Playing With Fire (Grindstone Harbor, #2)

by Cat Mason

  “Are you trying to be funny?” she huffs, sounding more pissy than usual.

  “Me?” I ask, pacing at the foot of my bed. “I’m simply attempting to open the lines of communication. I can be funny if you need me to be, I guess. Although, I feel like your face may crack like a china doll if you smiled.”

  “Honestly, Quinn, this is serious,” she begins, stating the obvious. “Do you have any idea the repercussions your actions today have caused?”

  “I do, actually, but I’m dying to hear you rant about it.” Sitting down on the edge of the window seat, I take off my shoes and settle in. “I just hope I made enough popcorn.”

  “The call you so rudely tried to have my assistant interrupt was with Mr. Logan Boyer, CEO of Frayed Edge Records and most importantly, your boss.”

  “I know who he is,” I explain, reminding her I’m not stupid.

  “Well, you should also know he has called an emergency meeting of the board first thing in the morning and expects me to have a complete plan of attack on how to spin this mess without managing to let it become another AWOL media catastrophe like we have had in months past.” She exhales harshly, deeply laced with disgust and irritation. “I never should have allowed the lot of you to stay in Michigan. At least in California, I could keep you under my thumb and off YouTube.”

  “Under your thumb?” I ground out, throwing my shoe as hard as I can at my closed bedroom door. “Lady, you never allowed shit. Not once did Bristol ask you for permission. I sat beside her while she laid that shit out during your Skype call. In case you’ve forgotten, that was after you fucking reckless idiots leaked info to the public that nearly got both her and Tanner killed. You should be on your knees thanking all that’s fucking holy they didn’t decide to sue both you and the label,” I seethe, wishing I was in California right now, in her office, where I could punch her in the throat. “I sure as hell would have.”

  “Speaking of Tanner.” My entire body goes rigid the moment his name leaves her lips. “Is what the two of you said on the video true? Are you pregnant?”

  “That’s none of your damned business, Vicki. Bonding with you isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

  “It actually is my business,” she argues, her voice eerily calm. “There have been photos of you and Evan popping up all over the place this past summer. The two of you have been linked romantically for some time now. Those current photos are now fueling rumors of a rekindling romance between the two of you. Adding to that, there’s now this video of Tanner saying you’re pregnant, with you referring to him as Baby Daddy shortly thereafter. Congratulations, Quinn. You successfully managed to point all the focus on you and the love triangle you allowed yourself to be painted into. Instead of on the music, where it belongs. The tabloid hounds are going to pounce on this like a pack of rabid dogs on a wounded animal.”

  “I feel like all of your aggression and hostility toward me is counterproductive,” I inform her. “Whatever you have against all of us isn’t going to help shit right now. In case you forgot, I called you. The idea behind that is to figure out what needs to be done on my part to help with damage control. Believe it or not, I do care about the effect this has on the band and our career.”

  “Fine,” she sighs loudly. “What I need is for you to explain the situation with Tanner Hewitt and Evan Pahl, that way I can figure out how to lay it out for Mr. Boyer and the board.”

  “This is about Tanner and E?” I ask, attempting to piece it all together in my head. “Not the people at Happy Shack?”

  “It goes hand in hand,” she explains, her tone flat. “People are going to want answers, Quinn. Mr. Boyer and myself included. It also goes without saying that you have to swallow your pride and formally apologize for your behavior at the restaurant. It needs to be a public statement that we can release to the press immediately. That’s non-negotiable I’m afraid. Can you handle that, sweetcheeks?” she grounds out, throwing my pet name of choice back at me. “Or do I need to draw pictures on a children’s placemat in crayon in order for you to fully comprehend?”

