“You fucking whore!” Stu launched himself at her, throwing her to the floor and clamping his hands around her throat, squeezing and choking her. Bay fought back, jamming her fingers into his eyes and kicking out. She caught him with her foot in his groin and immediately he rocked back, groaning. Bay scrambled up, went for the door, and almost made it. Stu, roaring his anger, picked her up, and threw her through the glass partition between the studio and the mixing room, smashing the glass. Bay landed heavily on the mixing desk and rolled off, completely winded, her body screaming in pain. Stu, incensed, followed her through the shattered window and grabbed her hair, pulling her back against him. Bay swiped at him with a shard of broken glass, but he grabbed her arm and twisted until she dropped it. Stu smashed her across the head with a heavy-bottomed ashtray and Bay, stunned but still awake, crumpled to the floor. Stu straddled her, clamping her arms above her head with one big hand. He grabbed the shard of glass she had dropped and drew his arm back to drive it into her stomach.
Tom dragged him off of Bay with a roar, punching the shocked Stu into unconsciousness. Bay scrambled away from them, backing up until she was leaning against the door, breathing hard and shell-shocked by the speed of the attack. Tom finally let Stu drop and went to her. She was covered in blood, but a quick check told him that she had no major injuries. She told him what had happened and Tom looked appalled, pulling her into his arms.
“God, you insane girl. What were you thinking?”
“Insurance,” Bay said breathlessly. “A way to get rid of him for good.”
Tom stared at her in alarm. “Please tell me you weren’t going to kill him. Bay, he’s twice your size. You’d be dead now if …Jesus.”
“No.” She made him look at her, then pointed upwards, around the room. Cameras, seven of them, were stationed around the room, recording everything that happened in the studio
“In case a band decides to trash the place.” She grinned at him. “Which I suppose I did.”
He started to laugh, then, and kissed her. “I’d call you a genius, but you could have told me, Bay.”
“I won’t hide anything from you again,” she promised. He helped her to her feet and she went over to Stu, nudging him with her toe. He moaned. “Jack off,” she said. “What do you say we take out the trash?”
Stu Lawson woke up four hours later, a stray dog licking his face. He sat up, realizing he was on a landfill site, trash everywhere. To his jacket was pinned a note. Guess who’s got it all on camera, asshole? Leave Seattle or the film goes to the police.
The stray dog turned and lifted his leg to pee on him.
Bumbershoot. A crowd seething with anticipation. Bay wished she hadn’t looked to see how many people had turned up to see them. Seattle Center was full to capacity.
Their single had now been steadily climbing the Billboard chart. “Fire for You” was the song America was talking about; The 9th & Pine, the biggest new band on social media. They had arrived.
She slunk back to the dressing room and made a face at Tom, who laughed.
“Everyone ready?” He looked down at Bay, who gazed up at him, a small smile playing on her lips.
Tomas looked at Pete and Kym, who exchanged barely-concealed grins. “Guys …can we have the room for a minute?”
Bay was crimson, but her smile was sweet as her friends left the room, pulling the door closed behind them.
Tom pulled her gently to him and smiled down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head and stayed silent, gazing up at him, her eyes soft. She smoothed some hair over his ear gently. He bent his head and brushed her lips with his hesitantly, but she leaned into the kiss, her fingers sliding into his hair. She stood on the tips of her toes to reach his mouth. His hands slid around her waist, tightening his hold on her. His lips moved against hers, caressing, his tongue exploring hers.
“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. He felt a wetness on her cheeks and tears dropped from her eyes as she smiled back at him. God, she was so beautiful.
“I love you too.” He groaned at her words, pulling her tightly against his chest. God, he wanted to tear off her clothes and kiss every part of her glorious honey skin. He had to break away now or she’d never get on stage.
She smiled at him and stroked his face. “Later.”
“So many laters.”
“You bet your sweet ass, Meir.”
God, just that promise, that certainty in her voice.
“Go knock ‘em dead, beautiful.”
