Blow My Fuse (Hollywood Demons Book 2)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  Oh, how I love him for saying “audition” with a straight face.

  We arrive at the hotel, and I walk up to the restaurant where our meeting is supposed to be held. The maître d’ sends me to the front desk. Chaser follows me, shaking his head.

  “Hello, my name is Mallory Dove, I’m supposed to have a meeting with Mr. Woods at 8 o’clock.”

  “Oh, yes.” The smile slides off the clerk’s face, and his gaze bounces between Chaser and me. “He asked you to meet him in his suite first.”

  Behind me, Chaser grumbles, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The clerk leans across the desk and in a lowered voice, says, “I would take your bodyguard with you, miss.”

  Does it ever end?

  “What did he say?” Chaser asks, as we head toward the elevator.

  “Nothing.”

  That answer’s not good enough for Chaser, of course. As soon as we’re enclosed in the elevator, he turns me to face him. “What did he say?”

  “He said my bodyguard should go with me.”

  Chaser nods thoughtfully. “Figured.”

  As we approach the suite door, Chaser takes a position behind me. Music drifts into the hallway. Something slow, soft, and romantic. I hesitate before knocking.

  A young man opens the door and smiles down at me. The smile fades when his gaze lands on Chaser. “Miss Dove, your friend will have to wait with me while you meet with Mr. Woods.”

  He opens the door wider, apparently expecting me to agree. Chaser settles his hand on the small of my back, reassuring me I’m not going anywhere without him.

  “Is she here?” A masculine voice calls out a few seconds before an older gentleman steps into the living room in his bathrobe.

  I briefly close my eyes and shake my head.

  I knew it.

  “Who the hell are you?” he demands, glaring at Chaser.

  “Her bodyguard,” Chaser answers in an even voice.

  Anger twist the director’s face. “What is this? Are you hoping for an audition too? I’m fresh out of parts for grungy hitmen.”

  “I’m here for Miss Dove’s protection.” Chaser’s solemn tone makes it clear he has no plans to leave and no interest in auditioning.

  My heart swells with love for Chaser. For trying so hard to maintain an illusion of professionalism, when this whole thing reeks. He’s keeping his cool for me. I know he’d prefer to handle this by throwing a few punches.

  Mr. Woods continues to glare at Chaser. But Chaser’s in full junkyard dog mode tonight and doesn’t back down.

  “Mr. Woods, do you have some lines you’d like me to read,” I ask to break the tension.

  “Well, I, yes.” He throws one more exasperated look in Chaser’s direction. “Let me grab the script.”

  He returns with one sheet of paper. I scan it and grit my teeth. The role is for “massage therapist” and judging by the lines on this sheet, he plans to take off his robe and have me rub oil all over him at some point.

  Not happening. So not happening.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, handing the paper back. I keep my chin up and voice even. Plenty of time for tears later. “I don’t think this role is a good fit for me.”

  He stares at me dumbfounded. I guess no one’s ever said no to him before. Well, sign me up to be the first. I’ll be damned if I’m spending my night rubbing some flabby old man for him to get his rocks off. I doubt there’s even an actual role to go with this “audition.”

  The assistant stares at us with his mouth slightly open.

  Chaser steers me toward the door.

  In the hallway, I shake my head, feeling dejected and embarrassed. A complete foolish failure.

  “Sorry, babe,” Chaser says, rubbing his hand over my back.

  “I need a new agent.”

  “I don’t think that will make a difference,” Chaser mutters.

  “Probably not.”

  “You okay?” he asks once we’re inside the elevator.

  I shake my head. “I’m tired of this. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t come with me?”

  His jaw clenches, and he looks away. “If this band thing doesn’t work out, maybe I need to start up a security company for young starlets.”

  I huff out a sad little laugh. “Obviously, it’s a needed service.”

  “Hey,” he says, gently curving his hands over my shoulders and looking me in the eye. “No more auditions unless I can go with you, okay? Even calls—”

  “If I ever land another role. I’m sure I’ll be blacklisted and branded ‘difficult to work with’ any day now.”

  “Mallory, look at me. I refuse to believe someone as talented as you won’t find work.”

  His faith in me means everything. “Thank you.”

  “You’re my tough girl.” He traces his knuckles over my cheek. “When your life was turned upside down, what did you do?”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Stole a bunch of money and ran from my father’s goons?”

  He doesn’t crack a smile. “No. You took a chance and followed your dream. It took guts to come out here the way you did. Lots of people say they’re going to chase their dreams but few ever have the courage to do it.”

  “You did.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  I tap his chest. “I think that’s why people call you Chaser. Not the other reason.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “I like your version better.”

  “Call your agent,” Chaser reminds me the next morning.

  Not a conversation I’m looking forward to, but Chaser’s persistent. He’ll keep “reminding” me until I do, so I might as well get it over with.

  “Mallory, did you walk out of the meeting?” she says as soon as her secretary puts me through.

  “He moved the meeting to his hotel room, Marilyn. That’s not what I agreed to. He met me in his bathrobe and wanted me to give him a rub down.”