  “If underestimating my intelligence or writing us all off as people ignorant in the ways of the world is what you think you should do, then I feel very sorry for you. That’s a very lonely and unhappy life you must lead,” I reply sweetly. “I’m also more than capable of laying it out point by point for you, but how much information I give you will be on my terms. I will also do that in the most polite and professional manner, much like you do for us. Although, I should probably warn you, I’m not quite as good with the condescending tone as you are. Apparently, we all have our strengths and that isn’t one of mine.” Relaxing back against the corner of the seat, I prop my feet up on the edge of the vanity stool. “First of all, I didn’t refer to Tanner as Baby Daddy. I think because of how the press tends to skew things, and the way you tend to erupt over those moments of confusion and exaggeration, it’s important we get the facts and terminology straight from the jump, ‘mkay? I referred to Tanner as Maybe Daddy. Bristol came up with the snazzy nickname when I divulged the pregnancy to him and I feel like it works well when referencing the situation. As for who I’m fucking or dating, for that matter, I won’t be discussing that with you unless I feel the topic requires your input. Which it doesn’t. I will, however, take this time to inform you that I’ll do what I want, when I want, within the parameters of the law and my own ability. That in no way, shape, or form involves a love triangle between two people that I care about deeply. I’m not a person to actively seek attention or approval from anyone. That’s not who I am, Vicki, and had you taken the time to ever get to know any of us during one of your famous bitch sessions, you’d know that. In reference to the photos of Evan and me that you’ve mentioned; Evan Pahl is our security. Beyond that, he’s a very close friend and has been that for considerably longer than we’ve been signed with the label. Being that you follow my hookups, and potential love interests like an uninvited shadow, you also know that’s a hell of a lot longer than we spent together as a couple. He’s been photographed with every member of AWOL. Frequently. Being that since his job is to stay close and keep us protected it’s safe to say that will continue to happen.” Taking a moment to catch my breath, I go in for the kill. “Now that I’ve put that all out there for you, and we’ve eliminated most of your areas of concern rather quickly, I’m really hoping you can explain what’s really tweaked your ass about this whole mess? I sure as hell don’t hear you getting bent out of shape over how anyone has insinuated that he’s spending time in bed with Bristol because they’re photographed together.”

  “Quinn,” she snaps, trying to interrupt me.

  “Which they are,” I continue as if she hasn’t spoken. “Often. In case you forgot, Bristol and E spent time here alone this past summer and yet no one went off the rails calling them the next ‘it’ couple. You, of all people, should know that people are going to read into a well angled or cropped off photo of whatever the fuck they want. I can’t change that, neither can you, and it’s not our job to write them a story to go with every one of those shots they manage to snap, simply because my career choice has placed me in the spotlight from time to time. I didn’t give over control of my entire life to you when I signed on Boyer’s dotted line.”

  “And your temper tantrum in the restaurant?” she challenges. “What exactly should we read into that?”

  “It wasn’t a tantrum,” I hiss through gritted teeth. Dropping my feet to the floor, I stand. “It was an overreaction to a bitchy cashier on a power trip. Happens to people all the time. It’s not like I killed someone.”

  “I want all of you on a plane by the end of the week,” she blurts. “I will be telling Mr. Boyer that the best course of action is for the album to be finished here in L.A.”

  “You guys vote on that and let me know what the final count is.” Sitting at the vanity, I check my makeup in the mirror. “I’ll follow your lead and call one of my own with Bristol and the guys. I’m interested to see what
they have to say about you playing Vicki the Bitchtator. I highly doubt they’ll be rushing to bow to your every command either. Permissions and payment have already been granted to finish the album here in Michigan.”

  “You want to think about what you do next very carefully, Quinn,” she warns, her tone giving away her lack of patience. “What Mr. Boyer and the board decide is final. If after you discuss amongst yourselves you should choose to ignore that, you may find yourself in violation of the contracts each of you signed when you were picked up by Frayed Edge Records. Being in breach of those terms would cost you and the entire band everything all of you have worked for. Don’t flush everything you have accomplished as a group, or your potential future successes, down the toilet because of your inability to keep things civil during our communications. It’s time the lot of you grow up and act your age, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not exactly convinced the problem is one-sided here, Vick.” Yanking the phone away from my ear, I glare at it, as if that could explain why I want to reach through that phone and choke her out. Putting it back to my ear, I roll my eyes when she continues her tirade.

