Getting Lucky (Jail Bait #4)

by Mia Storm

There’s another pause, longer this time. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

  A stone sinks in my gut. “What the fuck did you do, Freddie?”

  “Billie. We’ve got…history of a personal nature, if you catch my drift. Let’s just say she might not be too receptive with the idea of moving her client over to me.”

  I blow out a slow breath. “You fucked her.”

  “For six months,” he says. “She didn’t take it so well when I stopped.”

  My hand goes to the back of my neck and rubs at the knot forming there. “You’re the perfect label for what Lucky wants to do.”

  “I’d cut off my fucking right nut to get her. And I’m thinking that’s pretty literally what it would take to get Billie to bring her over; my right testicle hanging from a chain around her neck.”

  “Let me work on her. In the meantime, I’m going to send some tape from last night over so you can hear this shit for yourself. Try not to cream your shorts, man.”

  He laughs. “Can’t make any promises.”

  “That’s what got you into this fucking mess, you cocksucker.”

  I disconnect and loll my head back on the seat, wondering what Lucky’s doing right now.

  #

  The next time I see her is after our sound check in L.A. We’re heading out the back just as she and her crew are coming in, and I can’t deny the change in my heart rate at just the sight of her.

  Christ, she’s beautiful.

  L.A. is way warmer than San Francisco and she’s in a white tank top and short black skirt, and it’s everything I can do to rip my eyes away from those legs.

  “Hey,” I say as our paths cross. “You got a sec?”

  She glances over her shoulder at the rest of her band, filing through the door. Max hesitates and cuts me a glare before following the rest of them in.

  “Yeah…okay,” she says.

  There’s a second when those deep whiskey eyes connect with mine that my synapses fry and I can’t remember a fucking thing I was going to say, but then parts of the thought drift into my consciousness like feathers loose from a pillow.

  “There’s a guy I’ve worked with some, Freddie Palmer over at A&M. I think he’d be perfect to produce the stuff you want to do. I talked to him yesterday and he’s—”

  Her expression turns instantly to stone. “Wait…what? You already talked to him? Why would you do that?”

  “Just wanted to feel him out to see if he was interested before I mentioned it to you. I think his exact words were he’d cut off his right nut to sign you. And he’s interested in hearing Lilah’s tracks. This could be perfect for you.”

  I’m talking too fast, because with every word she shakes her head a little harder and I want her to hear this before she totally shuts me out.

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “Seriously? Because this is an amazing opportunity.”

  Her glare slices through me. “Seriously.”

  I can’t even get my head around a single reason that makes sense why she won’t even talk to Freddie. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to owe you anything.”

  And there it is. In that once sentence, she’s shot me down on every level. That’s what she thinks of me, that I’m doing this for some quid pro quo. “Listen, Lucky. I think you’ve got something. The shit I heard the other night, Lilah’s music, you would go big with that. You need to record it. If Universal won’t let you do it, you need to find someone who will. I just made a call. If it works out, it’s because of you. You owe me nothing. Just talk to the guy. See what you think.”

  She scrutinizes me for another agonizing minute. “Fine. Text me his number.” She rattles off her number and I’m having trouble punching it into my phone accurately because my fucking hand is shaking.

  I’m shaking because a girl is giving me her number. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “Got it,” I say, attaching Freddie’s contact info and texting it to her.

  Her phone buzzes. “Got it,” she repeats.

  And then I remember. All this persuasion, and here’s where I probably kill the deal. “Oh, and you might not want to mention this to Billie until you talk to him yourself.”

  Her gaze grows hazy with suspicion. “Why?”

  “I guess they know each other.”

  Her expression hardens again. “If Billie doesn’t trust him, neither do I.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Look, Lucky, I could get you some other names, but I really think he’s your guy. He does what you want to do and he’s really good at it. Just give him a call.”

  She turns toward the door and disappears inside without another word.

  Chapter 16

  Shiloh

  I’ve stared at both numbers for the last two days. Tro wants me to call this Freddie guy, but what the fuck kind of name is Freddie. And if Billie has an issue with him, then it’s not going to happen anyway.

  But then there’s also Tro’s number.

  I’ve had his Skype name, but somehow having his actual number feels so much more personal. I’m pretty damn sure none of his hook-ups have it.

  Ever since he stood on stage that first night at Madison Square Garden and told eighteen thousand people he was going to fuck me, I’ve been one hundred percent sure that’s all I was to him. A hook-up. And then when I didn’t give in, a challenge. But now…it feels different between us. Something fundamental has changed.

  And then I realize.

  I like him. Not, he’s so hot like, but as an actual person.

  There’s something real inside him that he doesn’t want anyone to see. He hides it behind layers of flash and show, but he let down the front and I started to see what’s underneath the other night.

  And I like the guy I saw there.

  I look at his text again. Freddie. He really thinks this guy knows what he’s doing. Never in a million years did I expect to trust Tro with anything, especially my career, but I suddenly realize I do.

  I hit the number before I can change my mind.

  “Freddie here,” a voice on the other end of the line says.

