“I want you to build up your strength and endurance for the grueling hours on tour. It also wouldn’t hurt to look fit for photo sessions.”
Akhil, who was the most muscular of the group, nodded. “I tried to tell them, but they were acting so goofy. You’ll probably be hearing about it.” He was the eldest. Brent had tried to get him to step up and be the leader of the group. But Akhil’s shy, quiet nature tended to keep him in the background.
“You’re a snitch.” Kevin balled up paper and tossed it at Akhil. His pitch was off, and the paper bomb flew past Akhil.
Charisse opened the conference room door just as the paper landed at her feet. The room erupted in laughter like a classroom without a teacher.
“Okay, guys, can you quiet down so I can make the necessary introductions?” Brent said.
Thank goodness, they complied. Now all of their attention was riveted on Charisse. Brent couldn’t help feeling a surge of energy at seeing her.
“This is Charisse, who will be handling your PR. As I told you, you’ll have an interview later this afternoon on TV.”
Charisse nodded along with him. “This is pretty big. You want to be interesting and interested in what the reporter asks of you. Remember that whatever you say will have a longer life than you think.”
Brent noticed that she addressed each member, talking directly to him. She had them in her hand. However, he didn’t get the same treatment from her. Since her entrance, she pointedly hadn’t looked at him. He even shifted his position around the room. But her gaze swept over him as if he didn’t exist.
He didn’t like being ignored. Did she have to be so good at it? She seemed to be able to turn off her emotions as easily as turning off a faucet.
“Brent, can I talk to you for a minute?”
He recognized her displeasure in the tightness around her mouth. He nodded and followed her out of the room. “What’s the problem?”
“The clothes are all wrong. Do they have something else?”
Brent looked at the guys through the windows of the room. They weren’t matching each other, but they weren’t that type of band. A couple wore hip-hop style clothes, one had the preppy look and Akhil wore athletic gear.
“I don’t want them to look like clones. They have their own personalities.”
“I wasn’t trying to do that. I’m talking about colors. This is their first time on TV. You need them to pop off the screen. I’m not talking about bright neon colors, just solid bold colors.”
“Shopping now is not an option.” Brent wasn’t about to take these guys shopping in New York. Their budget would be in the red almost immediately.
“How long are they here?”
“A week. They have other appointments through the week.”
“Let’s examine the wardrobe. Maybe they can borrow each other’s clothes.”
“You must have bumped your head on the way over here.” Brent laughed at Charisse’s naïveté.
“Really? That’s all you have to say? Move aside.” She moved him aside with the back of her hand and entered the conference room.
Brent stayed near the door to witness the showdown. When she floundered trying to figure out how to bring order back to the situation, he would step in.
“Listen up, guys. We have a slight problem. It’s about the interview.”
“It’s cancelled?” Kevin’s voice carried his disappointment.
“No. It’s on. But I have a suggestion about your attire.”
“Yes?” Akhil sat up, his tone wary.
“One of the big things about bands is the visual connection to potential fans. No one gives TV time to bands with no name and no hype. So this time that you’ll have on the screen is crucial.”
“What do you want us to do?” Cameron, who hadn’t said much more than hello, suddenly took interest.
“Let’s check the clothing options now. You might have to make some switches among yourselves, but it’s only for this afternoon. Think you can handle it?” Her tone sounded as if she was amenable to their objections, but her body language said the complete opposite.
There was a silence. Brent could have told her that the idea would tank. Borrowing clothes, yeah right. These guys took great ownership of their style and clothing.
“We’ll do it,” Cameron said. They all nodded. “We’ll go get the suitcases.” They noisily left the conference room to retrieve their luggage from the lobby.
The conference room felt eerily quiet when they exited. Charisse leaned against the wall almost opposite him. She didn’t smile, nor did she look at him. Her demeanor was completely relaxed. The way she had her arms folded across her chest topped off her victory stance.
“Try not to gloat,” Brent accused.
“No problem. Then you’ll owe me a gloating moment. Make no mistake, I’ll rub this in.”
He tried to think of a witty comeback, but his thoughts were interrupted by the guys’ return. They lined up their suitcases against the wall, as Charisse had instructed. Then they opened them and sat back, waiting for her to inspect them.
Brent knew his own style and chose his clothing based on what suited him. But he wasn’t about to pretend to be a stylist. He took a quick step back and decided not to select anything for anyone.
The task seemed to be another of Charisse’s strengths. He enjoyed watching her sift through their clothes, pulling out various pieces, examining them and holding them up against their bodies. She questioned each guy to understand his style and the personality type he wanted to portray.
She looked up at Brent over the guys’ heads. Her lips curved up ever so slightly.
Brent smiled back, grateful for her response.
As they sat backstage waiting for their time to go out for the interview, Brent thought he would throw up, pass out or rub the crease out of his pants. Why had he agreed to be interviewed? He had tried to back out, but had only earned a scolding from Charisse.
