by Eden Summers
Blake nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m all for it,” Sean added.
“You know I’m in,” came from Mason.
“Mitch?” Ryan focused on the lead guitarist. “What about you?”
“Come on.” Mitch glared. “Do you really need to ask? I’ll do whatever it takes because I know you guys would do the same for me.”
“A simple yes would’ve sufficed,” Blake muttered. “This isn’t the Davies’ show.”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was meek, barely audible over the sense of impending doom. They were all immersed in a conversation she didn’t understand, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. “What’s plan A?”
They ignored her, all five of them muttering among themselves, one over the top of the other, the noise coalescing—What was the plan again? Do you need us to do anything else? Are we doing this in the bus or a hotel?
“I’ll go with Ryan.” Mason spoke the loudest. “The three of you will have to deal with Leah.”
Have to deal with her? Was he striving for a blunt-force trauma to the balls?
“Ahem.” She cleared her throat, and still they ignored her. Time for the big guns. She circled her thumb and pointer finger, placed them over the curl of her tongue and whistled loud enough to make them flinch. “Explain.”
Mitch, Blake, and Sean still had the respect to act apologetic. Mason, on the other hand, was smirking in defiance. But, as always, her interest came back to Ryan. Once she left, this could be the last time she was around him for months. There’d be no wavy, chin-length hair to fantasize about running through her fingers. There’d be no kissable lips to dream of, or hugs to strengthen her.
He was grinning now, his mouth curved in a delicious show of excitement that scared the hell out of her. She frowned at him, not knowing why or how he could be happy at a time like this, and released the grip on her suitcase as he approached.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she whispered. She could smell him, the mingled scent of sweat and aftershave. The deep breaths tattooed her lungs, warming the icy chill inside her as he ran one hand around her waist and pulled them together.
“Do you trust me?”
“Do I need to?”
He winced, the slightest fracture to his confidence. “I have a plan to solve our problems.”
“If it were that easy, I would’ve thought of it myself.”
His wince didn’t waiver. It still hung between them, increasing her heartbeat as the rest of the band listened on in silence. “It’s not easy. And it might not work. But I have faith it will. I wouldn’t risk everything if I wasn’t ninety-percent sure.”
“Everything? You mean my career, my life, and my future.” He wasn’t risking those things. His risk had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her.
He leaned in close, his breath brushing her ear. “You are my everything. You are all that matters and all I want. So yes, I’m risking everything, because nothing else is as important to me as you.”
She closed her eyes and battled to keep her head high. “Tell me the plan.”
“I can’t.”
She snapped her eyes open and met his gaze. “You want me to risk everything without even knowing what you’re doing?”
“I want you to trust me… And Mason, Sean, Mitch, and Blake. We all came up with the idea yesterday.”
She read those soulful eyes, trying to measure the risk. The only thing she could see was hope mixed with pleading.
“Are you going to do something stupid?”
“Probably. Will you forgive me if I do?”
She stared over his shoulder, at the men who were her family. At Mitch who had devastation written all over his face. At Blake who was guarded and resolute. At Sean who was smiling through his concern. And finally Mason, his superior brow taunting her like the tormenting brother he’d always been.
“I trust you, but—”
“That’s good enough for me.” Mason jerked his head at Sean. “Grab her suitcase. Take her to a hotel and do what we discussed.”
“Ahh.” She reached for the trolley handle and gripped tight. “Hotel? No.” The guys should be boarding the tour bus for Houston, and she’d already arranged for the jet to fly her out of here. “If I’m not in the air in two hours, I’ll lose my job before your plan is underway.”
“Our plan is already underway.” Ryan placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. A sweet, destroying kiss that had her toes curling in innumerable directions. Damn that mouth. Damn his appeal. “Just give me some time.”
He backtracked, leaving her mouth agape and her heart threatening to throw a tantrum while Sean wrestled the suitcase handle from her grip.
“We’ll accompany you outside, m’lady.” Mitch came to her free side and placed a hand at the low of her back. “But you might have to arrange a car. I’d have no idea who to call.”
She scowled at him, the little confidence she’d had slingshotting from the room with their lack of foresight. “Do any of you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m sure one of us does.” Sean squeezed past her, suitcase in tow.
“Come on.” Blake tried to shoo her forward. “Let’s get going.”
She couldn’t. Her feet refused to move. They were going to do something senseless. Reckless, as their world-famous name suggested. “Ryan…” she implored.
“I’ll see you soon.” There was no kiss goodbye. No sweet farewell. He strode for the door, pausing inside the frame. “Remember, I love you.”
Jesus Christ. She parted her lips, poised to protest his departure, but Blake wrapped a hand around her mouth, silencing her call. He held her hostage as she wriggled, the fight soon leaving her body while the sound of Ryan and Mason’s footsteps disappeared down the hall.
“Relax,” Blake whispered in her ear and slowly slid his hand from her face. “Let him do what he needs to do.”
“And if my career gets shot down in flames?”
He gave a sad smile. “Then we all go down with you.”
