “You wanna go there, Jesse? Maybe I wouldn’t need to pull ‘this shit’ if you’d been doing your job that night.”
Jesse’s fist cracked into his jaw. He stumbled, then threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder into Jesse’s gut. Jesse fell over the dinette table. Beer bottles hit the floor. Latching onto his arm from the floor, Jesse jerked Brave down. He flipped Brave on his back, pinning him with a forearm on his throat.
“Enough! Get off him, Jesse. Now.” The cold snap of a familiar voice had Brave and Jesse scrambling to their feet. Reese Griffith, their new manager, regarded him, then Jesse, like a teacher would a couple of kids in the schoolyard acting like fools. And she had no time for their shit. “Sound check is in ten minutes. The rest of the band is setting up. Why are you still here?”
“He’s decided not to sing tonight because our security detail was held up.” Jesse straightened his black shirt, then ran a hand through his neatly trimmed, dirty blond hair. “We were…discussing his options.”
“Clearly.” Reese’s lips thinned. She was a Korean woman with sharp, angular features and wide, dark brown eyes that narrowed with annoyance when she caught them being childish. She also had a brilliant smile the whole band craved, though she hadn’t graced Brave with it yet. She didn’t seem to like him very much.
And what she’d just walked in on wouldn’t help.
He cleared his throat, going for his most calm and reasonable tone. “I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t handle this well, but—” He cut himself off and dropped his gaze. If Jesse thought venue security was good enough, so would she. “This is our first show in Detroit since Alder was attacked.”
“Very true. And while I don’t believe the city itself has any bearing on what happened, there’s been some concern expressed on social media. People will be watching this show to see how we address those concerns.” Her tone softened slightly. “Brave, I can see how this would be difficult for you. If I believed the venue security was lacking I’d postpone the performance myself. The band’s safety is my top priority.”
“So a few bouncers are supposed to be good enough?”
“No. But this venue has a capacity of five hundred, limited specifically for the most hardcore events. They’re known for handling unruly crowds. Which is one of the many reasons I booked you here.” She moved to the sofa and took a seat, smoothing her crisp gray skirt over her knees. “Please sit.” She waited until he joined her before continuing. “Your own security being delayed was unexpected. However, this venue has full screening. Metal detectors, bag-check, rules against crowd surfing, and a wide barrier from the stage. No one will get anywhere near you.” She stared at him until he met her eyes. “Or Alder.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “You probably think I’m being paranoid.”
“You have reason. But your safety and security is my highest priority. And Jesse’s.” She shot Jesse a look he couldn’t read. “For future notice, please don’t hesitate to contact me with your concerns. I need you focused on singing and writing music. I am here to make sure you don’t have to worry about anything else.”
“I’ll do my best.” He rubbed his throat, wondering if he could use it being sore as another excuse to reschedule the show.
Reese let out a soft laugh. “Don’t bother. Your voice sounds fine. You will perform tonight.” She pushed off the sofa and smiled at him. “I must say, you’ve proven to be a much different man than I thought I was dealing with.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. That was an observation, not a compliment.” Her slight smile softened her words. “I hope this will be a mutually beneficial partnership. You have reservations because of your former management. I have my own, to be perf
ectly honest, because your track record is shit.”
He wet his lips, nodding slowly. “But things have improved.”
“Slightly, yes. But not enough. You’ve agreed to three of the ten stops on the tour so far which is unacceptable. There are fifteen planned in North America before you begin your European tour. I will give Jesse a list of places Winter’s Wrath will perform before I leave.” She looked around the bus, her lips thinning slightly at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. But she didn’t comment on them. Instead, she jutted her chin toward the door leading to the bunks. “How many spare beds are there?”
“Technically three, but one’s used for storage.” His whole body tensed as she continued to give the bus a critical once over. The dishes were only there because he refused to clean up after Connor Phelan, their bass player. The muscle-head had been off with their opening bands all morning. Soon as he came in tonight, they were gonna have a chat.
“Good.” Reese started for the door. “You have two interviews with bloggers scheduled tonight.”
“Yeah. Jesse told us.”
“I’m happy to hear he’s fulfilling his role.” She paused and glanced back at Jesse. “Let me know if that changes.”
She left the bus to a heavy silence. Brave retrieved the still intact beer from the floor. He took a few swigs, arching a brow as Jesse pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket.
Jesse rolled his eyes and started off the bus.
“Wait.” Brave followed him to the door, tension building between his eyes as he met the other man’s hard gaze. They’d gotten along better when they’d been fucking. Now, he had no idea how to talk to the guy. “I wasn’t trying to mess with your job.”
“I know.” Jesse sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “But you should be in there, working this shit out with the band. And with your brother. He convinced me and Danica he was ready. Maybe he’ll convince you too.”
The man had a point. Brave stared at the door after Jesse shut it behind him, wishing it was that simple. Writing music—or attempting to—was all he knew how to do anymore. His relationship with the band was still strained. And it was up to him to fix that, but old habits died hard. For years he got the final say, no matter what they wanted. The shift in dynamics gave him whiplash.
Diminished (Winter's Wrath Book 2) Page 2