He followed her out and stood on the side of the stage, listening to the M.C. announced them and hearing the swell and roar of the crowd as the three of them made their entrance.
This, this was the moment he lived for—a talent being celebrated and appreciated.
Only this time, it was different. This time, it was more.
Because the love of his life was taking her first bow …
Quartet #2
Burn for You
Emily Moore was woken by her eight-year-old nephew, Henry, tapping her shoulder. She opened her eyes and mock-glared at him in the way that always made him laugh.
Not today, though. His hands were twisting in his pajama top, his face tense. Emily sat up, pushing her long, blonde hair out her face.
“What is it, punkin?”
Henry, his hair sticking up in clumps, handed the phone to her. “Mommy’s on the phone.”
Oh damn. Emily tugged the boy onto the bed and hugged him. “It’s okay, champ.” She kissed the top of his head and sighing, spoke into the phone. “Paige?”
“Hey, cutie, how’s things?”
Emily rolled her shoulders, tension making them hurt. “We’re good. Nice of you to call.”
Unfazed by her sister’s sarcasm, Paige laughed. “Hey, you know what it’s like on the road.”
“Not really.”
“How’s Henry?”
“Why didn’t you ask him yourself?”
Paige finally caught onto her sister’s mood. “Look, Emily, I know. I know it’s been hard for you, but—“
“Hang on.” Emily pulled the phone away from her ear and smiled down at the boy sitting beside her. “Go get a shower, pal. Give me a few minutes.”
Henry knew the drill. Auntie wanted grown-up time. Emily watched him leave and gently closed her bedroom door. She sucked in a frustrated breath.
“I’m back.”
“I was saying that I know I left Henry in your care for a while, but—“
“Four years, Paige. Half his lifetime. It was meant to be for three weeks while you went on tour. Four years.” Emily’s voice was brittle with anger.
When she was growing up in suburban San Francisco, her older sister had been her idol. Paige Moore had been the biggest rock star in the world for a heady three-year period in the mid-2000s, and even now sold out stadiums in every major city. This latest tour had been rolling around the globe now for the last four years—which would have been cool if it weren’t for Henry. Paige had fallen pregnant after a one-night stand with a groupie—Emily suspected on purpose—and when the guy had refused to have anything to do the kid, Paige had seemed relieved. When Henry was born, Paige had fallen in love in a way that Emily had never seen. Paige had millions in the bank, a much-loved child, and a restless heart. After being a stay-at-home mom, she got antsy. Emily, just out of Stamford law school and already building her reputation as one of the best agents in the business, was in no position to take on a child, but she could see Paige starting to resent her child for taking away her freedom and her dream. That’s when she’d told Paige to take a few weeks, tour, and get it out of her system. Emily had blinked and it was four years later. Paige had missed Henry’s first day at school, the first time he’d read a book on his own, and the first time he’d won a science prize.
Emily loved Henry with all her heart, but couldn’t help the anger that she felt on his behalf. Paige could paint it how she wanted—she’d abandoned her child. Emily rubbed her hand acros
s her face now as her sister spoke.
“Look, Ems, that’s why I’m calling.”
Emily sighed. “Look, if you need more time, it’s okay. It really is. Henry loves his school, he has friends, and he likes the teachers. We do okay here. All I ask is that you call him more often, maybe every couple of days, and come see him at least once a month.”
“If you’ll let me finish,” her sister was clearly getting agitated too, “that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Ems. I will see him more—much more. The tour is ending. I’m done. I want Henry back.”
Tom drove Dash to SeaTac airport, going over and over what he wanted Dash to achieve. Dash listened patiently.
“Bay was very particular about who we pick to be the band’s manager. She’s already cleared it with Rocky, so all you have to do is get Emily Moore on board. She’s the only one Bay trusts.”
Dash grinned at his friend and partner. “Did you think I forgot all of that in the last five minutes?”
Tom inclined his head, smiling good–naturedly. “I know you got this. It’s just that sometimes …”
“Eager Puppy?” Dash knew the nickname his older partners had given him, due to Dash’s habit of throwing himself headlong into situations without much thought. Dash knew he deserved the ribbing he got. Tom, Otis, and especially Roman, had all bailed him out on one occasion or another.
