Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2015 Moira Callahan
ISBN: 978-1-77233-459-3
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Kerry Genova
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
This book is for all the Rock Stars out there I know and love. Party on my friends, party on.
A huge and well deserved thank you to my editor. Kerry it was a delight to work with you, and I hope to have the pleasure again in the future. You helped me to make this an amazing story to share with the world, my hat's off to you.
THE RHYTHM
Living Victorious, 1
Moira Callahan
Copyright © 2015
Prologue
When Jennifer’s editor handed her the assignment of getting an interview with the band Victorious, she’d accepted without realizing what a challenge it would turn out to be. She knew the band’s music, hell anyone not six feet under had heard their many tunes over the last few years as the band rose to fame. What she hadn’t known six months earlier was that Victorious did not give interviews. Ever.
Many a journalist had tried to get one. Some had stalked the band in the hopes of sneaking into a hotel room or after-party to sneak in some questions. But the band’s manager was extremely protective of their privacy. The woman was a lot like a rabid dog too long without a good meal getting a big ol’ juicy steak in sight, and nothing would stop her from tearing it to shreds. That was actually a pretty good analogy of how she treated the media Jen realized after a minute of thought on the matter.
Jen knew she had to go about it smarter than the others who’d tried. She did her research, learning more about their music, and the various members of Victorious. Then two months ago she’d typed up a three-page document proposing the interview in a business-like manner. She’d sent it off with a number of her own articles, both good and bad, to show the manager that Jennifer was human. That while she’d made some less than terrific choices at the start of her career five years before, Jen had grown a lot in the interim.
The day after she’d sent the package to Christine Franks, Victorious’s manager, Jen had panicked. She thought about all that she’d sent that maybe she shouldn’t have. She’d considered what she’d left out that maybe she actually should have sent. And she pretty much hyperventilated when she thought about the ice queen of publicity getting the package.
Christine Franks was a woman who had clawed her way to the top of a cutthroat, male-dominated industry by pulling no punches, and always going for the kill. She could end Jennifer’s career without having to put one of her many conference calls on hold. Hell, she could likely do it while multitasking fifty different things, it would be such a small flicker of consciousness required to make it happen.
When Jen received the call on her cell while out doing research on another piece she’d been sure, initially, it had to be a prank. Two months had gone by without a peep after all, what else was she supposed to think?
“Jennifer Mitchell speaking.”
“Ms. Mitchell, Christine Franks here. Do you have a few minutes for us to speak?”
Once she’d gotten over her stunned horror mixed with giddy pleasure, Jen had stumbled to a nearby park bench. “Of course, Ms. Franks. My apologies but I have to admit that you’ve caught me off guard.” Because Jen had truly figured she’d never hear from the woman, let alone get a phone call from the woman herself.
“My clients, Victorious, have reviewed the package you sent to me and decided they would like you to be the one to conduct the interview.”
It was Jen’s second shock in the space of five minutes. “Excuse me?” she couldn’t help blurting out.
“The boys want you to do an interview. They know they’ve created waves by never speaking to the press or giving any sort of interview. They think it’s time to break that cycle.”
Fumbling for any sort of reply, Jen settled on blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “May I ask why me?”
“They liked your style about approaching us.” Jen had the distinct impression that Ms. Franks had actually been the one to approve of Jennifer’s non-intrusive request. “I’ve drafted up a letter detailing how they’d like this to be conducted along with some additional information. Do you have an email I can send it to for your review?”
Jennifer gave the woman her personal email, never once thinking to give her the one she used at the magazine. The magazine’s email could be looked at by upper management at any time to ensure professionalism in the workplace. Until Jen knew this wasn’t a prank, she was less inclined to believe that the longer she spoke to Christine Franks, she wasn’t taking any chances of her editor, George, finding out prematurely.
“Excellent. I will forward it to you in the next five minutes. Please look it over and get back to me with any requests, conditions, or stipulations of your own. I realize you will need to clear everything with your editor at the magazine, but don’t take too long as schedules at our end will need to be adjusted accordingly to accommodate everything should all parties agree to proceed forward with this.”
“Of course. I’ll look it over as soon as it arrives. I have a meeting with my editor in the morning. I should have something back to you by midafternoon tomorrow.”
“I’ll look for it.” Then Christine Franks, ice queen guardian of the hottest rock band since the hair bands of the eighties, hung up on her.
Jennifer couldn’t bring herself to get irritated. She was still too shell-shocked by the entire bizarre phone call. The soft ping from her phone jolted her back to the present. Opening it, up Jennifer clicked on the document and waited while it loaded.
“Holy shit!” Ms. Franks was definitely a seriously detail oriented woman. She’d sent a twenty-six-page letter that read as if drafted by a lawyer. “Likely had been,” she muttered under her breath.
