Kane didn’t like the idea, but they were talking about their careers, their future. Besides, if Joplin wasn’t ready for the responsibility of managing their tour, better she found out sooner than later.
“You said there were two things that would make me feel better,” Jax reminded him. “What’s the second?”
“Skye. No need to convince Joplin. She’s already onboard.”
Hiding his smile, Kane watched a myriad of emotions fly across Jax’s expressive face. His best friend might not be aware, but he was tipping hard toward falling in love with Skye Monroe.
If Kane read the situation correctly, there was some tough sailing ahead for Jax and Skye. Though he thought they were crazy, he truly, honestly, and with all sincerity, wished them well.
“Okay.” Jax let out a hefty sigh. “I know you wouldn’t fuck with me.”
“Sure, I would.” Kane smiled. “But not about Skye.”
“Still need to convince Beck and Morgan.”
“Concentrate on Skye. I’ll take care of lunkhead one and lunkhead two.” Kane rolled onto his stomach. “Need sleep.”
The covers returned, settling over Kane’s body.
“Want me to tuck you in?” Jax asked with a snicker in his voice.
“I want you to leave me alone,” Kane grumbled. “By the way? When we’re on tour, we get to travel in Ryder Hart’s private jet.”
“No shit?” Jax asked, echoing Kane’s exact words when he heard the news.
“No shit, my friend. From now on, we’re going first class all the way.”
Prone to nightmares, for once, Kane didn’t toss and turn. Instead of a monster from his past, an angel filled his dreams. Sweet, sexy, beautiful, with soft blonde hair and eyes the color of precious emeralds.
The last thing he remembered before he drifted off were her words whispered softly into his ear.
“Sleep. I’ll watch over you—forever.”
Kane, a cynic to his very soul, relaxed. He let himself believe that someone so wonderful really cared about him. For a little while, he let himself believe in miracles.
CHAPTER TWELVE
♫~♫~♫
RAZOR’S EDGE, SKYE included, didn’t make the flight to Los Angeles in a private jet. However, they did find themselves seated in first class. Joplin surveyed the band with a smidgeon of smugness she probably hadn’t earned. But what the heck. Long as her head didn’t swell too far beyond its normal size, who would know?
Their section of the plane, tucked up near the front, was surprisingly sparse of fellow travelers. Noticing all the empty seats, Joplin stowed her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment.
“Interesting.” Her gaze narrowed in on the flight attendant’s name tag. “Are we early, Sheila?”
“Right on time,” the pretty redhead said with a bright smile. “We aren’t expecting anyone in first class. Relax, be comfortable, and sit wherever you like. You’ll have me all to yourselves.”
“Lucky us.” From his window seat, Beck sent the young woman a megawatt smile. “What’s on the menu?”
“Careful,” Joplin said with a brook no crap expression on her face.
“Don’t worry.” Sheila, her smile firmly in place, looked at Beck. “This isn’t my first flight.”
In other words, Sheila was used to dealing with men and their assumptions that when they bought a plane ticket, she was part of the purchase price. A sad commentary on what women still had to deal with as part of the workforce.
Well, not on her watch, Joplin decided then and there. While she ran the show, Razor’s Edge would treat their fellow human beings with dignity and respect. Better they understood here and now—she was in charge and her word was law.
“Everyone. I’d like to say a few words before we take off.”
Jax was seated near the front, Skye, a few rows back. Morgan was on one side of the plane, by the window, Beck, directly opposite him. Four sets of eyes were trained on Joplin, letting her know she had their full attention. Then, there was Kane.
Sprawled at the back, his long legs stretched to their full length and crossed at the ankles, dark sunglasses covered his eyes. She couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed, but she had the niggling feeling that though he seemed not to care, he watched her every move.
“Let me start by saying how excited I am. The journey we’re about to embark on will take us places no one can anticipate.”
