by Marina Adair
The sponsors had anted up enough dough to add additional cities to the Hunter Kane Band’s upcoming tour. More important, Lionel was on board with the band’s new direction. It had taken a lot of convincing on Hunter’s part, but the second Lionel had heard the new tracks, the man had been sold.
The problem with labels was that it was a hurry-up-and-wait kind of relationship—where the label refused to do any of the waiting. They’d taken their sweet-ass time finalizing the tour schedule, using it as leverage to get Hunter into the studio. Now the label was finally on board and wanted the band to sign off on the dates before Lionel went back to LA the next morning.
Which was how Hunter found himself at Big Daddy’s during Tini Tuesday, sitting in a booth with his band and staring down a round of mantinis. They’d specifically ordered a round of Lone Star, but since it was also guest-bartender night and Brody’s talented wife was in charge of the shakers, Brody accepted the round with a stupid-ass grin. The fucker.
Otherwise, Hunter would already be back at Mackenzie’s, helping her get ready for their date tonight. He’d seen the black strapless number hanging on the front of the closet when he left the previous morning, and he couldn’t wait to help her into it—then help her out of it. It was the single image that had kept him focused throughout all the posturing and positioning.
But if they didn’t speed things along, there wouldn’t be any show before the show. And Hunter enjoyed a little pre-party almost as much as he enjoyed an encore.
“A tour this size is a good sign that the label is finally ready to put the money behind us that we’ll need to hit the next level,” Quinn said, rubbing his fingers together in the universal sign for Show me the Benjamins.
“It’s also a huge commitment,” Brody pointed out.
“Jesus, man. You sound like my ex-girlfriend,” Quinn said. “I haven’t even lowered the zipper, and already you’re talking about commitments.”
“Because signing on that line is as binding as a paternity test, so I want to make sure you’re all aware of what you’re agreeing to,” Brody added.
“Are you shitting us?” Quinn asked, then looked at Hunter. “He’s shitting us, right?”
“I have no idea what he’s doing, but I think we should order him another princess drink.” Hunter held a hand up to flag down the bartender.
Brody held up a hand of his own. Only his was sporting a single finger. “I’m not saying don’t sign it. This is a huge opportunity. But it comes with a shit ton of appearances, most of them back-to-back.”
“It’s also a shit ton of money,” Quinn said. “We are signing the biggest deal of our career. What is there to think through?”
“Seventy-two cities, nine countries, and eleven months. That’s already triple the dates of your last tour,” Brody said to the group, but his eyes were focused on Hunter. “Then tack on the additional travel for the overseas shows, the radio tour for the album, and don’t forget the press tour.”
“If we want to stick to the timeline for the next album, we need to go all-in on this tour,” Quinn stated. “Dragging out the dates will only cut into the studio time.”
Jesus! They hadn’t even recorded this album, and already he was feeling the pressure to deliver big on the next.
“Exactly my point. Working nonstop doesn’t give the downtime needed to start thinking about the next album.” Brody addressed Quinn, but his eyes met Hunter’s. A squirrelly feeling settled in Hunter’s chest just thinking of exactly what that kind of scheduling would entail. “We’re talking months at a time on the road, away from home. From people who count on you.”
Hunter knew how hard it was to make a relationship work when living in different time zones. At first the hype of the tour overshadows the time apart. But eventually the adrenaline wears off, the long nights and missed phone calls get old, and that’s when everything starts to unravel.
He’d been torn when Hadley hadn’t wanted to start a family. Looking back, she’d been smart not to want to bring kids into that.
And now Hunter had Mackenzie to think about. He knew that this thing between them was strong. But it was also new.
Hunter looked at Paul. “He has a point. Have you thought about how Bethany will feel with you being away from home for long stretches like that? You’ve got one kid and one on the way.”
Paul and Quinn looked at him as if he’d grown a third testicle.
“Are you kidding? Bethany has been waiting for this moment as long as we have,” Paul said. “Will it be different? Sure, probably even difficult. Which is why we talked about the possibility of her joining us on the road when we started trying to get pregnant again.” Paul gave a casual wave, which was in direct opposition to how Hunter was suddenly feeling. “We hoped it would happen when the kids were small, so the timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
The dreamer in Hunter, who had been working toward this moment for more than a decade, couldn’t have agreed more. Unfortunately, the realist in him wasn’t so sure. His marriage hadn’t been able to withstand a four-month tour with only nineteen shows. Mackenzie had said she was all-in, but that didn’t include eleven months apart just when things were heating up.
Shit.
“What about Libby?” he asked Quinn.
Quinn sipped his girlie drink. “Libby will be on board with whatever. She telecommutes, so joining me for a few weeks at a time won’t be a problem with her boss. Plus, we’re talking about a world fucking tour.” He high-fived Paul.
Two seconds ago, Hunter had been ready to join in on that high five. Hell, he would have raised it with a round for the entire bar. It would have been an all-night-long, caution-to-the-wind kind of celebration that would require a taxi ride home and two days to sleep off the hangover.
