Anything You Need (Cataclysm Book 1)

by Jerica MacMillan

  I run my hands through my hair, irritated. “Yeah, Aaron. I’m fucking serious. You have all day today. And you know we’ll be in the studio for more than one day. It’s not like we have to get everything down tomorrow. You’ve memorized harder stuff in this much time. Your part’s not that hard, so I’m not sure why you’re being such a whiny bitch about it.”

  Aaron slams his coffee cup down on the table, standing so fast that his chair shoots out behind him.

  Danny gets up from his place, one hand on Aaron’s chest but his eyes on me. “Easy, guys. If you get in a fistfight, we won’t be recording shit tomorrow, either our existing list or anything new that we may or may not have time to learn today.”

  Picking up the sheet music off the table, Aaron tosses the handful of papers in my direction, making them flutter all over the floor. “Fuck you, asshole. I know you’re still pissed about Kendra, but I’m tired of you taking it out on all of us.”

  “Not today, man,” Danny mutters.

  Aaron shoves his hand away, his glare mutinous. “Why the fuck not? I’m sick of this shit. Aren’t you? What about you, Mason?”

  Mason holds up his free hand and takes a sip of his coffee. “Leave me out of this, dude. I’m not touching anything about this today.”

  Crossing his arms, Aaron lifts his chin. “What’s so fucking special about today?”

  Blaire, our assistant, dressed in a tiny tank top and itty bitty shorts like she just got out of bed, crosses the room to him, holding out a newspaper folded into quarters, the important bit of news facing up.

  Clenching my hands into fists, I turn away. Not wanting to see the paper. Not wanting to see the pity on everyone’s faces when Aaron reads it.

  I know what it is. What it says.

  It’s the announcement of Kendra’s engagement to Mitchell the douchebag.

  I guess that’s what she meant about her family having expectations.

  My money isn’t good enough. My background isn’t good enough. Mitchell’s father is retiring and they want to consolidate the company under the next generation before Kendra’s dad steps down as well.

  It all makes so much sense on paper, even though I know it’s not what Kendra wants.

  It can’t be.

  “Fuck, man.” When he speaks next, his voice is full of sympathy, but still laced with irritation. “I’m sorry.” The distinct slap and slide of the paper on the lacquered wood of the table lets me know he’s tossed it down. “But seriously? You want to add a new song onto this album? It has to be now? We can’t hold onto it for the next one?”

  Jaw clenched to match my hands, I jerk my head to the side once. “No. I need it to be on this one. It fits this album. I’ve already gotten the green light from Jeff. I promise it’s not hard. I don’t think it’ll be necessary, but we can always schedule an extra recording session if we need to.”

  Muttering from all three guys greets my declaration. They’re not happy to have me shoving a new song down their throats. I can’t blame them, if I put myself in their shoes. But right now, I don’t give a flying fuck.

  Blaire, ever the peacekeeper, pipes up. “Well, if Jeff’s already given the green light, I guess you guys better get started. How about you take the morning to learn your parts. Meet back here for lunch at noon, then you can rehearse for an hour or two.”

  When I glance back around, she’s sliding one hand down Aaron’s chest and reaching for Mason with the other, affection clear on all their faces. “You guys can do this. You know you can. You’re just mad about how it’s being presented.”

  Even Danny’s face is softer, and he was the one keeping Aaron from breaking my nose.

  She steps closer to Aaron and wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her head to his chest and giving a little squeeze. “You know Marcus is in a bad place, though,” she whispers, but it’s more of a stage whisper, so I hear every word. “Just do him a solid on this one. I’ll be sure he makes it up to you.”

  “How?” Aaron’s still pissed.

  A sly smile crosses Blaire’s face as she looks up at him. “I have my ways.”

  With that, they all chuckle, the tension more or less dissolved, everyone going their separate ways, barely sparing me a glance.

  Blaire approaches, her dark eyes reflecting the sympathy that annoys me so much, but I tamp that down. She just wants to help. And she’s the only one who doesn’t want to kill me right now, so I need to keep her on my side.

  She pats my shoulder. “I know things suck, but you need to not treat the other guys like shit. My ability to smooth things over only extends so far. Got it?”

  With a snort and the closest thing to a smile I can manage, I finally relax my fists and return the shoulder pat. “Got it. Thanks, Blaire.”

  “Hey, Blaire. Everything okay?” I answer immediately when her name pops up on my screen. She always texts, so having a phone call is weird, and makes my mind run through possible emergencies.

  “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine.”

  “No one’s in the hospital?”

  She chokes on a laugh. “No. Everyone is intact and healthy.”

  “Then what’s up? Why are you calling instead of texting?”

  “If you’d shut up for half a second, I’d tell you.” She pauses, and I wait, wisely taking her advice. “Good boy.” I can’t hold back my snort at her sarcastic praise, but she keeps talking. “We’re having a problem canceling your appearance at the benefit dinner next week. I think you need to call and talk to them yourself.”

  My gut clenches at the thought of possibly talking to Kendra again. Ever since the announcement of her engagement came out last month, I’ve avoided all mention of her and her family as much as possible. And when Blaire said someone had called about the benefit dinner, I told her to double our donation and send my regrets. As a show of solidarity, the guys did the same thing. Even pissed at me, they’ve still got my back.