Realizing she didn’t want to try to read it on her phone, Jen closed it down until she got home where she could print it out. She’d need hard copies to allow her to scribble in notes of anything that didn’t sit well with her. Maybe she’d call up her own lawyer to give it a read. She did not want to inadvertently agree to something she shouldn’t.
She pushed a hand through her long, curly, light brown hair. Shaking her head she gave a laugh. She’d done it. Somehow she, Jennifer Mitchell from Hicksville USA, currently of New York City had gotten the opportunity of getting an interview with the rising stars of rock music.
Holy shit! Bolting off the bench, she raced to the street to hail a cab. She had to get home to print the damn letter out. Jen needed to know what the hell she’d potentially gotten herself into.
Chapter One
Having to wait for the weekly staff meeting to end had been murder. Jen was not a patient woman on the best of days. Since getting the letter, reading it, and consulting with her own lawyer over a few details that had confused her, she was more than a touch anxious to talk to George. Her editor was likely to wig out. She wasn’t sure to which extreme the man would go once he saw the letter.
When the meeting finally broke up, running late of course, she made a beeline on George’s heels to his office. Inside she shut the door and fell into one of his guest chairs.
“What the hell is so important you couldn’t breathe a word o
f it in there? We have these meetings for a reason, Mitchell, and it’s to ensure we’re all on the same page.”
“I got a call from Christine Franks,” she blurted out. Anything to stop George before he truly got wound up and up on his soapbox.
The poor guy sat there looking like a fish as he attempted to form words. Finally, he snapped his mouth shut, popped out of his chair, and began to pace. “Good or bad?”
Thank goodness he wasn’t going to harp. “Good. Victorious has accepted my proposal to do an interview with them.” Jen held up a hand to stop him when he looked ready to leap for joy. “There are some conditions.”
Frowning now, George settled back into his seat and went to work rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Explain.”
“Franks emailed me a twenty-six-page document outlining the band’s proposal for the interviewing process. There are some conditions as I mentioned that I’d have to agree to, that the magazine would have to agree to as well, for this to proceed. I talked to my personal lawyer last night to get some clarity on a few details, but we’ll have to have the magazine’s lawyers go over the document. We need them prepared for whatever the next steps may be.”
“Details.”
God love George, the man knew how to prompt for information in a concise manner. “The gist of it is I’d have to travel with the band for a minimum of two months. During which time I would be interviewing them, getting impressions of the rock star life and of the members. I couldn’t publish anything in relation to them, music, or otherwise that could potentially be construed as being related to them during that time. I would need to sign a confidentiality agreement, as well as agreeing to allow Franks to edit, and suggest changes for my final finished article. She and the band would have to sign off on the final copy, and it would have to publish exactly as they had approved. Any changes after their sign off not related to spelling, or spacing would be a breach of contract, and they would sue. We’d lose obviously from what my lawyer said.”
George began to tap the fingers of one hand to the top of his desk. Jen knew he was digesting her words, taking it all in, and forming a reply. “The magazine would have to also sign a confidentiality agreement. Any leaks about this article would be a breach of contract. The magazine would be permitted to put in a notification one edition prior to the article being published announcing it. Nothing more than that or it’s a breach of contract. I have no idea what the contracts and confidentiality agreements will say, but basically if anyone gets a hint this is going on, everyone here better have an up-to-date resume ready.”
George suddenly stopped the motions of his fingers and reached for his phone. “Paterson, this is George Engle. I need you to stop by the magazine. We have the potential for something big, but it will involve a confidentiality agreement for a few different people with likely a variant of stipulations. We have a letter here that gives us an idea of what’s to come you’ll want to look at. No, can’t fax it through. We’re keeping this under the radar thus far it doesn’t exist. Right. Thanks, Mike.” Hanging up, George leaned back in his chair to shoot her a pleased look. “Well done, Mitchell. Whatever Franks throws at us we’ll manage to work with. This is the fucking opportunity of a lifetime here.”
“You do realize that I’ll have to travel with the band for a minimum of two months. It could be a hell of a lot longer depending on what they decide about what I write.”
George waved dismissively. “Small price to pay. This will be huge.”
“You also realize I’m a renter, right? It’s not like I can meander off for a few months without issue since I don’t own my home.”
“The magazine can cover your rent. Turn off all your other utilities while you’re gone, have your mail held, and we’ll do the rest. I’ll make sure the magazine owners realize the magnitude of this. I see a serious bonus check in your future if you make this happen.”
Jennifer was more worried about not having it happen. The magazine owners did not take kindly to under delivering on promises.
“Quit worrying, kid. Paterson will stop by this afternoon to look over what Franks has sent you already. You have a copy with you?”
“In my purse,” she said. She gave the item she hadn’t let out of her sight for a second a firm pat.
