Joplin loved her job. Music was in her blood. She studied all aspects of the business and inhaled every genre from Acid House to Zydeco. More important, she kept her ear to the ground. Through contacts made in her travels and an innate instinct for sussing out the next big thing, she understood where the industry was headed and what the listening public wanted to hear.
Part of Joplin’s success—the reason she could judge a performer without prior bias—was her ability to blend into the crowd.
When she needed to be the sophisticated woman about town, Joplin pulled out all the stops from designer gown to the strappy sandals that cost more than a month’s rent. Perfect hair, perfect lipstick, perfect accessories. No one questioned that she belonged.
Tonight, her look was low key. Ponytail, blue jeans, the ubiquitous backpack, a smidgeon of makeup. The glasses she wore perched on her nose were only for show—Joplin was blessed with perfect vision—but she felt they gave her a studious air. Though her formal education ended with high school, she looked like a typical college student.
Unfortunately, Joplin was surrounded by typical college boys who felt it was their God-given right to hit on typical college girls.
“Hey, sweet thing.”
Lips curved into what Joplin assumed was his best, damn straight, I’m sexy smile, a dark-haired young man leaned close enough for her to smell his heavily applied cologne. Knowing what was coming next, she sighed and waited.
“You need to loosen up. Drop the pen. Get in the groove, baby.”
Groove? Baby? Keeping her gaze on her notepad, Joplin rolled her eyes. She would give the guy credit. His line was original, if outdated.
Encouraged by her silence, his voice dropped to an intimate purr.
“Listen, beautiful. What do you say we—"
For the first time since his arrival, Joplin raised her head and looked him directly in the eyes.
“No,” she said.
Confused, tongue tied, the young man opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Shaking her head, she dropped her chin to her chest and picked up her writing where she’d left off.
Perhaps she wasn’t the same, Joplin thought. She imagined many of the other young women in the bar would have at the very least flirted a drink out of the guy. Not her. She’d never been interested in the Saturday night social rituals so many of her contemporaries relished.
Joplin prided herself on the fact that she was mature beyond her years. Born to flighty parents, she refused to follow in their steps. From an early age, she knew what she wanted—to be the best, most successful manager in the music industry.
The timeline was clear as crystal in her head. In ten years, Joplin planned to be at the top. She didn’t have time for silly boys and their silly games.
Not that Joplin was all work and no play. She could let her hair down with the best of them—just ask her small but precious circle of friends. However, drinking away her weekends, waking up on a Sunday morning in a stranger’s bed nursing a hangover and a world of regret, didn’t qualify as her idea of fun.
As for sex, while Joplin was a big fan, she was also discriminating in her choice of partners. Someone a little older, sure of himself, with plenty of experience, was right in her wheelhouse. When a man knew the right way to touch her, she could melt faster than an ice cream cone in a Texas heatwave.
Too busy for a long-term relationship, one day, if the right person came along who was close to her in age with similar interests and the same belief system, Joplin wouldn’t mind.
Right now, she was happy with an occasional fling. But not with immature college boys. And because she refused to mix business with pleasure, never with a musician.
Joplin’s gaze moved to the stage and locked with a pair of brown eyes. The moment lasted less than a heartbeat, but the jolt of electricity made her gasp. Heat infused her body traveling over her skin, through her blood, to her very core. The feeling didn’t disappear when he turned away.
If anything, the view of the back of his head only increased her pulse rate.
Wavy dark hair skimmed past his shoulders almost daring her to discover if the thick strands were as silky to her touch as she imagined. Swallowing, she followed the line down his back to a trim waist and the best jean-covered ass it had been her pleasure to observe. He was tall with great arms and long, thank you Jesus, legs that tapered to a pair of scuffed black biker boots.
The lead guitar player wasn’t the reason Joplin found herself at the same bar three weekends running. But, my, oh my, he was a nice bonus
Word had trickled down to her in Los Angeles about a band with a fresh sound and talent to spare. They were making a name for themselves on the college circuit and from what her spies divulged, supplemented their income during the week by booking weddings.
Cautious, doubtful, Joplin booked a flight, rented a car, and prepared herself to be disappointed. Razor’s Edge. Great name. Even better, unlike what was so often the case, they lived up to the hype.
Joplin knew right away the band was the real deal. Instead of relying on cover material by established artists, they had the confidence and talent to play their own original songs, each better than the last.
As she sipped her beer and grimaced—she should have stuck to club soda—Joplin’s gaze moved from Kane to the other members of the band.
The drummer, Beck Kramer, was a bit on the skinny side but had the kind of open, winning smile and blond-haired, boy-next-door looks that would appeal to females of any age. Morgan Ames played the keyboard. Joplin frowned as she tried to find the proper way to describe him. Physically, he was imposing. Tall, muscular, with a shaved head and full dark beard. Yet, of the four men on stage, his personality seemed the least defined. Given time, she was confident she could figure him out. For now, she decided his air of mystery would attract a solid fan base.
Then there was Jaxon Cross. The lead singer of Razor’s Edge practically dripped with sexuality and charisma. He wore his hair short and his handsome face clean-shaven. Possessed with a rare gift, he knew how to connect with the audience, drawing them in, making them feel special, singled out. Joplin could practically see throngs of women collapsing at his feet.