  I almost disconnect, but instead, I take a deep breath. “Hi. My...um…friend, Tro Gunnison gave me your number…said I should call you?”

  Jesus, I’m already fucking this up.

  “Is this Shiloh?” he asks, his pitch a little higher. “He told me he’d pass my number along to you.”

  “Yeah…hi.”

  “Hey, it’s great to hear from you. Thanks for the call.”

  There’s a pause where I think I’m supposed to say something, but I don’t have words.

  “So, anyway, he sent me a few tracks and I think what you’ve got going—”

  “Wait…” I interrupt. “What did he send you?” That asshole didn’t mention sending tracks.

  “Some stuff he said he recorded in the subway with your friend?”

  I take a deep breath, because every nerve in my body is suddenly on fire. “Okay.”

  “I think this stuff is gold, Shiloh. I would absolutely be interested in hearing everything this friend of yours has written. And as far as the tracks I heard, they’d definitely be a go. I think this could be huge.”

  “So…you’d let me have some say in which tracks we went with?” I ask.

  “I can guarantee you right now that if the rest of what you have is similar to what I’ve heard, I’d let you take your pick.”

  “What about on the studio tracks? Would Lilah have a chance to audition for lead guitar?”

  “I can’t see why not,” he says. “I can’t make any guarantees there, but we’d sure as hell listen to what she’s got.”

  I feel like I’m about to float right off the floor. But then I remember Tro’s warning. I can’t do this without Billie. And I mean that literally. I have no idea what I’m doing. She handles everything business. “Tro says you and Billie have some bad blood?”

  There’s a short pause. “If you’re interested in pursuing this, l
et me give her a call and see what I can do.”

  I swallow. “Yeah…okay. I am interested.”

  “Great,” he says. “That’s really great, Shiloh. You’re playing the Staples Center again tonight, right?”

  “Yeah. And then we have a day off before we’re in San Diego,” I say, the tiniest flicker of hope tickling my heart.

  “Excellent. Let me see if I can work something out with Billie to meet before you leave southern California. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to talk in person very soon.”

  “That would be great,” I say. “Thanks.”

  I disconnect and press the phone to my forehead. “God, please,” I whisper into the quiet of the bus. I don’t pray, but I sure as hell am now. Because I want this…Lilah and me together again, doing our music. Nothing could be better.

  #

  “How about if, instead of taking it up and connecting the bridge, we go low instead, right there,” Tro says, pointing to the bit of scrap paper we’re jotting notes onto.

  I strum the strings, working though the chord progression and find he’s right. It works, but it’s unexpected. “But then, on the backside, we can bring it back up so it ties into the chorus here.” I work the strings as I explain and Tro nods along with the beat.

  My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket. After our show, I told Billie I was staying for Roadkill, but they finished playing over an hour ago. The venue is nearly empty, but Tro and I are still in Roadkill’s dressing room, playing with melodies.

  “Billie’s wondering where I am,” I say, setting his guitar aside and standing from the floor, where we’ve sort of set up camp. There are bowls of chips and a few scattered beer bottles from our impromptu picnic.

  “I’ll walk you back,” he offers, even though the buses are just outside the back doors.

  “I think I can manage to get there on my own,” I say.

  He ignores me and stands, brushing crumbs off his jeans. He shoves his hands in his pockets and we head toward the rear exit. “You should really call Freddie.”

  I wasn’t planning on telling him until he talked to Billie, because I’m trying really hard not to get my hopes up in case this explodes in my face. “I did.”

  He looks at me. “How’d it go?”

  “Good,” I say. “He’s going to try to set up a meeting with Billie and me before we leave SoCal.”

  He nods a little. “He’s a really good fit for you, Lucky.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d sent him tracks?”

  His eyes are a little wide when they flick to me then back to the floor. “Guess I didn’t want you know I’d taped some of your stuff. Feels a little stalkerish.”

  I give him a hard look. “Only if you play it over and over while doing unspeakable things to yourself.”

  He fights the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth as he punches open the door. “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  We start across the lot toward the buses, and when he takes my elbow gently in his grasp, the slow burn that started under my skin as we were working flares into a bonfire.

  “So…what’s the deal with you and Max?” he asks as we pass their bus, where there’s clearly a party raging.

  I glance through the front window and just make out Max in a crush of female bodies in the front lounge. “He thought he was going to make me fall in love with him.”

  “Working?” he asks, his grip on my arm tightening slightly.

  “I think he finally gets I’m not hooking up with anyone on this tour,” I say. “Too awkward.”

  We reach my bus and he lets me go, but his eyes don’t. “Good to know.”

  I open the door to the bus and Tro watches me up the stairs. “We should finish that song,” I say, trying to keep the tickle of desperation I feel out of my voice. Tonight some inky layer of Tro sloughed off and something shiny winked out. I want to see more of whatever that was.

  He nods. “Definitely.”

  “Night.” I close the door, and when I turn, Billie is staring me down from her usual spot at the table. I think she’s going to lay into me about being with Tro, but instead, she stands and plants a hand on her hip. “Why am I getting a phone call from Fred Palmer?” she says, shaking her phone in the air with the other one.

  “Did you talk to him?” I ask.