Only the satisfaction that should have come with the gold-plated icing on this cake of a deal, playing sold-out stadiums and securing their spot in the spotlight, eluded him. And damn if that didn’t leave him confused.
“A world fucking tour doesn’t require any thinking, it requires action,” Quinn added.
“It also requires a real round,” Paul said, standing and heading to the bar. Quinn followed.
Brody waited until the two were gone before he spoke. But when he did, his expression was an annoying combination of all-business and brother-knows-best. “What about you? Have you thought about what this will mean?”
Hunter sat back. “Which part are you talking about? The extra exposure that bands dream of? Or checking off one of my biggest career goals? Or how the hell I’m going to make this work with Mackenzie?”
“All of it,” Brody said quietly. “Have you considered that you would be putting yourself in the same position you were in with the last album? This kind of schedule doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for anything else. I just don’t want you to come back to find the rest of your life a disaster.”
Like last time.
Hunter remembered the empty house he’d come home to, the paralyzing guilt he’d carried from failing at the two things his father had botched: family and love. Not to mention that while Hunter had been nursing his wounds and throwing the pity party of the century, he’d nearly cost the band their future. It took him months after Hadley to process what had happened. A year before he could even begin to piece things back together.
That was a place Hunter never wanted to revisit.
“I won’t let that happen again,” he vowed. “I know I put everyone in a bad situation. You, the label, the band. But it all worked out. I mean, our ass was to the fire, but we pulled through.”
“For the record, we didn’t pull through. Mackenzie did.” Brody went from serious to shit-just-got-real. “And without her, we wouldn’t be here toasting to our future successes. How does Mackenzie feel about you being gone for eleven months on the road?”
“I’m not sure if she could do the full eleven months, but we’ll work it out,” he said, wondering who he was trying to convince. Hell, he hadn’t even been able to get he
r to come with him to the bar tonight.
“You’re not sure she could do the whole eleven months?” Brody repeated, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re actually considering asking her to come on the road with the band?”
“I don’t know, man. I just signed the contract and haven’t had the chance to tell her.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should have talked to her before telling the guys you’re all good with the plan, even though it’s clear you aren’t.”
“This tour is great for the band, and I’m not going to screw this up for everyone because I can’t figure out my personal life. After the show tonight I’ll talk with Mackenzie, and I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it work. Because that’s what people who respect each other do,” he said, feeling all kinds of mature man in a mature relationship. “They talk it through.”
“And just how will that talk go?” When Hunter didn’t answer, Brody shook his head. “Mackenzie will hear ‘world tour’ and put her needs behind yours. Which will leave her with two options: let you go or suffer through a revolving door of venues and hotel rooms, each with different obstacles and a different floor plan.”
And each with a different aisle five. Frustration began to build, along with something a hell of a lot scarier: uncertainty that, in doing the right thing, he’d somehow screwed everything up.
“I hear you, man. I didn’t say I had a solution. I just said I know that between her and me, we can figure one out.” They had to, because this was too important to screw up. “I need to call her,” Hunter said, fishing his cell from his pocket. He dialed Mackenzie, and the second her voice came through the earpiece, he found himself smiling. It was that big, stupid-ass grin again. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Mackenzie said, her voice shy and sexy as hell. “How did the meeting go?”
Hunter looked at Brody, and Brody was looking back—as concerned and overwhelmed as Hunter felt.
“Amazing.” He excused himself from the table and walked toward Cash’s office before saying, “What are you wearing? Part of me is hoping you’re in that black number I saw hanging in the closet. The other part is praying you’re in nothing but lace and those sexy little house boots you always strut around in.”
There was a long, tense silence, followed by a breathy little giggle that had him prepared for a little world domination of his own. Her world, to be exact.
“Have I told you how much I’ve come to love those boots?” he asked.
They were pink suede with pink fur around the calf and little rhinestones on the cuff. More crazy cat lady than sex kitten, but on Mackenzie he found them, oddly, a turn-on. It was what she wore when they were home and relaxed. What she let him remove when she felt safe.
He heard her clear her throat through the phone, and he rested a shoulder against the wall. “You’re wearing the boots, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, a strain in her voice he couldn’t decipher. “And I’m sitting at the kitchen table with your cousin, who says he’s here to pick me up for the symphony.”
Hunter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Which one?”
“The good-looking one,” a familiar male voice said in the distance, and Hunter could almost hear Wade’s smug-ass grin. “And before you go asking me what I have on beneath my outfit, you should know you’re on speakerphone.”
Ah, Christ.
Wade might be four years younger and wear loafers and a suit to bed, but once he grabbed hold of a story, he was like a toddler with a Binky—a good thing, since he made his living ferreting out potential problems. Tonight, however, the only problem Wade was supposed to solve was how Hunter was going to get two adults and a full-size dog to the symphony. Which was why Hunter had asked to trade his pickup truck for Wade’s sedan.
“I told you to call when you were on your way.”
“I did call. Three times,” Wade said. “Then I was afraid I was beginning to sound desperate.”