After grabbing their overnight bags from the tour bus, Mitch, Sean, and Blake dragged her to a nearby hotel and booked the penthouse suite. Since then, she’d sat on a corner of the plush sofa, arms crossed, glaring at the muted television playing a movie none of them were paying attention to.
Blake was on the floor doing sit ups. Sean was staring straight ahead, eyes unblinking in a daze. And Mitch was on his phone, probably messaging Alana, who should be on the crew bus to Houston.
“I’m going to have to leave in ten minutes.”
“Sure thing.” Blake didn’t pause in his exercise count. “As long as we hear from Ryan by then.”
“And if we don’t?” The so-called plan had already taken an hour.
“Then you stay.” Sean mumbled, practically asleep with his eyes open.
“That doesn’t work for me.” She pushed to her feet. “The jet would already be waiting at the airport.” She’d already delayed the flight as long as possible and the sixty minutes of clock-stalking hadn’t been fun. Yes, she wanted this to work. She’d silently prayed Ryan’s plan fell into a neat little package of happily-ever-after, but time was running out.
“Not going to happen.” Sean still hadn’t blinked.
“It has to happen. Bruce expects to meet me first thing in the morning and I’m supposed to message him when I touch down.”
“Sweetie…” Blake sat up straight, his shoulders slumped as he panted. “We’ll let you walk out of here once Ryan gets back, but until then, calm your tits and get used to it.”
“Nope.” She cocked a hip. “I’m leaving.”
Sean finally blinked to consciousness and met her gaze. “We’ll see.”
“Yeah.” She gave him a sinister smile. She wasn’t scared of his bulk or the buzz cut hiding his teddy bear center. “We will see.”
She sauntered for her suitcase at the start of the open plan kitchen, grabbed the trolley handle, and then made her way to the front door. Mut
tered curses followed, and then the padded footsteps of a rushed stride.
“Get your ass back to the sofa.” Sean’s voice was tired, the on-stage adrenaline long gone, now leaving him in a defeated withdrawal.
No way. She continued walking and spoke over her shoulder. “I know dealing with a different manager is going to be painful, but it’s only temporary.” She reached the door handle and twisted. Her chest expanded with the relief of freedom and then constricted with the reminder of her lonely future. “I’ll be in contact all the time.”
Sean’s palm hit the door, slamming it shut in her face.
“Get. Your ass. On the. Sofa.” Each word was enunciated in a terrifying growl.
“Sean—” Her reply was cut off by a scream. Her scream as he lifted her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.
“I’m too tired for this shit.” He swung around and carried her back into the living room, ignoring the hard-core wiggle she increased in an effort to break free.
“Down. Now!”
He did as instructed, unceremoniously dumping her on the sofa, her arms and legs flailing. Blake and Mitch didn’t fluctuate from their positions. They didn’t even pay her attention as she began to hyperventilate in livid anger. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Yeah.” Blake returned to his steady rhythm of sit-ups. “We do.”
“I’ll run.”
“With a suitcase and those heels?” Sean raised a brow and dropped down beside her. “Just sit tight until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? You can’t be serious. I thought this was only going to take an hour. Two, tops. What could Ryan be doing—”
“They took the jet and went back to New York.” Mitch slid his cell onto the coffee table and met her gaze. “It’s going to take time.”
“New York?” No. She shook her head. No. “What are they…? Why are they…?” Christ. She needed answers. Nothing good could come from them going home. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell.
“Don’t even think about it.” Sean snatched the device from her grip, leaned to the side, and slid it beneath him.
“Oh, no, you didn’t.” She gaped, her focus on the place where his thighs met the sofa cushions. Fuck. “You just ate my phone with your ass.”
Blake threw his head back and laughed. A long, loud, and over-tired sound she wished she could mimic. No luck. She was furious.
“Payback will be unimaginable.” She stood again, this time smoothing out her clothes and raising her chin to curb her frustration. Her brows descended into a scathing glare before she stalked across the room, heading for the bathroom, Sean’s chuckle a taunting companion.
“You can only pay me back if you stick around.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ryan was thankful he’d had the foresight to get the jet to San Antonio. The strategy had been far simpler yesterday—get Slicker on a chart, convince Leah they were going to make this work, ditch the tour bus to Houston, and spend the night in a hotel suite. Just the two of them. No clothes. No sleep.
Instead, the jet was touching down in New York, the illuminated night sky greeting him through the tiny window.
“Stop worrying. I’ve had to listen to your brain tick the whole way here.” Mason raised his head from a sleeping position on the opposite sofa. “Nothing is going to go wrong. In fact, I dare someone to take us on.”
“Don’t be a jinx.” Ryan had failed in trying to claim the don’t-give-a-shit attitude Mason had perfected. Evidently, not everyone could enjoy being an asshole. “If something goes wrong…”
“Nothing will go wrong. We’ll be in and out of here like a teen getting his first lay.”
The jet pulled to a stop, the flight attendant opening the door to the main cabin seconds later. “I’ve arranged for the car you requested. It’s already waiting on the tarmac.”
“Thanks.” Ryan stood, not needing to grab any luggage because he’d left San Antonio with nothing but his cell, wallet, and the clothes on his back.