Tom grinned. “Eager puppy. Look, it’s important to Bay, to the band, and to all of us. Since Stu Lawson thankfully made himself scarce—“
“You never told me what happened there. Why did he leave? I know there was something about him assaulting Kym, but Kym has never said anything.”
Tom was quiet for a moment, his smile gone. “Bay fired him, because he did beat Kym and he attacked her. He tried to kill Bay. I got there just in time.” Tom’s voice was low and full of pain. Dash looked at him sympathetically. Tomas Meir had fallen hard for the petite, brunette singer of The 9th & Pine. Bay Tambe was beautiful, smart, fiery, and so talented that it hurt, and Dash liked her very much, as he did the rest of the band—Kym and Pete. Bay and Tom had fallen in love quickly and passionately, and now Dash wanted to make sure he didn’t let them down.
On the plane, he had a chance to check his emails and do some research into the woman he was meeting. Emily Moore was the entertainment agent of the moment. Her client, Rocky Apsilom, had conquered the music world effortlessly, thanks to Emily’s guidance, and now everyone was clamoring for a piece of the hotshot young lawyer.
In San Francisco, Dash took a cab to her office, smiling at the receptionist who told him to take a seat. Dash looked around the office, which mainly featured vintage music pictures. One stood out—the cover art for Rocky Apsilom’s last smash hit. Dash went to look at it, noting with a smile the subtitle: “Featuring Bay Tambe of The 9th & Pine.” It had been the band’s introduction to the music world. Their singer’s soaring vocals, that heavenly voice weaving in and out of Rocky’s feminist raps, had stunned everyone.
“Mr. Harrison?”
He turned to see Emily Moore, unsmiling, holding her hand out to him. He took it. “Dash, please.” He flashed her one of his most charming smiles. but she simply turned on her heel and led him into her office.
“As I said on the phone, I haven’t long.”
Ok. Hard-ass. Dash kept the smile on his face. “First things …” he sat without being asked and crossed one leg over the other, his relaxed pose incongruous in the tense woman’s presence. “Bay Tambe sends her regards.”
Emily Moore’s face softened. “How is she?”
“Manager-less,” Dash went on, trying to capitalize on the shift in mood. “Which is why I’m here. I see you as the one to take The 9th & Pine to the next level. You’ll obviously work for me, but together, we can come up with a PR strategy that can make them the biggest act in the world.”
He smiled as he finished speaking and waited for her reply. After a few seconds of silence, he finally took notice of the expression on Emily Moore’s face. Irritation.
“Do you use that cookie cutter speech on everyone you hope to work with, Mr. Hamilton?” Her voice was pure ice. “Because I can tell you right now it won’t work on me. Who do you think you are, coming to my office and telling me what to do? Try asking the question, Mr. Harrison, and saying please. Try testing the waters to see if I’m interested or have the time to manage one of your bands—even if I do know and admire one of their number.”
Dash rocked back, his eyes alarmed. Emily Moore might be smart and talented, but she was clearly not a push-over. “Look, I’m sorry …”
“Whose name do you see on the door, Mr. Harrison? Yours? I don’t work for anybody. I work with people who I like and trust. Do you think I was asking what you wanted when I inquired after my friend Bay?”
Dash held up his hands. “Woah, woah, woah …I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, can we start over?” His whole body had released the practiced posture of his usual sales pitch and he was leaning forward, toward her. He noticed the dark green eyes, flecked with amber, and the red mouth, drawn in a thin line now, but he could imagine it curving into a wide smile. Her long, blonde hair had a wave that made it curl around her shoulders. Through her window came a cool Frisco breeze, rolling in from the Bay, ruffling her hair, and making her perfume drift across to him.
He became aware that he was staring and coughed awkwardly. Two spots of pink had appeared on her high cheek bones. Emily Moore looked away from his gaze.
“Tell Bay I’m sorry and that I’ll call her, please.”