  “I don’t get paid enough, nor do I have the time to coddle an inflated ego. You are not children, therefore I refuse to sugar coat what has to be said,” she continues. “The world does not revolve around you and there are other talented members of this label that I could be devoting my time and attention to, instead of cleaning up your constant messes. Being that we are leveling with each other, I should also disclose that while you consider yourselves a family, and most find that charming and endearing, I am not most people. Everyone is replaceable, Quinn. Especially in the music industry.” I can hear papers rustling on the other end of the line, along with another one of her frustrated sighs. “AWOL has caused the label a lot of undue stress and money over the last few months. At some point we have to begin questioning whether continuing this business relationship as it stands is worth the inconvenience it brings.”

  “Inconvenience?” I ground out, willing myself to calm down before I say or do something that will indeed fuck up everything we have poured our blood, sweat and tears into for more years that Victoria Brandwell can begin to comprehend. She doesn’t know anything about us or the work we put into every lyric, note, song, or performance. “Not exactly the adjective I’d have chosen, but that’s your prerogative.”

  “For reasons that are not important, I don’t like you. I have made this clear on numerous occasions and have no reason to pretend otherwise, but my position on this specific topic isn’t personal,” she replies in a clipped tone. “This is business, plain and simple. I have personally been asked by Mr. Boyer to pull together information from all sides of this situation and present what I feel is ultimately best for the label for deliberation.” Just when I think she’s finished, she clears her throat. “A little piece of advice, Miss, Baker. For every spoiled diva that thinks they are untouchable, there are plenty of talented musicians lined up, waiting to take their place. If I were you, I would spend my time reflecting on your past mistakes and hope Mr. Boyer doesn’t feel the same as I do. Not that anyone would blame him, personally.” She clicks her tongue and I can hear her smile. “The blame will be laid where it is due. On you. Goodbye, Miss Baker.”

  “Dammit!” Losing my cool, I spin around on the vanity seat, push to my feet and chuck my phone at the wall, not giving a damn when it lands face up on the floor, screen shattered all to shit.

  Stomping across the room to the dresser, I stare at myself in the mirror, angry at myself for being so upset and letting Vicki get to me. A scream tears from my chest. With both hands, I fling everything stacked on top of the dresser onto the floor. Makeup pallets, brushes, perfumes and lotions slide across the hardwood, some disappearing under the bed. There is a tap at the door at the same time I kick a bottle of honey vanilla lotion across the room. “What?” I shout, glaring at the door, ready to take my frustrations out on it next.

  The knob twists, door opening slowly before Tanner’s head peeks in. “Hey. Brought you up a candy bar.” Surveying the scene, his eyes widen. “Whatcha doin’?”

  Hands on my hips, I pin him with a glare. “Redecorating the room since I can’t rearrange Vicki’s face with my fists.”

  His lips twitch as he fights a smile, eyes dropping to the floor, widening slightly when he sees my destroyed phone on the floor. Pushing open the door the rest of the way, he leans against the doorjamb, legs crossing at his ankles, his trademark sexy smirk sliding into place. “Looks like your phone call went well.”

  “What do you th—” My eyes drop to the beer in his hand, then roll so hard it nearly makes me dizzy. “Ugh. Men. They drop the dick on you, knock you up with their spawn, and the kick in the twat to that shit is they get off while getting none of the consequences or restrictions that go along with carrying the little vaginal wrecking ball.”

  “What?” he blurts, following my line of sight.

  “Nothing,” I mutter, not wanting to fight about something so stupid. My hormones are going fucking haywire and Tanner doesn’t deserve to feel the brunt of that insanity. Hell, I don’t want to feel any of it either. “Shit. I didn’t mean that.” Stepping closer to him, I press a hand to his chest. Blinking back the tears I refuse to let fall, I look up at him through my lashes. “Vicki set me off and you were just lucky enough to be within firing range.”

