by Erika Kelly
Flashlights lit up the pool area in broad sweeps. Cassian whipped around to find police spreading out across the patio. A big, burly officer shined a light right at his chest.
“Cassian Ellis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is this your party?”
Oh, fuck.
Gigi Cavanaugh shut off the mic so the recording engineer couldn’t hear her and turned to her bandmates. “You guys, this isn’t working. Let’s just do what they want, okay? Play it as it’s written.”
At this point, no one seemed to care that the record label was running out of patience. They’d outgrown the band, and each wanted to put her own imprint on the songs.
“What’s written sucks,” the drummer said.
Gigi got it—she really did. “Yeah, well, our platinum records say differently.” She tried for a smile, but she just wanted to finish this third and final album of their contract.
“I’m hardly changing anything.” The bass player sounded like a belligerent teenager. “Besides, you know my riffs are better.”
Gigi glanced through the window to find the producer watching. This looks so bad, fighting in front of him. She poked her head out of the sound booth. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”
“Christ.” He threw off his headphones and shoved back his wheeled chair.
She led the way out. Two of her bandmates collapsed into the chairs the producer and sound engineer had just vacated, and one flipped the lid of the cooler and fished out a seltzer.
All brusque energy, their producer whirled on them at the door. “You’ve got two minutes to pull yourselves together.” He let his eyelids fall closed for a moment, trying to calm himself. “We’re out of time. You understand that, right? You get that if we don’t finish this album, you’re not only killing your reputation, but you’re killing mine.”
“Yes,” Gigi said. “We get it. We’ll do better.” She gave him an encouraging smile, but he wasn’t buying it. She didn’t blame him. The moment he and the sound engineer walked out, she turned to her bandmates. “Guys, nothing’s changed since they first signed us. They write the songs, and we play them. And, literally, as soon as this album’s done, we’re free to go off and pursue our own things.”
“We’re artists.” Tanya, the youngest in the group at twenty-four, had changed the most over their eight years together. She’d gone from an eager and malleable sixteen-year-old to a Patti Smith wanna-be. “We’re supposed to put our stamp on the songs.”
“Well, that’s the thing. We’re not supposed to do that.” It seemed insane that Gigi had to explain this to them yet again. “We have to meet our contractual obligations.”
“But we’re making it sound better,” the bass player said. “We don’t need to embarrass ourselves with this bubblegum crap anymore.”
“If it’s so embarrassing, you shouldn’t have signed the second contract.” Their first record had gone platinum, and they’d toured the world with it. So, of course, Gigi had re-upped when the label had offered a two-record deal. And, yeah, it was embarrassing. But it was a stepping stone. “And that crap not only made us rich, but it gave us tremendous fame. It’s given us a platform.” Fear bit into her jugular. She didn’t believe a word of it. She was a Lollipop. She’d have to fight like hell to reinvent herself. It wouldn’t be easy, but she couldn’t wait to get out there and start trying.
But, to do that, she needed to meet the terms of the contract.
“Fine. Whatever.” Tanya headed to the door. “Let’s just finish it.”
“Wait,” Gigi said. “Don’t let them back in until we all agree to play the music as it’s written.”
“This is so stupid,” the keyboard player said. “I’m not even changing anything. I’m just giving the songs more of an edge. That’s all.”
“But our label doesn’t want edge,” Gigi said. They’d signed with the Hallmark Channel’s version of record companies. “There’s no wiggle room here. Okay?” She looked at the others.
“Fine,” Tanya said.
“Whatever,” the bass player said.
“Great. I’ll get Harry.”
“Let me go to the bathroom first,” the bass player said.
Gigi wanted to say, Oh, no, you don’t. You are not getting high. But, just as the woman reached for the door, it swung open.
In strode the owner of Clean Beatz, followed by the producer and sound engineer. Their grim expressions made her stomach plummet.
Gigi flipped on a big grin. “Hey, guys. We just took a break, and we’re ready to get back to work.”
In her pink and white-striped cardigan, the owner, Dale Hopkins, looked deceptively sweet, like a TV mom from a Sixties comedy show.
“Ladies, have a seat.” Dale’s tone invited no argument. She tapped her knuckles on the recording mixer, as she waited for everyone to find a place to sit. “You guys knocked it out of the park on that first album. The second one was a little tougher, but we did it. We created something we can be proud of. But this third album isn’t working, and I’m not okay with that.”
“We know, and we’ve just had a conversation,” Gigi said. “We’re all on the same page now.”
“I don’t know why you always have to speak for us,” Tanya said. “You’re not the leader.”
Gigi shot her a look that said, Not now.
“We hired you for one specific reason.” Dale ignored them both. “And that’s to perform the songs we’ve given you. It was an opportunity any aspiring musician would be grateful for.”
Was? Did she just say was? “We are grateful, and we’re going to play the music just as you want,” Gigi said.
“Really?” Dale said. “Because I’ve heard the tracks.” She gave Gigi an accusing look. “You’ve rewritten the lyrics.”
Heat flooded her. She hadn’t thought anyone would notice. “No, no. I tweaked them a little, that’s all.” She hadn’t changed the meaning of the songs…she’d just…
She’d wanted to make the songs better. Less embarrassing.
