That gonna be a real bitch to comb out.
“Justin.” Her cloying perfume made my stomach churn as she shifted closer. Dual waves of nausea and regret instantly crashed over me.
What the hell had I been thinking?
Bringing casual hookups back to my place was not something I usually did. Letting them know where you lived made things too complicated the next day.
She propped up on an elbow, eyes practically obscured by heavily clumped lashes. “Wanna take a shower?” Her deep, gravelly, two pack a day voice was an additional repellant that had me withdrawing to the other side of the bed.
Not. At. All. Sexy.
“No thanks.” I shook my head firmly, my voice cold. I wanted her to have both visual and auditory confirmation so there would be no misunderstandings.
Why her? I’d been stone cold sober last night. I didn’t drink and I didn’t do drugs, not anymore, not since rehab a couple of months ago. Why hadn’t I noticed that voice, the truckload of makeup or all that powdery perfume?
My eyes dropped to her chest.
There you go.
Two reasons.
Two 38 DD ones.
“Your loss.” She shrugged, coughed like she was hacking up a lung, and smiled, a more than slightly off kilter grin. Then she abruptly let out a maniacal laugh that rang like a warning in my ears. Morbid fascination had me imagining her sliding a switchblade out from underneath the pillow.
I’d only have myself to blame if she turned out to be a real psycho. Maybe the Joker thing wasn’t such a stretch after all.
Hopefully I could get out of this mess without my sister having to identify my body.
“Ok honey.” She sat up and pulled the sheet to her chest. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready to meet her.”
“Meet who?”
“Avery, silly.”
“Why the hell would I take you to meet her?” Avery was my twin sister, not to mention the world famous lead guitarist of Brutal Strength.
Joker Woman stopped dressing and her gaze slid back in my direction.
Uh-oh…
Angry clown.
“Because I told you last night, I’m a huge fan of hers. Don’t you remember?”
Yeah I remembered. That had been her opener when she’d approached me in the checkout line of the IGA next to the hotel. Her being a fan of my sister hadn’t seemed that important last night.
But flashing lights and sirens were going off this morning.
Holy hell! This woman had only let me fuck her because she wanted to meet Avery.
That was so whacked.
And damned if the realization didn’t smart a bit. After all, I was a good looking guy. Auburn hair, ripped physique, green eyes, a sharp dresser and a smooth talker. Chicks were into me. Not that I was arrogant. That was just the way it was. I had my pick most of the time. Nothing even remotely similar to this had ever happened to me before.
I didn’t like it. In fact, it pissed me the hell off.
“Violet,” I snapped, proud of myself that I even remembered the bitch’s name. “You need to go. Like right now. I’ve got an appointment I need to keep.” Which was actually the truth, conveniently. But even if it hadn’t been, I still wanted the skank the hell out of my apartment.
I got up, tagged last night’s jeans from the floor, and hastily pulled them on. I found the remaining pieces of her scattered clothing and threw them at her. “Get dressed and get out.” Succinct and decisive. I didn’t make the slightest attempt to soften my words.
Her lips thinned. “Turn around while I put them on.”
“Babe, I’ve already seen everything you got. And believe me when I say I’m not interested in having a do over.”
“Fuck you,” she huffed.
I resisted the urge to remind her that she already had.
Several times.
Her clothing rustled as she resumed dressing. Scowling, my arms folded over my chest, I waited impatiently. The moment she scurried past me, I snagged the house phone from the nightstand. I put in a request for a change of sheets from housekeeping before the front door clicked closed behind her.
If only it would be as easy to erase the entire memory of last night.
I really needed to stop and think before I acted. After all, this wasn’t the first time that my impulsive nature had screwed me.
I took a quick shower and rode the elevator downstairs, ducking into the first cab in the queue. Within minutes, I was transported from the crowded streets of downtown Vancouver to the kitchy neighborhood of Kitsilano.