  “What kind of problem?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Mrs. Strickland is insisting on speaking to you herself. She won’t take no for an answer.”

  “What does that even mean? I say no, I’m not coming, and then I don’t show up. If she doesn’t like it and expects me to be there, that’s on her, not me.”

  Blaire makes a noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Like I said, she’s insisting on speaking with you. I think you should call her.”

  Cursing under my breath, I rub the fingers of my free hand across my forehead. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. This is your job, Blaire.”

  That was the wrong thing to say, and I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  “I know that, Marcus.” She spits my name out like it’s an insult, her voice dripping with venom. “I’m trying to do my job. But I have to manage four of you. All you have to do is make one phone call to your ex-girlfriend’s mother. I can see why you wouldn’t want to, but I’ve tried everything. Just call the woman, tell her to fuck herself for all I care, and let me get back to organizing your upcoming media schedule to go with the release of your lead singles. Since that’s also my job.”

  “Sorry, Blaire. You’re right. I’ll call her. You’re the best.”

  She sniffs. “That’s right I am. And don’t you forget it.”

  With a chuckle, I hang up. Blaire the Ballbuster, a well-earned nickname if ever there was one. But her ballbusting keeps us on track and where we need to be, and she doesn’t put up with shit from anyone else, either.

  She makes sure we have whatever we need, whenever we need it. Instruments. Backup strings. She keeps the roadies on track, manages our tour schedule, our media appearances, charity events, runs interference with the label, and makes sure we talk to our moms on a regular basis. She’s the one who hooked Danny up with the best family attorney when the pregnant groupie came around. She looks out for us and smacks us around when we need it in equal measure.

  So if she tells me I have to call Kendra’s mom myself, then that’s what I have to do.
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  I just need to work up the nerve to do it first.

  “Marcus, I’ve been expecting your call.”

  Elizabeth Strickland’s voice is as cool and composed as ever. I force myself to be the same way, crossing my ankle over my knee as I sit at my dining room table.

  “Mrs. Strickland. A pleasure as always.”

  She lets out a polite laugh that reminds me of her daughter. I take deep breaths, forcing down the waves of longing that still wash over me at any reminder of Kendra.

  “That’s so sweet of you to say, especially since I’m quite certain you’re lying.” She breezes right past calling me a liar before I have a chance to respond. “In any case, that young woman who says she’s your assistant has informed me that you and your band are no longer planning on attending my benefit.”

  “Blaire is my assistant. And that’s correct. Something’s come up. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. This benefit is very important, and your presence is one of the things enticing people to attend. While having the others there was an added bonus, you are the one people most want to meet. Without you there, I’m afraid we’ll only raise a fraction of the money we’d projected. And I know the cause is important to you. Is there really no way you can see to adjust your schedule to allow you to attend? Especially since you’d already agreed to come.”

  With a deep breath, I prop my elbow on the table in front of me, pinching my fingers over the bridge of my nose. “Mrs. Strickland, I’m sure you understand why I can’t come. I’ve already offered to double my sizable donation.”

  She tuts. “While doubling your donation is very generous, it’s still far less than we’d raise from the greater number of people who’d attend if you didn’t back out. Not only from the ticket sales themselves, but also the silent auction items.”

  “Mrs. Strickland—”

  She cuts off my protest, steel entering her voice. “Marcus, I have known you for years. You have always been a man of your word. Now is not the time to change that.” I don’t respond in the silence that follows her pronouncement, and she must take that as an invitation to continue, though her voice is softer this time. “Kendra once told me that you promised to do anything she needed.”

  Way to twist the knife. I take a deep breath, but she continues once again before I can speak.

  “If you won’t do this for me or for the children or to remain a man of your word, then do this for her. You promised her you’d be there.”

  “I’m not sure Kendra needs anything from me anymore,” I finally manage to grind out.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Mrs. Strickland says gently. “Alright, I’ll see you next week.” And she hangs up before I can protest.

  “Fuck,” I say into the silence of my apartment, covering my eyes with my hand.

  Then I shoot off a text to Blaire, letting her know I’ll need my tux dry cleaned and ready for me after all. And instructing her to buy an appropriate dress, because I’m going to need backup, and I just nominated her as my plus one.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Kendra

  “Kendra. What are you doing in here?”

  I jump at the sound of my father’s voice, quickly closing out of the windows I have open on his computer screen, ducking my head and pushing my hair behind my ear. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just, um, checking my email real quick. And, uh, verifying an order for Mom’s benefit on Thursday.”

  I knew it was a risk coming in here with him home, but with Mitchell’s proposal last week, I’m getting more desperate. The clock is ticking, and I need to figure out what to do. I can’t marry Mitchell. I can’t.

  Dad’s eyes narrow as I push back from his desk, smoothing down my skirt as I stand from the tufted leather desk chair. He steps all the way inside his office and closes the door behind him, pausing at the liquor cabinet and extracting two tumblers and his favorite scotch before sitting in one of the arm chairs across the desk. He pours into both glasses, gesturing for me to sit before sliding one across to me.