Hunter looked at his phone and, yup, three missed calls. “So you arrive an hour early? Don’t you know it’s rude to show up on a lady’s doorstep unannounced?”
“What I know is a lady this beautiful deserves to arrive before the second act starts. And since the address you gave me is on the wrong side of a ten-car pileup, and I have supper at six thirty, I decided to be proactive and have a car service meet me here. That way you get the car, and I keep everything moving smooth and easy.”
“They have a pill for that.”
“For being considerate?”
“No, for confusing on time with uptight.”
“And yet I’m the one sharing a drink with the pretty lady.”
Wade had a point. Hunter glanced out the front window of the bar, toward the east side of town. A steady drizzle had already turned the streets slick, and he could see a solid line of red lights in the distance. “Where’s the accident?”
“That would be between your mantini and here,” Wade said.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Brody told you?”
“Cash posted a picture on Instagram. It shows you in one of those white undershirts you are always mistaking for outerwear, sipping from a dainty glass.”
“It already has twenty thousand likes,” Mackenzie added, ever so sweetly.
“The little ‘Nothing says celebration like a Big Daddy’s mantini’ talk bubble over your head really makes the meme,” Wade pointed out. “In fact, people are lining up to throw back a celebratory tini with the famous front man of the Hunter Kane Band.”
Hunter looked around the bar and swore. It had gone to standing room only thanks to a sea of fans toting pink drinks and album covers. He looked at his watch and swore again.
He was going to kill Cash. Slowly and painfully.
There was zero chance of his going across town to pick up Mackenzie and arriving back in time for the show. Which meant that Wade was right.
Closing his eyes, he said, “Mackenzie, I am so sorry. I don’t think I have time to get to you and then get us back on this side of the city with traffic.”
“That’s okay,” she said, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice. “We can go another time.”
Hell no. Tonight was a big step for Mackenzie in proving her independence. And a big night for Hunter to prove their lives could work together. He just wasn’t sure who he was so set on convincing anymore.
“I’m not canceling. We are switching gears, which is why I always have a plan B.” Then to Wade, he said, “How long would it take to get Mackenzie to Schermerhorn Symphony Center?”
“If I avoid Vanderbilt, probably a half an hour. Maybe a little less. But I have dinner plans at six-thirty.”
“Tell her you have a meeting with your boss and will be a little late,” Hunter said. “That always works.”
“Not when you’re meeting with your boss.”
“Shit.”
“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” Mackenzie said quietly, so much understanding in her tone it broke Hunter’s heart.
“Her dress says differently, man,” Wade said, and it sounded as if there was a struggle for the phone. Clearly Wade won, because when the muffled fight ceased, the phone was no longer on speaker, and Wade was on the line. “We’re talking red silk and tiny straps. Definitely not a reschedule type of dress.”
Mackenzie wasn’t a reschedule type of woman. She was the kind of woman you dropped everything for, a fact he somehow had overlooked the first time around—and would never miss again.
“I have no intention of rescheduling.” This was nothing more than a simple problem with a simple solution, one that all couples face, and one he could easily resolve. So Mackenzie couldn’t just jump in the car and meet him at the venue. So what? That just meant they’d have to get creative. And if there was one thing Hunter loved, it was getting creative with Mackenzie. “Could you drive your boss and have the company car take Mackenzie and Muttley to the venue?”
“The driver is a total tool. Says he’s hired to drive the CEO and only the CEO
. So unless you want Walter Chapple to join you on this date, it’s a no go,” Wade said.
“Tell him I’ll pay him under the table. Give him front-row seats and VIP passes to my next concert. Even hire a driver for him and his lady friend. Whatever floats his boat.”
Wade breathed heavily into the phone, and Hunter could hear him considering his options. And the only reason his cousin wasn’t telling him to go fuck himself was because Mackenzie was in the room, arguing that it wasn’t a big deal. That she was tired anyway and could use a quiet night at home.
“Come on, man. I need this.”
“It will cost you,” Wade said quietly into the phone. Then in a loud voice for all to hear, he added, “Mike always likes an early night and he’d be waiting on the mayor until midnight. I don’t see a problem.”
“Thank you, Wade.” It would take Hunter twenty minutes, tops. Which gave him enough time to stop by his tailor and change into something more appropriate for a date night with the perfect woman.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Wade said with a grin so loud Hunter’s head throbbed. “Was that a thank-you?”
Hunter snorted. “I said ‘Fuck you,’ but I can see how you’d mistake the two.”
“Are you sure? It sounded more like a ‘Thank you for being such a forward thinker, Wade. Nobody is as great as you.’ But I couldn’t be positive.”
“Nobody likes a smart-ass,” Hunter said, then explained the exact location for the driver to meet him. It was the entrance the talent used, which Hunter had asked the venue’s security for access to ahead of time. He wasn’t worried about Mackenzie and Muttley making it through the mash of symphony goers. He was worried about being stopped for an autograph—or ten.
Tonight was about him and Mackenzie, a normal couple simply going for a relaxing night on the town. Their talk about the future could wait.