  “Oh, honey. He’s just a little eccentric. No one’s ever complained about him before. You probably misunderstood.”

  Misunderstood my ass.

  “The film is about a massage parlor.” She huffs. “What’s he supposed to ask you to do, tap dance?”

  I don’t appreciate her subtly pushing the blame on me. As if I’m stupid or paranoid.

  “Well, it’s not the role for me,” I insist.

  “Okay.” Her heavy sigh almost has me apologizing, but I keep my mouth shut. “I may have something else for you, but you’re going to have be a grown up and do the audition.”

  She hangs up before I have a chance to protest.

  “You can’t trust any of them,” Chaser says after I slam the phone down and explain the conversation. “Her loyalty is supposed to be to you, but she needs to stay on good terms with guys like that to find work for her other clients.”

  “You’re the only one I trust out here.” While I say “out here,” I really mean anywhere. In my whole life, I think Chaser is the only person I’ve ever trusted completely. It’s scary to put that much trust in someone not to hurt or betray you.

  He rubs his knuckles over my cheek. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever trusted.”

  Maybe for someone else that would be a red flag, but since his mother left him at such a young age, I understand why he’d be guarded.

  I want to be worthy of his trust. “I’ll always have your back, Chaser.”

  “I know, little dove.”

  He’s already sacrificed a lot to protect me. I want to have his back as much as he has mine.

  To be there for him no matter what life throws at us.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chaser

  “For fuck’s sake, Jacob, it’s almost midnight,” I grumble. “Get your shit together.”

  The fucker has the nerve to roll his eyes. He’s been insufferable since we started recording the songs Mark Cutter requested.

  First, it took him a week to agree to the songs he wanted to present to Cutter.

&nbs
p; Every day since, he’s either shown up late or shows up drunk. Sometimes, if we’re really lucky, he’s both.

  “What’s your problem, man? You know I create better in the midnight hours.” He flaps his hands in the air like a deranged bird and spins in a circle. “We all do. Always have.”

  Great, guess tonight he’s high instead of drunk.

  Plus, that’s not actually true. Usually, the four of us in a room together, no matter what time of day, jump starts our creativity. Especially when our record company is paying for studio time and breathing down our necks. We’ve always worked well under pressure.

  “Listen,” Garrett says, trying to be the voice of reason since it’s obvious I’m about five seconds from choking Jacob. “Maybe we should go. Let you have some solitude to lay down your vocals.”

  “No, no, no. I need you guys here. We’re supposed to record together. Our sound requires it.”

  Everyone groans. The rest of us have been here since noon. Jacob didn’t bother to show up until after seven. I’m the only one who has to be up at six to take Mallory for a casting call.

  “Are you good with the lyrics now?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I might mess with that one verse.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I grumble, shaking my head. I’m going to kill this motherfucker tonight. I stalk out of the room and down the hallway.

  “What’s the problem, Chaser?” our sound engineer Joe asks.

  “Nothing. We’ve just been at this all fucking day and haven’t gotten dick accomplished.”

  He shrugs. “It happens. All you creative genius types are a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah, well, I have to be up early.”

  “You shouldn’t be working right now. Didn’t the record company give you an advance?”

  Yeah, we’d each been handed fat checks. Not got-it-made money but definitely both-feet-out-of-the-gutter money. Most of it I plan to spend on buying Mallory a car.

  “I’m not working. I’m pissed, though. We’ve been at this twelve hours a day for multiple days and have fuck-all to show for it.”

  He cocks his head as if he doesn’t believe that’s the whole story.

  “And my girlfriend has an audition in the morning I need to take her to.”

  “Ah, I understand. Now that I can help you out with.”

  Not sure how he plans to help me out. Don’t have a chance to ask either. “Chaser! Let’s go. He’s ready!” Alvin shouts.

  Seems all of a sudden Jacob’s feeling “inspired” and ready to do his fucking job.

  I get my third, or is it fourth, wind and get to work.

  For the next four hours, we play steadily, and by four a.m., we actually have something close to a finished song.

  I’m ready to fall down. Alvin and Garrett aren’t looking much better. Jacob’s the only one hopped up and ready to keep going.

  “Can’t, bro. We got someone else coming in and need the space. It’s yours again after two,” Joe informs us.

  Jacob pouts, but can’t argue with him.

  On my way out, Joe hands me a small vial. “That should help get you through the day,” he says.

  Normally, I’d answer with a “no thanks.” Working with Andrew had gotten me way more familiar with cocaine than I ever planned. I started to develop an unhealthy appetite for the shit.

  I’ve been around enough coke in my life to know it’s something I should avoid. Christ, I can practically ski in the stuff back home. Snorting the family business up my nose always seemed like a dangerous habit to get into.

  Yet, here I am thousands of miles from home and so damn tired.

  A little pick-me-up for a few days won’t hurt. I did it before and everything turned out fine. I can do it again. Then I’ll never touch the stuff. “Thanks.”

  I shove the tiny container in my pocket and head home to my girl.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mallory

  “Wake me fifteen minutes before you’re ready to leave,” Chaser mumbles as he crawls into bed with me.