The drive into Manhattan was smooth, the early morning hours quiet while most of the city slept, the desolation in contrast to the frantic buzz inside his chest.
“Are we in the right place?” Mason asked from the front seat of the car.
“Yeah.” The tree-lined street was dead to the world. The houses devoid of inside lights. “Look for number thirty-six.”
The driver slowed, taking in the numbers until they reached their destination. When the vehicle stopped, so did Ryan’s heart. Outside the window was a three-story townhouse, the narrow building dark and confronting.
“We’ll be back soon.” Mason spoke to the driver and climbed from the car.
Ryan wasn’t as quick to rush to the fray. He’d been in a panic to get here, but now the plan loomed in front of him, he questioned what he was doing. Leah could end up hating him. She may never speak to him again. The prospect had him second-guessing everything. Even the depth of his breaths.
“Hurry the fuck up,” Mason called from the street.
Shit. Ryan unclicked his belt, opened the door, and slid into the night air. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” Mason snorted. “I’m pretty sure I established a bad reputation with this guy years ago.”
“You may have.” Ryan started for the house. “But I’m hoping to make a good impression.”
“At three in the morning? Good luck with that.”
They climbed the four steps and stopped at the front door. Mason didn’t give him a chance to compose himself before a loud rap of knuckles pounded against the wood. Fuck. His heartrate increased. He began to fidget.
“Come on,” Mason grated, staring up at the windows. “Wake up.” He knocked again, this time pounding with the side of his hand.
A light brightened a third-story window. Seconds later, another illuminated on the second floor, followed by ground level. Footsteps approached. A shadow crossed the door. The lock clicked. Then they were staring at a balding man, his squinted eyes harsh with scrutiny. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Not a good start. Not a fucking good start at all. “Hi, sir…” Ryan ignored Mason’s raised brow that mocked his greeting. “I’m a member of Reckless—”
“I know who the hell you are, Ryan. We’ve met before. What I don’t know is why you’re banging on my door in the early hours of the morning.”
“I wanted to speak to you about Leah.”
“Damn it.” Bruce ran a hand over his wrinkled face. “You’re involved with her, aren’t you?”
He straightened, preparing to fight. For her. “I want to be.” Deflection was key. Don’t lie. Just divert. “I’ve had feelings for Leah for a long time. And I’ve known, because of her job and my wife, that I couldn’t do anything about it. But I’m here today to ask you for permission—”
“No.” Bruce shook his head. “Don’t ask. Don’t even go there.”
“Hear him out.” Mason leaned against the side of the building, relaxed, oblivious to what was at stake, or simply not caring.
“And delay crawling back into bed? Why? I already know the answer, and it won’t change. All this conversation will do is send Leah into the unemployment line.”
“Please.” Ryan stepped forward. “I’m begging you. Take the clause out of her contract.”
There was a beat of contemplation as aged eyes narrowed. “You love her that much?”
“Yeah, I do.” Hope sparked to life in his chest.
“And how about your wife? Did you feel the same way about her, too?”
Shit. Optimism took a nose-dive, freefalling without a parachute. “I was young and ignorant when I married Julie. I didn’t know what love was.”
“But you vowed your life to her. Now you’re claiming Leah is all you want.”
Ryan darted a pleading gaze to Mason. He was flailing, throwing punches that didn’t connect while Bruce had begun slamming this conversation out of the arena. “I appreciate what
you’re trying to say. You think I’ll change my mind in the future. And I get that. I understand why you feel the way you do.”
“No.” The older man shook his head. “You don’t understand. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Do you think you’re the first person to ask for the contract to be changed? Out of all the celebrities my company represents, do you think you and Leah are the only ones to get swept up in the glitz and glamour and think it’s love?”
“We’re not swept up in anything. I’ve been in love with her for years. And she feels the—”
“I suggest you quit talking before you admit something I can’t ignore.”
Mason pushed from the wall. “You’ll ignore whatever necessary to keep us as a client.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Bruce scowled at the lead singer. “Your worth is only as valuable as the reputation it gives my company. If your manager can’t control her feelings, it reflects badly on everyone under my employment and all the artists they represent.”
“Then put a price on it,” Mason demanded.
“I could buy her out of the clause.” Ryan stood firm, unwilling to give up, no matter the cost.
“And when things end and I’m stuck with a bad reputation and a band who is no longer willing to work with their manager? What then?”
“It won’t happen. Leah and I are good together. We’ll continue to make it work.”
“Continue?” Bruce sighed. “You’ll continue to make it work?”
Ryan didn’t give a shit about his admission. “Look, I’m not asking on a whim. I wouldn’t be here unless my future happiness was dependent on your answer. Leah’s, too. I’ve never seen her date during her entire time as the Reckless manager. She’s never needed or wanted to. But she needs this. She needs me and I feel the same way about her.”
“Just put a fucking price on it,” Mason snapped.
“Even I know Leah wouldn’t appreciate a price on a relationship.” Bruce scoffed. “But you want a number, so I’ll give you one. How does two million dollars sound?”
Ryan fought to withhold a wince.