She’d stepped up and managed to keep the guys calm. They listened to her coaching tips, even role-playing with her. Whenever he made his suggestions, his voice sounded like a bear waking up from hibernation. His attitude kind of matched his crankiness.
“Are you ready?” Charisse sat next to him. Her gentle voice normally would’ve soothed the nipping of his nerves. But moments before a TV interview, nothing seemed to have a calming effect on his nerves. She patted his knee. “Try not to look like you’ll upchuck on the hostess, please.”
“I’m glad you came with us.” He looked out at the set and groaned. “I think I should have a mint.”
She opened her pocketbook and retrieved a small box of mints. He gratefully took one, breathing a little easier once he popped it into his mouth.
“Are you this nervous when you deal with contracts?”
“Every time. But I take the position of crusader. I’m there to fight for my client’s interests, every single penny of them.”
“And now…”
He had to think about it. What was so different?
“You’re still fighting for your client’s interests,” she reminded.
“Now, I want them to be liked. Before, I knew that those managers wanted my clients. I knew they had bankable talent.” He lowered his voice. “In this case, what if no one else sees what I see, hears what I hear? I know they aren’t just another group of guys who can sing together.” He looked down at his hands. “I feel it here.”
“Don’t let Gladys make you think otherwise. You can play to her, but let’s focus on the masses of people watching. Let them fall in love with the group.” Her face shone with confidence. She stood. “They’re ready.”
“I’m putting myself in your hands.” He walked over to the guys and slapped five with them. “Let’s hit this out of th
e ballpark. We’ve got work to do.”
“And you know this,” Kevin piped up.
They bowed their heads for a quick prayer, which Cameron led. Brent added his own plea for patience and protection. After they’d raised their heads, the production assistant approached.
“Let’s go.” Brent walked to the door but stopped when he realized Charisse wasn’t following. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No. I have to stay here.” She shooed him from the area.
Brent didn’t care that the production assistant, armed with a headset and clipboard, was hurrying him along. He grabbed Charisse’s hand and pulled her with him. When she tried to resist, he locked arms with her and propelled her toward the cameras.
“She’s coming on set,” he said, deliberately using a tone that didn’t invite discussion.
The production assistant raised his hands, as if in surrender or disgust. The young man seemed to have mastered the look of constant irritation. But it didn’t matter to Brent.
He winked at Charisse and then turned his attention to Gladys. This time, when Charisse pulled her hand from his, he let go. The hostess glanced over at Charisse but zeroed in on him. Her deep-set eyes noticed his slightest move, as if sizing him up.
He remained cool. Time to bring on the legal shark instinct from his former life. This woman didn’t need to smell blood in the water. Only he and Charisse needed to know how much he didn’t want to be under the scrutiny of harsh lights and invasive questions.
She offered her hand in greeting. He’d expected her to shove it out at him, to show that she was the boss. Instead, she extended it as if she expected him to kiss the back of her hand.
His research had described her as a diva. Well, there were some other unflattering terms. There was some distant connection to European royalty through one of her marriages. She’d managed to keep the title as part of the settlement.
“Welcome to My Lounge Show. Good to have you here.” Gladys’s voice had a strong nasal quality.
“Glad to be here,” Brent said, with as much conviction as he could muster.
“Today’s guests are All For One and their manager, Brent Thatcher.”
The guys waved and flashed toothy smiles. Brent stayed reserved, trying to anticipate the next few questions.
“Before I get to the group, I’m going to find out all about you.” Gladys patted him on the knee.
Brent nodded. He’d been instructed that they’d go to a commercial break soon, and he’d leave so the interview could continue with just the group. The plan was fine with him because he surely didn’t want to sit there smiling and nodding for an hour.
“Brent Thatcher, from where do you hail?”
“I’m from Boston.”
“You may live in Boston, but I hear a bit of something else there.”
“I was raised in Georgia, outside Atlanta.”
“Gotcha! Don’t try to come on my show and hide stuff from Miss Gladys.” Again, she patted his knee. Her bloodred fingernails against her light skin were like danger signs to him.
Brent stared at the TV hostess, who had suddenly gone from conservative talk show host to comedic, down-home girl. The switch unnerved him.
“How does a lawyer making big bucks throw all of that away to manage a group that only sang in high school?”
“My education isn’t something that is thrown away. I can use that education in a variety of ways. And I decided to now embark on this career path.”
“So when you’ve got all the experience you need, then will you head off to something else?”
“That would imply that I’ve not found my path. But this path chose me when I heard the four high school students sing and then had them sing at my wife’s funeral. Our lives intersected in a positive way and continue to do so with the people that I meet.”
“I’m sorry to hear the sad circumstances of your meeting.” The hostess seemed subdued. Her tone shifted to a softer note. “Before we go to break, can you tell us what song they will be singing today?”