And now she just felt stupid. She’d berated the others for doing exactly the same thing. For some reason, she’d thought Dale would appreciate the better wording.
Dale turned to the other women. “In addition to recording the songs you’ve been given, you had one other requirement, and that was to have faultless reputations.”
She dropped a gossip magazine on the mixing console. A collage of images covered the centerfold spread. A topless woman stood on a yacht. In some, an older man had his arms around her. The woman was young, slender, black hair…
A sickening feeling took hold.
“I didn’t know he was married,” the keyboard player said.
Oh, God. This isn’t happening.
Dale’s razor-cut silver bob shook with anger. “You had the world at your fingertips, and you took it all for granted. I’m deeply disappointed in your behavior.”
Gigi had no idea how to salvage this situation. Drugs, adultery… Even if she could get her bandmates to finish the record, she couldn’t fix their bad behavior. It was a clear breach of contract.
“Dale, I’m so grateful—”
The label owner gave her a pointed look. “If you were grateful, you wouldn’t have changed the lyrics. Ladies, if I didn’t have a tour booked, if I didn’t have marketing ready to go and outlets waiting to get their hands on the merchandise, I would release all of you and walk away. But I do have commitments. And this album is going to drop. It’s just going to be late, because...” She cut a hard look to the bass player. “You’re going to rehab.”
Everyone sucked in a breath. Shit just got real.
“And, while she’s away,” Dale continued. “I expect the rest of you to spend your time doing good work in the community. Whatever that means to you, I want to see you in the news for your philanthropy and not for your escapades on yachts. When Jess gets out, we’re going to finish this album, and then I’m going to be done with you.” With that, she strode out of the roo
m.
They all looked to their producer, though Gigi didn’t know why. There was nothing left to say.
“You’ve got the next thirty days to make yourselves look like the sweet, cheerful musicians she paid you to be when she formed this band,” he said. “Or, I can promise you, you’ll have a tough time finding work in this industry again.”
From his fourth-floor window in the boutique hotel in Aspen, Colorado, Cassian looked down at the paparazzi swarming like bees on the sidewalk.
How the hell had this happened? He thought he’d covered all the bases.
Luckily, the police had let him go last night. It was nothing more than a noise complaint, since they hadn’t destroyed any property.
But a photo had hit the press.
And it was bad.
Damn. “I did everything I could. Rented out the hotel, hired security.”
“Had to be someone on the staff.” Dean rubbed his fingers together. “Easy money.”
“Yeah.” Cassian glanced at his friend. “You want to pull a runner? Go down the freight elevator and out the back door? I could have a car waiting for us.” He’d meant it as a joke, but it sure sounded good.
“Don’t even think about it.” Dean came up beside him and peered down to the street. His other teammates had flown out that morning, so Cassian appreciated that his former college roommate and closest friend had stayed with him. “Coach is on his way.”
“If he’s leaving his compound to fly across the country to talk to me, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear what he has to say.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m here to tell him that.”
“Thanks, man.” Cassian swatted his shoulder blade. “Except you’re the one I’m supposed to be having threesomes with.”
“Now, when I actually have a woman I care about, you pull me into this shit?” But his friend said it with an easy tone.
Dean’s girlfriend, the princess of a European principality, might not appreciate the bad press, but she wouldn’t doubt Dean. No one would ever question Dean Maddox’s integrity. He was just that kind of guy.
“I’ve talked to the manager,” Dean said. “He’s going to look at the security footage.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and started typing. Finding the damning article, he handed it over. “The angle of the shot gives us an idea which room it was taken from.”
Cassian scanned the headline.
Has Ellis’s Linebacker been Receiving More than a Football from his QB?
A photograph captured him holding a topless Amie, both of them huddled close to Dean. It absolutely looked like the three of them were about to hook up. Given the angle, it had to have been taken from one of the rooms overlooking the pool.
Cassian gave the phone back. “I want to know who had those rooms.”
“That’s the thing.” Dean rubbed his jaw. “Our block of rooms was on the opposite side of the hotel. Amie used two of the ones overlooking the pool to store booze, shit like that. So, they were unlocked. Anyone could’ve gotten in them.”
“You think it was one of the guys?” The betrayal sliced him wide open. Six years ago, Cassian had been drafted to replace the league’s most beloved quarterback. Tough act to follow. That first season, the fans had actually booed when he’d jogged onto the field. It had taken a championship ring to win them over.
His teammates had taken a little longer, but after a couple years of treating them to extravagant vacations and parties, he’d won their loyalty, too. Or he’d thought he had.
If one of them had taken this shot and leaked it…that would suck.
“Why?” Dean asked. “What would be in it for them?”
“Well, for Xander, my position.” His backup quarterback had an attitude towards him. A Heisman trophy winner, Alexander Wilder thought he was God’s gift to football. He was good—obviously, or the Mavericks wouldn’t have drafted him—but he still had plenty to learn. He just didn’t realize it.
“What about Amie?”
He let that sit for a minute. She’d been on the NFL Cheerleaders reality TV show for three seasons before being kicked off. He knew she wanted to get back on, and what better way than being involved with football players?