  “No! He’s pond scum, Shiloh. I got a message from him saying he wanted to meet with us tomorrow. Why would he even think you might be interested in moving to A&M?”

  I cringe. “I kind of called him.”

  She throws a hand in the air. “Why would you go behind my back and do that?”

  “I just wanted to talk to him about doing Lilah’s music. He’s heard some of it and he says he really likes it.”

  “Just because he says it, doesn’t mean he’ll do it, Shiloh. People say all kinds of things in this business that they don’t mean. Promises mean nothing until they’re signed in blood on a contract.”

  “Why can’t we just talk to him?” I ask. “See what he has to say?”

  Her neck is red and it’s starting to creep up to her ears. “No. We’re not talking to him.” She turns for the bunks. “I’m going to bed.”

  The rush of blood through my ears is so loud I can’t hear anything else. What if this was my only chance to do Lilah’s music?

  I flop onto the couch and yank my hair, trying to think of ways to talk her down. But as my blood pressure settles and my mind stops spinning, I remember that this is Billie’s gig. She knows this business. She’s always had my back. I trust her, and she obviously doesn’t trust this Freddie guy.

  If Billie’s this adamant, maybe I’m the one who’s wrong. Maybe this guy was too good to be true after all.

  Have I gotten soft, trusting too easily? Because I trusted Tro on this without even questioning it. I trusted Freddie to be honest and true to his word and I’ve never even met the guy.

  Billie said way back at the start of the tour that I needed to grow a thick skin, and Tro basically said everyone in this business is out to fuck each other.

  If I’m going to survive out here, I need to toughen up. And that means trusting no one.

  Chapter 17

  Tro

  I’m fucking juiced. The notes that Lucky and I were working on cycle through my head all the way back to the hotel. It’s that feeling I have when I’m onto something. What we’ve got so far is seriously good, but for the first time, I’m not convinced the electricity playing under my skin and running through my veins is because of the music.

  Because the high from spending an hour one on one with Lucky is more intense than anything I’ve ever gotten from booze or drugs, and way the fuck more addictive.

  I’m still in the fucking ozone when I walk into the suite. The party’s lower key tonight, the standard guys and just a handful of girls. Jamie’s speakers are playing and he’s dancing slow and making out with a girl who’s standing on the coffee table, which brings them to just about the same height.

  “Dude!” he says when he sees me. “Where the fuck you been?”

  I cross toward my bedroom. “Just hung back at the arena to work on some shit.”

  Grim scowls up at me from the couch as I pass. “Let me guess—you were with the mutt.”

  My feet stall and there’s a second I can’t even process what he means, but then it slams into me. How did I never see that Grim was such a fucking bigot?

  Blood rises in my face as I turn to face him. “Her name is Shiloh,” I say, realizing that may be the first time I’ve ever used her actual name.

  He blows out a disgusted laugh. “Call her whatever you want, she’s nothing but tight, calico pussy,” he says, grabbing the crotch of the girl sitting next to him. “At least tell me you’re hitting that. Because otherwise, you’re just fucking babysitting.”

  All I can think about is smashing his ugly face with my fists. I can’t see past that image to find fucking words.

  Jamie must see it in my eyes, becaus
e he’s off his girl in a flash and has a handful of my T-shirt. He glares down at Grim. “Let’s just back the fucking train up here for a sec.”

  Grim looks like he’s going to rise to the fight, but after a minute of stare down, he just gives his head a disgusted shake. “You need to pull your fucking head out of your ass and remember what you’re here for.”

  He shoves the girl at his side off and stands, then slams through his bedroom door.

  “What the fuck is up his ass?” I ask Jamie, pissed that fucking Grim killed my buzz.

  He lets my shirt go and looks at where Grim just vanished with a shrug. “It’s fucking Grim. Could be anything.”

  I give his chest a shove. “That shit you did tonight on the bridge of “Insane” was seriously fucking animal. You should do that every night.”

  A grin eats his entire face. “It fucking just came to me. That was crazy, right?”

  I smile back. “That’s why you’re the best.”

  He claps my back as I head past him into my room. When I get there, I close the door and drop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to find my Lucky buzz again.

  #

  Over the last week and a half, I’ve been finding more and more reasons not to be in the hotel suite with Grim. And most of those reasons are Lucky.

  Which is exactly Grim’s issue. I don’t know why he hates her, but he takes every opportunity he can to make sure I know it. And tonight, he made sure she does too.

  We’re in Atlanta, our last stop before we wrap up our North American tour in Miami two days from now. Which means I only have two days left with Lucky, and I’m not going to squander a minute.

  I haven’t missed any of Lucky’s shows since L.A., and tonight I was standing in the wings, waiting, when they wrapped their final set and she came off stage. She smiled and came over when she saw me. I fist bumped her. “You broke them,” I said with a grin, indicating the rabid crowd, still cheering her. “Not sure they’ll even stay for Roadkill now.”

  I didn’t even know Grim was there until I heard him behind me. “Not bad for a trained monkey,” he’d said, stepping out of the shadows. He glared Lucky down then headed over to get his sound gear wired.