Though each member played a vital part, her instincts said Jax was the driving force behind the band. Where his talent took them, the rest would follow.
The lights dimmed, and the crowd slowly quieted. As she always did before any performance by any band, Joplin set her phone on the table and hit record. But Razor’s Edge was different than just any band. Unlike any act she’d scouted, their music spoke to her—deep down to her soul. She was hooked, a fan in every sense of the word.
If Joplin had her way, she would do everything in her power to help take Razor’s Edge to the top.
Jax stepped to the microphone. His striking good looks, intense blue eyes, and a deep, sensuous voice commanded attention. Yet, Joplin only had eyes for Kane. Crazy, foolhardy, she was mesmerized as he deftly played a particularly complicated rift.
Joplin didn’t believe in love at first sight. She let out a shaky breath. However, if she did…
No! Stop! Joplin firmly chastised herself as the commonsense side of her brain firmly pushed aside the encroaching mush. The only relationship she would ever have with Kane Harrison would be strictly business. Anything else would be unprofessional and could derail her career before her foothold was strong enough to withstand the potential blowback.
Familiar with the arrangements, Joplin tapped her foot. Wisely, Razor’s Edge started with an upbeat song. Catchy tune, relatable lyrics, designed to draw the listener in, Joplin noted with excitement that several people in the audience were singing along. In a handful of weekend performances, the band had become a favorite.
Kane took lead on the next song. Unreliable Heart told the story of a man’s inability to move forward in the wake of a failed love affair. Joplin wasn’t overly sentimental by nature, but his smoky voice and emotional delivery never
failed to form a lump in her throat.
Trying her best to be objective, Joplin critiqued Kane’s performance. He seemed content to let Jax shine for most of their time on stage. Yet, when he stepped front and center, he brought a different kind of dynamic to the band. The wild card bad boy, his performance was raw, less polished yet in his way, just as powerful and compelling.
“We have a special surprise for you tonight,” Jax said as the hoots and hollers for Kane died down.
Always interested in something new, Joplin reached for her phone. Something, a feeling she couldn’t name, told her to stop the audio-only recording and turn on the video camera
“The young woman who usually sings with us couldn’t be here.” Kane’s snicker couldn’t be missed, and Jax barely kept a straight face when a voice in the back shouted thank God. “However, a young lady most of you already know has agreed to do us a huge favor and step in at the last second.”
Okay, Joplin thought. Very interesting. She hadn’t been impressed by Kylie Hope’s serviceable but unspectacular vocals. Pretty enough, the redhead didn’t belong on stage with a group as talented as Razor’s Edge.
“Put your hands together,” he continued, “and give a big welcome to Skye Monroe.”
The name meant nothing to Joplin. However, when Jax guided a lovely blonde to a spot in front of the spare microphone, she recognized her immediately as the waitress who took her drink order.
Keeping an open mind, Joplin held the phone steady, recording every moment.
Whatcha doing, girl? Circling my heart? Searching for my soul. Joplin knew the words by heart. Yet the duet between Jax and Skye, their chemistry off the charts, made the song feel fresh and brand new. There was a difference between performing to an audience and feeling each nuanced emotion down to the bones. If anyone needed an example of the latter, all they had to do was watch the couple currently burning up the stage. She wondered why the ground beneath their feet didn’t burst into flames.
Taking a deep breath, Joplin held the camera steady. She wouldn’t breathe again until the last note from Kane’s guitar was nothing more than an echo.
As the reaction from the crowd shook the rafters, Joplin carefully, almost reverently, saved the precious recording. Attaching the file to an email, her fingers flew across the keys.
Watch this, she typed. Now!
Joplin’s thumb hit send. She worked for her uncle—a bit of nepotism they both ignored because she was so good at her job. Danny Graham was a legend in the music business, a star maker. She felt honored, privileged, to learn at the knee of an all-time great.
Knowing Danny’s habits, he was most likely in his office working into the wee hours. She always kept him up to date on her travels. In the past few weeks, Razor’s Edge played a major role in her reports, but she couldn’t gauge her uncle’s level of enthusiasm. They were looking for a specific type of act. One that didn’t need a lot of grooming and was ready, not for a small step forward, but for a major leap.
Joplin knew in her gut that Razor’s Edge was everything and more that Danny wanted. If he had any doubts, the video of Jax and Skye’s scorching performance should have been the final piece of the puzzle. Now, all he needed was to start the wheels moving.
By comparison, the rest of the evening’s show was anticlimactic. While her manager’s brain continued to plot and plan, for the most part, Joplin was able to sit back and enjoy the music.
As Razor’s Edge played their third, and she knew from experience, last encore—a rousing song, guaranteed to get the audience clapping and cheering—Joplin’s phone buzzed. No one noticed, they were too wrapped up in the performance on stage to care.
Glancing at the screen, Joplin felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard.
“Well? What did you think?”
“Hello to you too,” Danny Graham said with a snort. “I—”
“Wait,” Joplin interrupted as she slipped on her jacket. “Let me find somewhere less noisy.”