Home of Black Cat Records. Brutal Strength’s label. My sister’s label. And mine now, too.
I was about to answer a mysterious summons from the formidable CEO, Mary Timmons, aka the Queen.
The taxi dropped me off in front of the building. I dashed through a set of double glass doors etched with a black lion logo and took the stairs two at a time brushing by several people in my hurry to get to her palatial corner office in time.
“Come in.” Mary flicked her hazel tinted eyes down at her watch before returning them to me. I received the royal frown of disapproval from the attractive but aloof mid-forties brunette.
So I was a couple of minutes late. Traffic had been a bitch on the Burrard Street Bridge, and after the morning I’d had, I wasn’t in the mood. I strode in, dropping my less than happy ass down into a chair in front of the massive desk where the regent sat enthroned.
It was cold and hard like granite like the frost queen herself. I’m sure it was intentional. I shifted trying but failing to find a comfortable position. I gave up, folded my arms over my chest, and returned her glare.
She needed someone to defrost those royal panties already.
“I’m sure you want to know why I called you in.” She shuffled a few papers to the side before steepling her hands together under her chin and studying me some more.
I nodded. Of course I’d wondered. I’d only been in here once before to sign my contract. Mary Timmons didn’t call anyone into the inner sanctum unless it was important.
“You’re going to be the new lead singer for Tempest,” she announced bluntly.
My eyes went wide.
Holy hell.
Tempest was the opening band for Brutal Strength’s last tour. Serious metalists. On the cusp of becoming real heavyweights. Their song ‘We’re Through’ had maintained its position in the top forty for several months, and ‘My Way or the Highway’, another song from the same album, a song which I thought was even better, was vaulting up the rankings. They were good. Extremely talented. Problem was their lead singer, Warren Jinkins, had just walked away after the last stop on the tour. Interpersonal conflict between him and the lead guitarist, Bryan Jackson, if you believed the rumors.
And my pretty new friend Lace Lowell was at the center of that conflict somehow.
“It’s a great opportunity,” Mary continued watchful eyes on mine.
“That’s an understatement.” I was still having trouble processing the whole thing. “I’m surprised they’d consider me,” I admitted.
“Well, it was actually my decision.”
Come again?
“I’m breaking the news to them after we’re through here,” Mary went on to explain, her expression and tone haughty. “I’ve given them ample time to choose someone on their own. Tempest has a slew of commitments to fulfill. It’s time to move forward.”
Ok. I admit that bit of information put a damper on my enthusiasm. But I felt like I’d been stuck in studio limbo proving my mettle long enough. I was tired of it. I was ready to get back in front of an audience again.
I leaned forward, the ornate armrest carving digging uncomfortably into my flesh. “I’ll make it work.”
She nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer. “It’s not going to be an easy transition,” she warned. “Even though Warren left under acrimonious circumstances, you need to know going in that they’re still a pretty tight knit group. They’ll view you as
an outsider. It’ll be no small feat to win them over.”
Yeah, I could imagine. Lace had told me the guys had known each other since high school; she, her brother, Dizzy, and Bryan even longer than that.
“Your colleagues assure me that you’re dedicated and easygoing. The same kind of things they say about Avery. So I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised.”
I wouldn’t go that far. My sister was a sweetheart, liked by everyone with one glaring exception.
My friend Lace.
I hadn’t understood why until I’d seen Lace with Bryan. Now I had a strong suspicion that jealousy factored in there somewhere. On Brutal Strength’s last tour my sister and her fiancé Marcus, the moody lead singer, had gone through a serious rough patch. During that time Avery had turned to Bryan. Some incriminating pictures had surfaced. But I didn’t think Lace had any real reason to be worried. No lines had been crossed between Avery and Bryan, as far as I knew, and Avery and Marcus were now even more solid than they had ever been before.
Someone cleared their throat behind me.
I swiveled around in my chair. Bryan, Dizzy, King and Sager. The four remaining members of Tempest stood in the open doorway.