“Good, good. The quicker we can get this ball rolling the better. Go and grab some lunch and calm down. You look about ready to come out of your skin.”
The fact she was already starting to feel the stress of the pressure to do everything right didn’t help any. Releasing a breath, she stood slowly. “George…” She didn’t know what she wanted to say.
“I know, kid. Go and have lunch. Make sure you have a stiff drink too. You damn well look like you could use one, but only one. Get back here by one thirty to meet with Paterson. We’ll all go over the letter, draft a response, and get this ball rolling. It’s not likely to happen overnight which means the sooner we get moving the better. Now get the hell out of my office. Some of us actually have work to do.”
“Thanks, George.” Feeling better, she headed out to follow his advice. The man was right; Jen desperately needed a drink to settle her nerves.
****
By the time she had finally finished with George and Paterson, as well as all the back and forth with Christine Franks, it was nearly midnight when she crawled home. The negotiations had been hard. They’d entailed a four-hour long phone conference, including Christine’s lawyer, to ensure every single detail was satisfactory on both sides. But it was done.
As of the end of the week, Jennifer was off to meet the band at their home. She’d be there for two days, one night before they all headed out to the first stop of the tour. She would remain with them for all their stops for four months. How that had been negotiated in when she wasn’t looking Jen still didn’t understand. And that was the new minimum. She might end up being with them longer, but she had a feeling they’d want her gone long before the prearranged deadline for her stay. Another interesting twist on the entire thing was the fact that Franks wanted her to do an autobiography on the band. It was completely separate from the stuff with the magazine. Meaning Paterson had been rather limited in his input.
Jennifer had time to think on it. Five days to be precise. She had to have her answer back to Franks before she got on the plane to head out to meet the band. Once she had a bit of sleep, she’d think about the proposal and talk to her own attorney about it. It would mean yet another confidentiality agreement. The other issue was she might end up having to spend more time with the band. Time that the magazine wouldn’t be paying her rent since it wouldn’t be work for them and selling editions.
Stumbling out of the shower, Jen tugged the clip from her hair and fell onto her bed. With a groan, she pulled a pillow under her head. Sleep slowly crept up on her as her mind twisted and turned with thoughts. Some were about the coming job, some about the potential autobiography, and others still were about the band. During the meeting, while the lawyers were fine-tuning some of the language, Jen had done some additional internet searches on the band.
She’d found herself intrigued by the band’s drummer more than the others. Many a woman might have looked to the singer since he was always front and center. But not her. Apparently Jen had a bit of a thing for a man that could wield a pair of wooden sticks. When she finally did drift off, it was with the image of Lance West, Victorious’s drummer, starring front and center. She wouldn’t mind having him star in all her dreams.
Chapter Two
After adjusting the laptop bag strap on her shoulder, Jennifer grabbed the handle of her small suitcase and made her way to the exit of the airport. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses to combat the unrelenting sunlight outside as she looked around for her ride. Christine Franks had said she’d send a car service for Jennifer. All Jen had to do was find the driver with her name on a placard.
Easier said than done given she was at LAX. Groaning, she began to weave through the crowd trying to read the cards s
ome drivers were holding up. Finally spotting her name, she came to a halt when a family of six barged in front of her. The mother gave her a snarling look as she protectively ushered her screaming brood onward.
“Like I’d want one of them,” she muttered. Shaking her head she kept going until she was before the man with the sign. She passed over her ID and shook the man’s hand who introduced himself as Dennis.
Once her bag was stowed in the trunk, they began the arduous task of clearing LAX traffic. Dennis, she found out, was one of the band’s regular drivers. He got them around town, took them to the airport when they needed to head out, and occasionally acted as a gopher during their tours.
“You work for Christine Franks then?”
“Indirectly,” he told her as he eased in front of a bus. “I work for a small company of twenty drivers who have a contract with Victorious. As an extension of that contract, we do other work with Franks Management Inc. on the side. We have a number of vehicles from this sedan up to a full-length cargo van specifically purchased for moving the bands instruments around securely and safely.”
“Wow, that sounds like some fun times. Do you do any other jobs beyond Victorious and FMI?”
“When the band is out on tour we pick up other jobs to keep busy for the ones that remain in town. Being contracted by the band means whether they are here or not we get paid a flat rate. Usually, a few of us go with the band on tour to be their drivers since we’ve all passed the background checks that Ms. Franks has conducted. She knows we won’t talk to the press, and that the band’s privacy is our number one priority at all times.”
“Makes sense,” she said. Undoing her seatbelt, Jen turned to face him before putting it back in place. Leaning back against the passenger door, she watched him. “I have to say, I can’t imagine being a professional service driver in this city. Or any major metropolitan actually.”
The Rhythm Page 1