  We both sip, and I close my eyes as the smooth liquor burns its way down my throat. Even if my dad didn’t get a son to pass on his business to, he was happy to pass on his love of fine liquor to me. My senior year of high school he pulled me in and poured me my first scotch, saying, “If you haven’t started drinking already, you will soon. The least I can do is teach you what’s worth drinking and how to hold your liquor.” It became a weekly appointment, just as sacred as tea with my mother. Even in college, I’d come home and share a drink with my father. Not as often, since I was as busy with friends and classes as he was with work, but often enough. Since graduation, the tradition seems to have fallen by the wayside.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve sat in here and shared a drink.” His soft bass voice has me opening my eyes, his statement such a clear reflection of my thoughts.

  I clear my throat and set my glass down. “You’ve been busy.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “So have you.”

  I drum my fingers on the arms of the desk chair, stopping myself from swiveling back and forth under my father’s even gaze.

  After a long moment and several more sips, he sets his glass down as well, unbuttoning his jacket and steepling his fingers, the picture of confidence and control even on the wrong side of the desk. “We both know you’re a terrible liar, Kendra, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  His mouth hooks up on one side in a rueful smile, a mixture of amusement and sadness at my continued dishonesty. I’m not sure why I bother other than reflexive stubbornness.

  “Don’t you?” He gestures at his computer. “What were you looking for? You can check your email on your phone and confirm whatever nonsense you mentioned the same way. Far more easily than coming in here and using my desktop.” When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “And since I’m asking all my questions, why don’t you tell me why you’re engaged to that weasel Mitchell.”

  My eyes widen in surprise. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You and mom were always pushing me at him.”

  He makes a low grumbling noise in his chest and reaches for his glass. “Your mother always had this idea when you two were kids that you’d end up together. You seemed amenable to dating him, so I went along with it. But you broke it off when rumors about ring shopping started and ran for the hills.” Steel gray eyes pin me in place as he looks at me over the rim of his glass. “Something changed. I want to know what it is.”

  Rubbing one finger along the edge of the imposing wooden desk, I keep my eyes carefully trained there as I shrug. “I had a change of heart.”

  Dad hums like he’s contemplating my stupid answer. “Did something happen between you and Marcus?”

  Surprise makes my eyes fly to his, but his face is as steady and calm as ever. “What do you mean?”

  Now he sighs, obviously growing tired of my feigned stupidity. But this time it’s not feigned. I’m really not sure what he’s asking about.

  “Did you have a fight? Why did you break up?” The questions are short, his words clipped.

  “Oh.” I bite my lip and shake my head. “No. Not exactly.”

  “Then what? That seemed to be going well, and the next thing I know, you’re getting engaged to Mitchell. You went so far as to concoct a fake relationship with your best friend”—he points a finger at me, his glass dangling from his thumb and other three fingers—“which, by the way, was brilliant for several reasons—but you go to all that trouble to keep Mitchell away, stumble on real happiness in the process, and then you throw it all away. I want to know why. And since you’re here, in my office, snooping around my files, I’m not letting you leave until I get an answer.”

  I suck in a surprised breath. “You knew?”

  He lets out a laugh. “Of course I knew. Your mother did too. We were suspicious when you first told us you were bringing Marcus to our anniversary w
eekend. You’ve always had a terrible poker face, though, and your reaction when we told you we’d booked you both the honeymoon suite confirmed it.” He shakes his head and sips his drink. “We hoped that maybe the proximity would make you both realize your true feelings.”

  My mouth is hanging open in shock, and I slump back in his chair. “But you never liked Marcus.”

  He raises one shoulder in a shrug. “I never disliked him. Now, if it were up to me, he wouldn’t be my top pick, no. He’s a nice enough guy, and he’s always been good to you, but he’s a little … rougher around the edges than I would prefer. But if it’s a choice between a smooth-talking con man and an honest man who loves my daughter? I’ll take the second guy, no contest.” He pauses, leaning forward to set his glass down, pinning me with his piercing stare. “The question is, why’d you throw away that guy for the con man?”

  Picking my jaw up off the floor, I consider my options, my fingers wrapped around the armrests of the chair.

  “The truth, Kendra. Since it’s obvious I can see through your lies, don’t bother trying to deceive me. I know you can’t stand Mitchell. What’s going on?”

  With a sigh, I blurt it out. “Mitchell showed me documents proving you’d committed fraud and said he’d turn them over to the authorities unless I broke up with Marcus and got engaged to him.”

  Dad’s face goes slack with surprise—genuine, unfakeable astonishment, actually. Relief swamps me at the expression. No sign of guilt. It’s the face of an innocent man accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Which is why I haven’t been able to find any evidence of fraud on his personal computer.

  His expression hardens, his lips compressed in a flat line, his brows drawing together. “And you believed him?”

  I spread my hands in a gesture of surrender. “He had contracts and all kinds of paperwork. I didn’t understand it. And I didn’t want to risk him turning over evidence against you, even if it was faked. If you were investigated, even if your name was eventually cleared, your reputation would be ruined. Our family would be dragged through the mud. I couldn’t let that happen.”