Okay, this was not good. “Emily, please …”
“You can go now, Mr. Harrison.”
In disbelief, Dash got up and moved to the door. He stopped and turned, but seeing her staring determinedly at her computer, he just shook his head.
In less than a minute, the receptionist had deposited him back out onto the sidewalk. Dash could barely believe what had just happened. He’d screwed it up.
“Well, “he said out loud, startling an elderly woman. “Damn …”
He glanced back up at the window of Emily Moore’s office. Despite everything that had just happened, he knew he’d be haunted by those eyes.
“Damn,” he said again and reluctantly hailed a cab.
Number one, she thought, don’t take out your bad mood on a partner of the hottest recording company in America. Number two, stop thinking about that partner. Three …oh fuck.
“Maura?”
Emily’s assistant stuck her head in the door. “I think he considers himself lucky to have gotten out of here alive. Poor little puppy,” she said, grinning, “I think you made him cry.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter with me?”
“Terminal grumpiness.”
“I wasn’t actually asking.” But Emily grinned. “God, I know I was mean, but what a poseur.”
Maura, her black eyes dancing, flopped into the chair opposite her boss. “Cute, though.”
“Douche bag.”
“Handsome, filthy rich douche bag. If you like that thing.”
Emily sighed, shaking her head at her friend. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Who says the douchebag is for you?” Maura, a feisty, Mexican single mother in her early forties, loved only one thing above male company—and that was her kids. And Emily. And food. Okay, three things. Emily smiled at her. When she’d started her company, she could only afford to employ one assistant, part-time. Maura had walked in, cracked a joke, and that was that. She helped Emily set up the company, worked long hours for very little pay, and became the mother Emily had never had. Mother and best friend. Now that the company was successful, Emily made sure Maura was paid back in every way for her loyalty and kindness.
“And anyway, when was the last time you actually spent an evening with Isaiah? That poor man. You neglect him.”
Emily grimaced. “I know, but what with Henry …”
“How many times have I offered to babysit?”
<
br /> Emily said nothing for a moment. “Paige called. She’s coming home and she wants Henry back.”
The smile vanished from Maura’s face. “God. Really?”
Emily nodded. “I hung up on her, I was so angry. God, Maura, why now? She left him. For four years.” She suddenly felt tears in her eyes. Maura got up and came around the desk to hug her.
“I don’t know what to tell you, cielito, but I know you have been more of a mother to that boy than she has. He belongs with you.”
Later, when she was alone, Emily bit back the frantic need she had to call Henry at school. The kids weren’t allowed to use their cell phones during school periods and she didn’t want to get him in trouble or have the other kids make fun of him. She couldn’t get the thought of him being taken away from her now. When she’d agreed to take him on for those initial three weeks, she had already decided, even at that young age, that children weren’t in her plan. But gradually, over the four years during which she’d seen him grow into a quiet, studious, kind boy, she’d found more in common with her sister’s child than she ever had with her sister. Even when he was very young, she could talk to him about things as if he were a young adult—sheltering him from the horrors, of course, but never lying to him about anything. She learned by trial and error what he was ready for. They were a team, she and her young nephew, and the thought of him going back to her unreliable sister made her panicky.
She dragged her thoughts back to Dash Hamilton. The last time a man had tried to order her around, she’d told him exactly where to go and a lot less politely than she’d told Hamilton the same thing. It was in college and it was her co-worker in a small wine bar. Her male co-worker hadn’t done it again.
Dash annoyed her in particular because, despite his arrogant manner, when he’d walked into the room, she’d taken in his height—tall but not too tall for her five-foot-nothing—his wavy, mid-brown hair that fell in waves to his shoulder, the neatly trimmed stubble, and cornflower blue eyes and thought …yum. She vaguely remembered meeting him at The 9th & Pine’s showcase a few weeks back, but she was there to support Bay and didn’t speak to him. Also, she was almost certain he hadn’t been quite so handsome then.
Rockstar Untamed: A Single Dad Virgin Romance Page 80