“I anticipate Los Angeles,” Kane said. With a nod, he accepted a drink from Sheila and drained the contents in one gulp. With a half-smile, he requested another. He shrugged. “Am I wrong?”
“What you are is an asshole,” Jax said. “Keep your mouth shut for once and listen.”
Joplin’s first instinct was to tell Jax she didn’t need his help. Except, she did. One person couldn’t keep the Razor’s Edge train running down a smooth track. They needed to act as a team. Unless everyone was onboard, they were in trouble before they began.
Burying her need to micromanage was the first step. Joplin nodded toward Jax and smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said with a wink of one blue eye. “Carry on.”
“All I wanted to say is, I’m not your mother. Nor am I the morality police.”
Kane snorted into his second shot of tequila but didn’t speak.
“Everything is about to change,” Joplin continued. “You’ll be asked to deal with a wide range of people from fans, to reporters, to other artists, and everyone in between. All I ask, what I insist on, is that you behave toward others as you’d want them to behave toward you. Treat them with respect, and dignity.”
“Sounds fair,” Skye said, speaking up for the first time.
“Not always easy, though,” Joplin admitted. “The hours will be long, the work hard.”
“What about the rewards?” Beck asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Fame, fortune, and a myriad of perks,” Joplin said.
“What about groupies?” Kane asked. “Any suggestions about how we should handle our fans?”
If Kane expected Joplin to play the prude, he would be eternally disappointed.
“Two things.” She paused for effect and hid her smile when Kane lowered his glass and raised an eyebrow—proof that her words had piqued his interest. “First, try to keep your pants zipped until you’re behind closed doors.”
“And second?” Morgan asked.
“Two words,” Joplin told him. “Consenting adults. After that, what happens is between you and your partner—or partners.”
Morgan and Beck laughed. Jax smiled. Skye blushed. Naturally, Kane smirked. But to his credit, he kept his thoughts to himself.
Sheila tapped Joplin on the shoulder.
“The pilot has informed me that we’ll be ready for take-off in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Joplin checked her phone. They were on schedule and would stay that way while she was in charge.
“Joplin?” Skye waved. “Do you have a second?”
“We haven’t had time to talk, have we?” Joplin took a seat next to the slender blonde and gave her a sympathetic smile. “You were swept up in a whirlwind. How are you holding up?”
“Ask me again in a few days.” Skye let out a nervous. “I’ve never set foot outside of my hometown. What’s Los Angeles like?”
“Big. Sprawling.” Joplin tried to picture the city as if for the first time instead of as someone who’d lived there most of her life. “Congested. Traffic can be a nightmare.”
“First time on a plane, and I’m flying first class.” Skye looked around, the nerves she’d tried so hard to harness bubbling to the top. “I don’t belong here. Jax, the rest of the guys, they’ve worked so hard for so long. I sang one song. One. Why should I get to coast in on their coattails?”
“I don’t know, Skye.” Joplin frowned. She hated when she didn’t have the answer. “But I’m glad Jax talked
you into coming. Nice to have another woman around.”
“Kane had a lot to do with my decision,” Skye said with a bemused smile. “He was a big help in his own way.”
Certain Skye was pulling her leg, Joplin laughed. Kane was many things, but helpful? Seemed unlikely.
“Define, in his own way.”
“Long story.” Skye sighed. “With many twists and turns.”
Joplin had the feeling Skye had more to get off her chest than her encounter with Kane. The weight of the world seemed to sit on the blonde’s slender shoulders. A heavy burden for anyone, especially someone so young.
“I’m a good listener.” Joplin gave Skye’s hand another squeeze before getting to her feet. “Anytime, anyplace. I don’t share tales out of school. What you tell me, stays with me.”
“Like a priest?” Skye asked.
Skye’s smile was shy, but there was a teasing glint in her eyes that gave Joplin hope that the other woman just needed an encouraging push to emerge from her shell.
Lending a helping hand was part of Joplin’s job—and her pleasure.