  His brown eyes soften, free hand coming up to cup my jaw, pad of his thumb lightly stroking my cheek. “Baby.” The word is soft, so sweet that it makes my knees weak and my stomach flutter. Sliding his beer onto the dresser, he snakes his arm around me, hauling me against his body. His nose is in my hair, breathing me in, and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing into him and letting the hormones take over.

  “Tanner.” Pressing my cheek to his chest, I wrap my arms around his middle, sighing contently. “If you make me cry right now, I will punch you in the balls.” He gives me a squeeze, his body shaking with silent laughter. “I’ll bring every one of you up to speed on all things Vicki the Bitchtator. Right now, I just need this,” I breathe, letting my eyes fall closed. “And maybe that candy bar you mentioned. Especially if it’s dark chocolate.”

  “Quinn.” Giving me another squeeze, he presses his lips to my ear. “Whatever you need from me, any time you fucking need it, it’s yours.” Pulling back, he traces the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “And so am I.”

  Opening my eyes to meet his, my lips part. “What I need right now is you.” The words rush out of me so fast it makes me lightheaded. “Just give me you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cute

  Quinn

  “Babe.” Leaning in close, Tanner sighs, his warmth surrounding me. “That I can fuckin’ do.”

  Hauling me up onto my toes, he brings his mouth down on mine. Sucking my bottom lip, he bites down, making me whimper with need. His hands go to my thighs, hoisting me off my ground and urging my legs around his waist. Bringing one hand up to fist my hair, he tugs until my lips part for him. “Beautiful.” Laying me back on the bed, he releases me long enough to tear my shirt over my head and toss it away, before doing the same with his own. Dropping a knee to the mattress, he settles himself between my legs, his eyes raking over my body hungrily. Leaning in, he braces himself on his forearm to run his nose along mine. “You good?” he whispers, brushing the hair from my face.

  “I will be,” my reply comes out breathy and laced with need. “As soon as you get naked.”

  He chuckles softly. Sliding his hand between our bodies, he pops the button on my shorts and tugs down the zipper. “Ladies come first,” he purrs, lips finding my ear. “Bend your knees, baby,” he purrs, lips finding my ear. “Feet flat on the mattress and lift that ass for me.”

  “Bossy ass,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

  “Quinn, I’ve spent months thinkin’ about how sweet your pussy tasted on my tongue,” he explains, sending another shiver down my spine. “Dying to bury my f
ace between your legs and taste what I do to you.” Cupping me, he grinds his palm against my clit, arching his brow in challenge. “You good with that, babe, or do I need to bring my hand down on that gorgeous ass first and show you who’s boss?”

  “Decisions, decisions,” I mutter with a wink, before shifting onto my elbows.

  Tanner sits back on his heels, giving me a minimal amount of space. Being that I enjoy the hell out of the bossy side of him, and am very much a fan of his face between my thighs, I do exactly what he asked. Sliding his hands up my legs, his eyes darken. “Good girl.” His tone is thick and smooth like warm honey. My stomach flips, a rush of anticipation coursing through me with those two simple words. The tips of his fingers brush over my skin when he hooks the waistband of my shorts, taking my panties with them as he pulls them free of my body. Spreading my legs wide, he leans in and kisses his way up the inside of my thigh.

  “Oh God.” My head falls back against the mattress, eyes fluttering closed on a low moan.

  “Are you praying?” he chuckles, his heated breath rushing over my skin.

  “Isn’t that what people do when they’re being tortured?” I hiss, my hands fisting the sheets.

  He smiles against my skin, then traces his tongue slowly up my inner thigh, stopping just above my clit. “This isn’t torture, baby,” he says, nipping playfully with his teeth. I cry out, my hips bucking upward. “It’s fuckin’ heaven.”