  I crack open one eye and stare at the clock. I need to be up in less than two hours. I hate like hell waking him up when he just got home. But he’ll be more upset if I go without him.

  “Okay,” I whisper, but he’s already asleep.

  I wake about a minute before my alarm’s about to go off. I flick the switch and take a look at Chaser’s peaceful expression one more time before getting ready.

  The scent of coffee lures him into the kitchen fifteen minutes later.

  “I was going to let you sleep a little longer,” I say, handing him a cup.

  He yawns and scratches his hand over his stomach, drawing my attention to the trail of dark hair disappearing under his unbuttoned jeans. God, he’s a beautiful, beautiful man.

  “How’d it go last night?”

  “Shitty until about midnight when Jacob finally found his inspiration.”

  From what I’ve overheard the guys saying, Jacob has been increasingly difficult during the recording process, so this doesn’t surprise me.

  We hurry through our morning routine. Chaser is sluggish, until right before we leave, when he ducks into the bathroom for a few seconds.

  “All right, babe. Let’s go,” he barks, slapping me on the ass.

  “Hey,” I squeal. “Save that for when I actually get the part.”

  He leans down and growls in my ear. “You bet I will.”

  We’re playful like that all the way downstairs.

  At the audition, he walks me inside.

  Once he’s convinced it’s legit, he nods. “I’ll be waiting right outside if you need me.”

  I reach up and give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

  I’m really not sure what I would do without him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chaser

  In a matter of weeks, my passion for jamming with my band has been replaced with a passion for cramming tons of powder up my nose.

  We were only supposed to be in the studio for a couple of days. Not a lot of time to record an album, but plenty of time to record the demos we need to give Cutter.

  With Jacob showing up late and high almost every day, our schedule keeps getting pushed back. There’s a ton of pressure from the label to finish a new album, get it mixed, and get it into stores. None of which can happen until we get these demos done.

  “Should we look for someone besides Cutter?” Alvin asks while we’re waiting for Jacob to finish his time taking a “steam bath” to help his throat.

  “Why? If he can’t get his shit together now, how’s he going to be when we’re actually recording the album?”

  “Good point.” Alvin stubs out his cigarette and stares at the control board. “We’re so close.”

  That’s what makes it all the more frustrating.

  Val isn’t thrilled with us, either. We’re making her look bad. Like she can’t control us—which she never could, I don’t know why anyone thought otherwise.

  While we’re slowly grinding out the demos, Mallory’s career rockets ahead, leaving me burning both ends. I’m still not letting her go to appointments by herself. No fucking way.

  This means I’m shoving increasingly larger quantities of powder up my nose just to function. I try not to dwell on what a cranky asshole it’s turning me into.

  It’s only temporary.

  “Can you talk to him, Garrett?”

  “Bro, I tried. Maybe we should pack it in for the day and try again tomorrow. He’s not feeling it today.”

  “None of us are feeling it right now, but we need to stop screwing off and get this done.” I’m really sick of all the excuses Garrett makes for Jacob.

  To top off our shitty afternoon, Andrew stops by the studio, not looking much better than the rest of us.

  He motions for me to follow him into the parking lot out back where he lights a cigarette and paces over the crumbling asphalt. “How’s Mallory?”

  Did he really come all the way down here to ask about
my girlfriend? “She’s fine. Why?”

  He shrugs. “Haven’t seen you two in a while. Was wondering if you split.”

  “Fuck no. Not happening.”

  “Cool.” He takes a long drag and blows out a thick stream of smoke. “So, what’s going on, Chaser?”

  “With?”

  “Dude, I went out on a limb.” He waves his cigarette at the studio. “Talked you up to Cutter. You wait much longer and you won’t be able to finish an album before we go on tour.”

  I hold out my arms, palms to the sky. “I’m trying. We’ve got three songs ready to go.” I really don’t want to throw Jacob into the fire, but Andrew has a point. He stuck his neck out for us and we’re making him look bad.

  “That’s good.” He stops pacing. “Be straight with me. Is it Jacob?”

  I shake my head and look away. “Don’t—”

  “That’s cool. I respect that. I don’t know what to tell you. If it was your bass player, I’d say swap him out. But it’s nearly impossible to replace your lead singer. Fuck knows we tried with Kyle,” he mutters.

  Shit, there’s a piece of gossip I’ve never read in L.A. Weekly.

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I didn’t see this coming.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ve been there. Biggest thing is that you guys get yourselves ready for the tour. I need you rock solid. Our fan bases overlap. It won’t be like opening up for Bloody Revolver or Shooting Fences where half the audience is old enough to be your parents.”

  “Uh—”

  “I’m being real with you. In two or three years, I want to see you where we are right now. Headlining your own tour and taking out some other young, hungry band on the road.”

  My paranoid danger barometer’s pinging like crazy at Andrew’s calm, rational demeanor. “Thanks.”

  “Now,” he flicks his cigarette away and shoves his hands in his pockets, “the real reason I’m here.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t to give me the dad speech?”

  “No, fuckhead.” He hands me a baggie of coke, as if we’re not standing outside in the fading evening sun.