“A priest?” Joplin smiled and winked. “Sure. If the Catholic church were progressive enough to let women into their hallowed ranks.”
“Are you a feminist, Joplin?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “Proud and loud.”
“Me, too,” Skye said. “Proud, but not so loud.”
“Stick with me.” Joplin’s smile turned into a grin. “In a month, I’ll have you shouting to the rafters.”
As she moved down the aisle, Joplin felt a wave of satisfaction. Her first day on the job of a lifetime, and everything was running in the right direction. Perhaps this was the calm before the storm. Didn’t matter. She was prepared to handle whatever came her way. In fact, she couldn’t wait.
Joplin paused as she decided where to sit, eventually picking the seat opposite Kane. She wanted to establish a personal relationship with each member of Razor’s Edge, open the channels of communication so they felt comfortable coming to her with their problems. Over the next few weeks, she would make the time. For now, she didn’t want to seem anxious or pushy.
Taking her seat, Joplin slipped her feet from her red stiletto pumps and flexed her toes. She wasn’t used to heels—sneakers had been her footwear of choice for most of her life—but she’d entered a new phase of her life. Part of her new image, the heels gave her confidence as well as, she hoped, an air of authority.
“My turn?”
Joplin suppressed a shiver as Kane’s deep voice, barely above a whisper, seemed to wrap itself around her like a gentle caress.
“Did you say something?” she asked as though unimpressed by his ability to project his voice and unaffected by the seductive timbre. She was neither but knew a confession would open a can of worms better left sealed.
Kane’s lips lifted into a sardonic smile as though he knew her secrets, every last one, but was content to play the game by her rules—for now.
“You gave a pep talk to the group. Then, took time to hold Skye’s hand.” Kane shrugged. “Since you chose a seat near me, I wondered if it was my turn. Do you have a bit of preternatural wisdom to share with me?”
“Preternatural?” Joplin asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Out of the ordinary, singular, extraordinary.”
“I’m aware of the meaning.”
“Guess that makes two of us.” Kane chuckled. “Surprised? Can’t blame you. I graduated high school, but just by the skin of my teeth.”
Since Kane was more amused than offended, Joplin didn’t bother to lie.
“I am surprised, but not because of your level of education. Preternatural isn’t the kind of word that rolls trippingly off anyone’s tongue.”
“I read. A lot,” Kane explained. “Passes the time and helps with my songwriting.”
Another surprise. Kane struck Joplin as the kind of man who rarely made excuses for himself.
“Something we have in common. Not the songwriting,” Joplin said with a smile. “I read for pleasure, and out of curiosity.”
“Sounds about right.”
Kane rattled the ice in his glass before taking another drink—his third since boarding the plane. He didn’t seem affected by the alcohol and yet…
“Are you drunk?” Joplin asked.
“No.”
“You aren’t sober.”
“True,” Kane agreed.
Drawing air into her lungs, Joplin reminded herself to breathe. Seemed she’d hit her first bump a little sooner than expected.
“Do we have a problem?” she asked, reminding herself to stay calm. “Do you have a problem?”
Lowering his glasses, Kane met her gaze. His eyes were clear and alert.
“I had my first drink before I could walk, courtesy of my old man. His solution for a fussy baby was a splash of whiskey in the old milk bottle.”
“You’re joking,” Joplin said, appalled.
“For Niles Harrison, alcohol was no laughing matter. He was a drunk, the very definition of a lush. Like many fathers, his greatest wish was for his son to follow in his footsteps. I refused.” Kane pushed his glasses back into place and settled deeper into his seat. “I’m not an alcoholic, Joplin. However, I do like to drink. Any more questions?”
Many. However, only one pushed past Joplin’s lips.
“You chose your own path. What did your father say?”
For a moment, Joplin didn’t think Kane would answer.
“Niles Harrison was a man of few words,” he finally said. “Preferred to let his fists do the talking.”