Faded jeans. Lots of leather. Copious tats. Abundant attitude.
They looked exactly like the rough rockers they were reputed to be.
I had to admit I really liked the idea of being a part of that.
“Good morning.” Mary rose from her chair, unintimidated, pulling down the hem of her Saint Laurent jacket and smoothing the matching charcoal skirt. “You’re early.” She shot a brief, but chastising glance my way, still peeved about my tardiness I guessed, before returning her attention to them. “I’m sure you’re anxious to hear what I have to say.” She gestured to an open door on the other side of her office. “Let’s move this to the conference room so we can get started.” Her eyes slid back to me. “You go with Beth. She has paperwork you need to complete.”
My dismissal received, I stood and turned to do as I was bidden, but found my forward progress blocked.
Bryan’s light eyes were speculative as he passed. Better than the vibe from him yesterday when it’d seemed as if he wanted to take my head off. King, the built-like-a-monster-truck Hispanic drummer, and Sager the lanky bassist each gave me a neutral chin lift of acknowledgement. Not too bad. I could work with that. Dizzy, Lace’s brother, the rhythm guitarist, had been a lot friendlier than Bryan during our earlier meeting. His bleached and brown streaked hair was wet and flat (apparently a nine a.m. meeting was too early for him to bother with sculpting product either) offered me a fist bump that I readily returned as I steered around them.
One thing was perfectly clear, winning a place in the group was going to be every bit the challenge that Mary had implied.
CHAPTER TWO
Bridget
“Mommy I’m tired.”
“I know baby.” I ruffled my son’s soft medium length hair, the exact same platinum shade as my own. “I am too.”
We’d been up since before dawn, traveling for hours. Last minute coach seats were cramped and uncomfortable. Our flight from Orlando had taken us through Dallas and Seattle before we’d finally arrived in Vancouver.
We’d gained hours by traveling west. It was only early afternoon by the clock, but our bodies and minds were exhausted.
Carter was much more of a trooper than I was. Life for him was still one great adventure after another. At five years old my precocious tow headed boy had an everyday all the time contagious optimism. It was all that kept me going sometimes. Unfortunately, life kept pummeling. It had practically beaten that same optimism out of me, and my long successful run of sheltering Carter from the worst of what the world had to offer had come to an unexpected and abrupt end with Meemaw’s sudden death. There’d been no way to soften that blow for him.
Losing her just weeks ago had hit both of us hard. One minute she’d been giving me hell. For my own good, as was her way, a way that I’d come to appreciate, understand, and respect. The next she was gone.
A massive stroke.
I still hadn’t come to terms with it.
My grandmother had been the one common denominator throughout my life. She was the one who took care of me after my mom died giving me life. She was the one I turned to after my dad remarried and forgot I existed. She was the one who suppressed her own grief to comfort me after he died, her only son, of a heart attack when I was twelve. And she was the one who took me in when I got pregnant at fifteen. When I had no place else to go. When all the fake friends and flatterers who just hung around because of who my father was turned their backs on me.
And now she was gone.
Carter and I were truly on our own now.
Except for one. A new friend, one I had remembered when the Richard induced panic had subsided. Someone I met in rehab that was just as no nonsense and no excuses as Meemaw had been.
My hand shook as I tucked my pin straight platinum hair behind my ear and knocked again. Surely, she was home. I’d phoned to tell her we were on our way.
I had to hold it together. Single moms weren’t allowed to fall apart. There was no one to put us back together if we did.
I’d gotten myself so worked up that I jumped when the door finally swung open.
Lace pulled the toothbrush out of her mouth and grinned, a wide welcoming smile that made her amber eyes sparkle and warmed me up inside. Even as tired and emotionally spent as I was, I couldn’t help but smile back.
I hadn’t realized until then how much I had missed her.