“Why not?” Danny groused. “Lord knows, I have nothing better to do than sit around and wait on you. Ever heard the term, time is money, little girl?”
Unlike most people who worked for Danny Graham, Joplin wasn’t intimidated by his gruff demeanor. He’d raised her to take no crap from anyone, even him. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the exit.
“Sheesh,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “We both know an extra minute won’t matter. And don’t call me little girl.”
Joplin didn’t really mind. However, now and then, she felt the need to remind Danny she was a strong, independent twenty-one-year-old woman, not the little girl he took in after the deaths of her parents.
“As your uncle and your boss, I’ve earned the right to call you anything I like.” Danny didn’t give Joplin the chance to argue. “And may I remind you, minutes add up to hours and days. A successful person never wastes a second.”
Since she knew Danny’s opinion on the subject by heart, Joplin didn’t bother to respond. He was right. Trouble was, as much as she loved him with all her heart, he could be a bit of a bully. My way or the highway should have been tattooed on his forehead. She’d learned early on in their relationship to absorb his advice like a sponge then, as a woman in a man’s world, filter out what she thought to be an archaic claptrap and put her own spin on his teachings.
Not that Joplin didn’t go to Danny whenever she needed a dose of his unique wisdom. But, if she wanted to step out of her uncle’s shadow, to make her mark in an industry cluttered with ambitious up and comers, she needed to trust her instincts and find her own way. Early days, but, so far, so good.
“You watched the video?” Joplin asked as she walked out of the bar and across the lot to where her rental car was parked. She opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. “No question, right? Razor’s Edge is the one.”
“Perhaps,” Danny said. “I haven’t decided.”
“Why not?” Exasperated, Joplin threw her free hand into the air. “They’re the real deal, Danny. I’ve never seen such a talented, media-ready, group of young musicians. We could get them into the recording studio tomorrow and by next month, their songs would be headed for the top of the charts.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Danny warned. “And don’t assume you can guess what will go over big with the public.”
Frustrated, Joplin wanted to reach through the phone and give her uncle a hard shake.
“Individually, each member of Razor’s Edge is bankable. Together, they’re pure gold. Add the woman, Skye Monroe, and boom. Triple platinum. In fact— Wait.” Joplin frowned as a rushing sound filled her ears. “What’s that sound? Are you on a plane?”
“My jet,” Danny confirmed.
“Where are you headed?”
“Oregon. We just touched down.”
“Here? In Oregon? The state?” Joplin asked, trying to wrap her head around the sudden turn of events.
“I hope so,” Danny said. “Otherwise, I’m in the wrong place.”
Joplin didn’t know whether to jump for joy or give Danny a piece of her mind. Considering her location and the unexpected turn of events, she settled for a fist pump and a chuckle.
“You stinker. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? How soon can you get here? Should I meet with Razor’s Edge first or wait for you? What should I tell them? The whole story, or let you break the good news?” Joplin paused. “Please say you’re bringing good news.”
“I didn’t tell you because you’d know when I arrived.”
“Well, sure,” Joplin muttered. “Still—”
Danny continued as though she hadn’t interrupted.
“I’ll be there in approximately one hour. Yes, meet with the band before I arrive and spell out our offer. If they say yes—”
“Who in their right mind would say no?” Joplin demanded.
“Musicians,” Danny said. Joplin could easily
picture his philosophical shrug. “The day I figure out how an artist’s mind works, is the day I die a happy man.”
“Don’t even joke about dying.” Joplin shuddered. “What would I do without you?”
“Carry on, little girl. Carry on.” Danny laughed. “Stop worrying. I plan to be on this earth for many, many years to come.”
Joplin prayed he was right. She didn’t remember her parents well enough to actively miss them. Danny was different. He hadn’t tried to be her father. However, he was family, and she couldn’t imagine her world without him.
“I do have news,” he said.
Joplin held her breath. Out of habit, she rummaged through her bag for a lemon drop. Popping the nerve-calming candy into her mouth, she waited for the news that could change her life.
“Well?” she urged when Danny took his time answering. “Tell me.”
“The answer is yes on all counts. Razor’s Edge is in.”
Internally, Joplin yelled, yes, yes, yes as she did an awkward, I have no room because I’m trapped in a rental car, happy dance. Composing herself, when she answered Danny, she sounded like the mature professional she claimed to be. But she couldn’t stop grinning
“Wonderful.”
“Have you had any contact with the band? Talked to anyone before tonight?”
Unbidden, Kane Harrison’s chiseled face popped into Joplin’s mind. She shook her head. Wild sex fantasies didn’t count.
“Of course not. Your rules of conduct are practically tattooed on my brain. Rule number three,” she recited by rote. “Never contact a potential client unless you can make them a solid offer—preferably with a contract in your pocket.”
“Well, you’ve done, young Skywalker.”
Joplin rolled her eyes, then snickered despite herself. Danny was a Star Wars freak. Yoda was a favorite character and though his imitation of the iconic character wasn’t great, he never stopped trying.
“I will start the engine and shift the car into second,” Joplin assured him. “By the time you arrive, we’ll be ready to hit the highway, full throttle.”
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