Joplin rarely cried, but Kane’s response, so coolly delivered yet so sharp she felt the cut, brought her to the brink. She knew without asking that he wouldn’t appreciate her tears. If anything, she had the feeling her show of emotion would be met with anger and derision.
Biting the inside of her cheek, Joplin cleared her throat.
“Now I understand.”
“Doubtful,” Kane snorted.
“The night we met,” Joplin explained. “When I introduced you and the band to my uncle. Remember what you said?”
“Most days, I’m lucky to remember my name.” Kane smiled around the lip of his glass. “Remind me.”
“You asked how much living I’d done. You wanted to know how much wear and tear I had on my soul.”
“Poetic.” Kane dragged a hand through his long, loose hair. “What was your answer?”
“I didn’t have one.” She still didn’t. “However, I finally understand why you asked with such feeling. I’m sorry your father abused you.”
Kane stiffened; his entire body a rigid mass of coiled energy. Joplin could feel his rage and waited, prepared to defend herself if necessary. However, when he spoke, his voice was low, even, and delivered without a trace of emotion.
“Who said anything about abuse?”
“You told me your father used his fists.” Joplin frowned. “I assumed—”
“Your first mistake,” Kane interrupted, curling his lip into a sneer. “Second is your assumption that I was a helpless victim.”
“I didn’t say—”
“What you meant is all that matters. I wasn’t then, nor have I ever been, a victim. Understood?”
Before Joplin could form a response, Kane turned, presenting his back to her, shutting her out and effectively ending their conversation.
Closing her eyes, Joplin dropped her head against the back of her seat. She didn’t rest; her mind was too busy. No, she decided, Kane wasn’t a victim. And perhaps, he wasn’t an alcoholic, though she wasn’t convinced. Either way, he needed help.
Joplin’s interest in Kane’s wellbeing was part of her job. She was expected to be part friend, part psychiatrist, part miracle worker. She would do the same for any of his bandmates.
Or so she told herself.
In truth, Kane was different, had been from the first momen
t she set eyes on him. Joplin’s feelings toward the big, gorgeous, troubled lead guitar player were a mixed-up, jumbled mess. Complicated and impossible.
Still, Joplin couldn’t deny that she cared—more than was good for her. Right now, her personal interests came a distant last. For the sake of Jax, Skye, Beck, and Morgan, for the future of Razor’s Edge, and most of all, for Kane, she would do whatever possible to keep him from sinking toward his darker side.
If Kane would let her, Joplin would be his light.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
♫~♫~♫
EXACTLY TEN DAYS, seven hours, sixteen minutes, and twelve seconds after Kane was introduced to rock star and guitar god Ryder Hart, he found himself uttering words he never thought possible to think, let alone speak in front of his idol.
“You’re wrong.” Kane played the bridge leading into the chorus again. “The tempo needs to pick up here, needs urgency and heat.”
Kane was young, inexperienced, untried. Until a few days ago, he’d never stepped foot inside a recording studio. The smart thing would be to watch, learn, and hold his tongue.
However, where his music was concerned, Kane had definite ideas of what worked and what didn’t. And he wasn’t shy about sharing his opinion, even with a living legend.
“I’m never wrong,” Ryder Hart informed him.
A blonde beauty seated near the back of the room let out a snort. Looking over his shoulder, Ryder grinned at his wife.
“Correction,” he said. “I’m never wrong where music is concerned.”
“There you go.” Quinn Abernathy winked before raising her ever-present camera and snapping off a few shots. “Never hurts to keep a visual record when your husband admits he’s wrong, ladies.”
Quinn directed the observation toward Joplin and Skye. The women, plus Zoe Hart, were seated on the sofa and chairs at the rear of the room. On a glass coffee table sat refreshments. Iced tea, an array of sandwiches, and cookies, baked fresh that morning in the Hart family kitchen.
“I’m trying to teach this young pup an important lesson about arranging a song,” Ryder called out. “We don’t need comments from the peanut gallery.”
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