“We’re here,” I announced the obvious, and then acting on impulse I threw my arms around her and held her like she was my last remaining lifeline, which indeed she actually was.
“You look good,” I said when I finally released her. “But your hair’s freakishly short. I like it, though. When did you cut it? Recently, huh?” I answered my own question. “It must’ve been since it hasn’t been long since I last saw you.” I had a tendency to speak fast and be especially long winded whenever I was excited or nervous, and I was a little bit of both right now.
“I’m glad you came.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I missed you,” she added in a heartfelt whisper.
My throat tightened. Weary relieved tears pricked my eyes.
“Mom.” Carter’s small voice reached my ears. My boy didn’t like to be ignored, the one definitive trait he’d inherited from his father.
I moved behind him, placing both hands on his little shoulders. “Lace, this is my son, Carter,” I told her, my posture and my tone betraying how proud I was to be his mom.
“Hi.” He stuck out his hand like the young gentleman I’d taught him to be, his rounded cheeks turning pink. I’m sure it hadn’t escaped his notice how beautiful Lace Lowell was.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” She crouched down so she was at his eye level. “Your mom’s told me all about you.” She straightened and waved us inside. “Come in. I’ve got the second bedroom all made up for you.”
I retrieved my duffle from the hallway floor and we followed her through the short narrow entryway that opened up into a living room/dining room combination. The residential side of the Sutton Place appeared to be laid out just like a regular apartment.
Carter dropped his backpack, walked directly to the sand colored couch, took a seat, and scooped up an abandoned video game controller.
What was it about boys and their innate ability to hone in on those kind of things practically with their eyes closed?
The television screen lit up and music blared out the speakers. “Carter…” I began to admonish.
“Aw, Mom,” he pleaded. “Please. I’m sure Miss Lace doesn’t mind.”
“He’s right. I don’t mind.” Lace’s amused eyes met mine. “But only if it’s ok with you?”
“Alright.” I sighed giving in. I was too tired to argue. Besides, my bladder was about to burst. I’d had way too much coffee on the plane. “Where’s the ladi
es room?” I implored.
“There are two. One’s across the hall from your room. You passed the closer one coming in.” Lace turned and pointed.
I hesitated, gaze swinging back to Carter.
“Bridget, relax.” I felt her eyes settling on my face. “You’re at home here.”
“Thank you.” I pressed my lips together, swallowing back more stupid overly emotional tears as I made my way to the bathroom. Pushing the lock in the door, I quickly took care of business, vowing to be smarter and use the restroom before the plane landed next time.
As I was washing my hands, I noticed a rumpled tux hanging on the hook on the backside of the door. Curious, I dried my hands and went back into the living room, but forgot my question entirely as I took in the scene in front of me. Lace and Carter sat close together, each with a controller in their hands and a bowl of shared goldfish on the couch between them.
I smiled. Apparently Lace was a natural with kids. I’d bet money she didn’t usually keep those kind of snacks lying around. They looked really cute together, In fact, I don’t think they had even noticed that I’d returned. Their eyes remained glued to the large flat screen tv on the opposite wall. Carter’s brow was furrowed in concentration. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth.
Suddenly, the front door of the apartment opened, breaking the spell. Everyone jumped as it slammed hard against the wall.
My eyes widened in recognition when I turned and saw him enter the apartment.
“Timmons is a bitch!” Bryan Jackson, the handsome lead guitarist of Tempest stormed into the room, ramming a key card into the back pocket of his jeans as he entered. “A royal fucking bitch.” He froze the moment he saw me, his questioning gaze pausing briefly on me before going to Lace. I knew a bit about him from the articles I’d read and also from what Lace had mentioned in rehab, but obviously Bryan hadn’t known that Carter and I were moving in.
Lip trembling, my little guy dropped the controller. I could tell he was trying real hard not to cry. He didn’t do well around angry males, especially not after the recent run in with his father.
The Complete Tempest World Box Set Page 53