Song? They had been told that there wouldn’t be time for a song. He scrambled through his thoughts to find a song that they could do with no practice and a cappella.
“Ma’am, we’d like to perform ‘One Moment In Time,’” Cameron said.
Brent acknowledged the save by Cameron. He turned to the hostess. “There you have it.”
“On that note, thank you, Brent. Folks, we’ll be right back.” As soon as the producer signaled the break, Gladys leaned over and boldly stroked his knee. Her hand lingered too long for his liking. “How long has it been since your wife passed?”
“A little over two years.”
“My Walter, may God bless him, just passed a few years ago. Hang in there. Life goes on.” She hugged him, squeezing her body against his.
Brent didn’t know what to do but slowly brought his hands to her elbows. This woman, who had only moments ago seemed ready to slice and dice him with her questions, had now turned into a soft and swooning admirer.
“Miss Gladys, we’re back in ten seconds.”
“We’ll chat later.” Gladys hurried back to her spot.
“Another woman caught in your web?” Charisse whispered over his shoulder.
“Do you count yourself lucky that you’ve escaped?” he taunted.
“Yes, I will write a tell-all book on how to survive your wily ways. And yes, I’ll tell how to avoid getting sucked in by that smile.” Her soft brown eyes glittered under the lights. Today she’d worn her hair in a tight ponytail, which he particularly liked because it allowed him to see all of her face.
“I hope you’re not embittered by the experience. Will there be a happy ending to your book?”
“Well, I played a part in the conquest. But a woman has got to know her limitations. Kind of like ice cream. It might taste fantastic, but too much of it and you’re going down.”
“Pace yourself, baby.” Brent hovered over Charisse’s mouth. His desire had a penchant for coming at the wrong moments.
“Shh.” One of the techies signaled to them.
They both turned away, but the sexual tension still lingered in the air.
By the end of the day, the video upload of the group’s a cappella song had hit several thousand views. Brent knew his contribution to the high number of views was practically zero. The group’s success was confirmed by the larger number of positive comments, along with the thumbs-up that the video received online. His phone buzzed nonstop with offers for other media appearances.
“Hey, want one?” Charisse stood in his office doorway with a beer in hand. “It’s cold.”
“Where’d you get that?” He walked over to take the welcome gift.
“I figured we needed to celebrate. I bought a couple on the way over here.”
“Light beer?”
“Every calorie counts, especially since I had a great big burrito bowl a few hours ago.” Charisse wandered into his office.
He watched her walk around his temporary office, looking at the black-and-white photographs on the wall. Vicki had mailed a few items to decorate his office. Charisse might worry about her weight and size, but she was a vision of perfection. Her curves were well placed and added, rather than detracted, from her femininity.
“How are the guys?” she asked.
“They got invited to a club by one of the local DJs.”
“How long did the lecture last?”
“What do you mean?” His brow wrinkled as he tried to understand her question.
“I know you sat them down in a row on that couch and badgered them to death about what to do and not do. Who did you put in charge?”
“Akhil.” Brent was amused that she knew him so well.
�
�You gave them a curfew, too.”
“Yep.”
“Good. They need boundaries. You’ve got a lively bunch there. Yet they are good guys.”
“See, I told you they have something special.”
She drank from the bottle, and he admired her throat as she leaned her head back.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested.
Brent looked at Charisse, as a tense moment passed between them. He recognized the desire in her eyes. No doubt, she saw the same in his. But it only lasted for a second before they reined in their emotions.
“I should get home.” Charisse set down the half-empty bottle.
Brent didn’t want her to leave. Yet he was afraid of saying something that would make her run from him again.
“You can walk me home.”
He nodded. The way she bit her lip turned him on. “Give me one sec to call the driver.”
“No. I’d rather have you walk me home. It’s a nice night. I’m wearing comfortable shoes. There’s no need to have a driver wait outside all night and into the morning.”
Brent set down his beer. He didn’t want to presume what he thought he’d heard. He remained silent but very willing to comply.
Chapter 11
“We’ll have to take two subways coming from here.” Charisse tilted her head at him as she played with her bottom lip.
“Not a problem. I’m not in any hurry.” His body had a different opinion in its aroused state.
His hotel was only a block away, but he didn’t want to interject anything that could kill the mood. “I need to finish a letter and send it out before I leave.”
“I can wait.” She slipped off her shoes before reclining on the couch. “May I?” She promptly crossed her legs on the arm of the sofa.
He nodded, almost becoming speechless as he gazed upon her long legs. Why should he be surprised that her legs were toned and gorgeous? He’d seen them before, wrapped around his waist. Somehow in his office, the effect was even sexier. What he wouldn’t give to kneel next to her and trace the taut indentations along her calf muscle.
If I Had You Page 12