“Doesn’t make much sense.” When she’d gotten cut, Cassian had hired her to run his camp. She was damn good at it. Organized, efficient, and great with the kids. “It’s a big risk. If she’s caught dating a player, she’s off the squad. No squad, no TV show. And I’d obviously fire her, so then what would she have?”
“True.”
“And she’s got a serious boyfriend.”
A knock on the door set Cassian’s heart racing. Sick with worry, he wanted nothing more than his coach’s respect—his team’s respect—and yet he kept winding up in the tabloids.
When Dean started for the door, Cassian tapped his shoulder. I got it.
My problem to deal with. But, on the other side, instead of Coach, he found a dejected Amie. “Hey.” She wheeled her suitcase in. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did this.”
Dean’s body went hard. “Did what?”
She glanced up at him, confused. “Got so drunk that I stripped in front of the guys?” She gave a pleading look to Cassian. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I never drink like that.”
True. She didn’t. “Hey, you’re entitled to let loose any way you want. The whole point of renting out the hotel was so we wouldn’t have this problem.”
Eyes glittering with unshed tears, she stepped into his arms. “You’re the best.”
Always careful not to mislead, he gently pushed her back. “Have you heard from Steve?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she swiped them away with a thumb. “No. He’s not speaking to me. He asked me not to go on this trip. Said it’s one thing to run the camp, but to party with the guys is totally crossing the line. He said, ‘Reverse the situation. What if I went on a trip with a bunch of women from my office? How would you feel about that?’ I’m like, this is my job. I work with these guys. I would never jeopardize my job by sleeping with one of them.” She tipped her head back and groaned. “I’m never getting that drunk again.”
“Coach is going to be here any minute,” Dean said. “Best if you’re not around.”
Her eyes went wide. “Do you think I’ll get fired?”
“It’s possible,” Dean said.
“If it comes to that,” Cassian said. “We’ll fight for you. Your contract says you can’t date a player. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with us.”
She nodded. “I promise I won’t get drunk during camp. I’m not going to let you down.”
“You never have,” Cassian said.
She gave him a sad smile before walking out the door.
“I don’t think it was her.” Cassian jammed his hands in his pockets. “It was either Xander or someone who works for the hotel.”
A hard knock sent a sting of adrenaline through him. This time, Dean opened it. “Coach.”
The energy in the room went electric as the big, burly man powered into the suite with a sour expression. Coach Dan Hathaway, a former college wide receiver, gave a chin nod to Dean. “Give us a minute.”
His friend glanced at Cassian, assessing him, before heading out.
Cut him off at the pass. “I’m sorry you had to fly all the way out here, but—”
“No.” Coach cast a glance down at his bright, white sneakers and shook his head, the palm of his hand rasping against his day-old scruff. “I’m talking.” He sighed, all weary and put-out. “You’re young, you’re having fun. I get that.”
Strangely, those words gave Cassian a jolt. Young and fun.
He didn’t feel young. And fun?
Am I having fun? He’d honestly never thought about it before. His life played in fast-forward mode. He was either training or playing or entertaining his guys.
“But you’re the leader of this team.” His expression went hard. “And you’re embarrassing the fr
anchise.”
The words shot his knees out from under him. The blow left him staggering. An embarrassment? Jesus, that was the opposite of what he wanted.
He wanted to make Coach proud.
Even worse, what did Tyler Cavanaugh think? Did he regret wasting time on some party animal like Cassian Ellis?
It hurt to breathe.
But then…hang on a second. What had he done wrong? “My guys give up six weeks in their off-season to coach at my camp. These trips are my way of thanking them for helping me out. And I did everything I could to ensure our privacy.” He started to get a little pissed off. “But, also—and I shouldn’t have to say this because my sex life is nobody’s business—I didn’t have a threesome.” He couldn’t jeopardize Amie’s position on the squad, so he had to be careful what he revealed about last night. Coach didn’t need to know she’d been stripping for the guys. “Amie almost fell off the diving board, and I caught her. Dean handed me a towel. That’s it.”
“You think I flew across the country to talk about a party? I’m running a football team here. And, while you’re on my roster, I expect you to represent that damn team. You’re in the news all the time—and not for your plays or your throwing arm or the way you lead on the turf, but for being the Bad Boy Quarterback.” Hands on hips, he watched Cassian for a moment, that barrel chest pumping hard. “This is going to stop.”
“Yeah, okay.” What could he say? Coach was right. “I’ll find out who took the picture. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“That’s not…I don’t care who took the damn picture.” He lifted his arms in exasperation and let them drop to his sides. “You don’t get it. Starting now, I don’t want you in the news for anything other than your plays and your good deeds in the community.”
“Well, that’s a problem, because I don’t want to exploit my camp. And, no matter what you see in the tabloids, I don’t do anything reckless.” He could see Coach’s growing frustration. But he didn’t know what the man expected him to do. The last scandal involved a model screaming at him on the sidewalk outside a restaurant. He’d had no control over that. After spending a total of two hours with her a year ago, they’d gone their separate ways. They’d never exchanged numbers. There had been zero expectations.