Rocking Hard: Volume 1

by Sol Crafter, Diana Sheridan, Talya Andor, Lacie J. Archer, Angel Propps

  Bailey danced and drank the night away, and shook off the persistent sound of Tor's voice, half-heard and maybe mistaken, but annoying for all that.

  Fun—is that what you're having? Will it be worth it if this all goes down?

  Any hour before noon was anathema to Bailey, who preferred to live, breathe, and work at night, and sleep most of the day away. The knock that sounded on his door, a follow-up to three missed calls that he'd deliberately ignored, was the opposite of welcome. He dragged himself out of bed, bleary-eyed and rasping a hand over stubble, and made the long trek to his front door, hitching up the boxers that had ridden low over his hips.

  "What," Bailey croaked, opening the front door of his house and squinting into the piercing glare. He shaded his eyes with a hand and stepped backward, leaving the door open.

  "Way to be over-dramatic about it, Bailey," Tor said, stepping over the threshold and passing over a paper cup.

  "No wonder half the fans think you're a damned vampire," Sasha added, following suit and pulling the door shut behind him.

  Bailey ignored them both and sucked greedily at the safety lid of the coffee that had been delivered into his hands. It had just the right amount of cream and sugar—Tor knew this habit of his, as with so many others—and Bailey nursed it like it was his life's blood.

  "We knew you'd forget about the meeting," Sasha said.

  "So here we are," Tor said. "With your prime motivator."

  "What meeting?" Bailey said blankly, but snuck a mischievous sidelong glance at Tor, who simply rolled his eyes.

  "Go get dressed," Tor told him.

  "Don't tell me what to do," Bailey snapped, turning on his heel and cradling the coffee to his chest. Despite his curt words, though, he headed for the bedroom. He was groggy when he woke up, but not so much that he didn't remember the meeting that Courage Wolf had with members of their PR and management team that day.

  "We're going to pillage your fridge," Sasha informed him from the hallway.

  Bailey raised an arm to acknowledge that statement. If they found anything more appetizing than three-day-old leftovers, they were welcome to it.

  He drank his coffee down, all twenty ounces of it, as he rummaged around his bedroom closet for something to wear. Every time he went out for meetings like this, whether it was management or promo gigs, Bailey dressed to impress. It was his steadfast belief that, as the face of the band, he needed to always be 'on' whenever he was in public. He knew it paid off, as much as his bandmates complained about his being a show horse and other good-natured grumbling.

  At minimum, Bailey had to buzz the scruff from his face. When he was touring or doing promo, he usually wore carefully applied cosmetics from a long tradition of doing so from high school onward. He'd been considered goth back then, done theater and art, and had always felt out of place in the men's choir even though he'd loved to sing.

  Courage Wolf had been the best thing ever to happen to him, basically. He'd found his true calling in life, along with three guys who felt the same.

  "Where's Gunner?" Bailey inquired as he entered his kitchen, decked out in artfully shredded black jeans over black leggings, silver chains festooning neck and one hip, topped with a black silk-screened shirt with their band logo nestled amidst scrollwork and flaming wings.

  Tor looked up from the bowl of cereal he'd unearthed.

  "The milk in that is soy," Bailey said, sweetly.

  Tor spat his mouthful back into the bowl. "What did I ever do to you?" he asked, sounding truly aggrieved. "I thought it tasted funny, but figured it was expired like most everything else in your kitchen."

  "You're dodging the question," Bailey observed.

  "If you’d give me time to answer—" Tor began, a slight edge to his voice.

  "He didn't feel like carpooling," Sasha interrupted, clapping his hands together. "Come on, let's go."

  Bailey crossed his arms. "I'm out of coffee," he observed. He began to debate the merits of trying to turn on his espresso machine again.

  Becoming suddenly rich had come with plenty of benefits, but there were more than enough downsides to make up for it. Bailey had more gadgets in his gorgeous house than he knew what to do with. He'd splurged on many things, but remained too cheap from a thrifty upbringing to hire some kind of butler or staff to whisk into his kitchen and make him coffee.

  "There's another twenty-ounce in the cupholder of Sasha's car, and a muffin waiting for you on the seat," Tor told him, getting up from his chair and carrying the cereal bowl to the trash.

  Bailey beamed. "You guys know me so well," he praised.

  "The perils of long exposure," Sasha said, straight-faced as always when he delivered a dry line.

  Bailey made a face at him and left the kitchen, going to hunt for his keys. There were about five different clutches and handbags lined up on the table in his foyer, and he began to rummage through them until Tor joined him and plucked the key ring out of the bowl at the end. The dish was a jumble of odds and ends, and though it had been originally intended for keys, Bailey rarely left them there.

  "Oh, how about that," Bailey remarked, accepting the keys and slipping them into a small black clutch.

  "For someone so meticulous about your appearance, you can be such a pig," Tor said, reaching up to tweak a long black lock of hair. He sounded teasing, though, so Bailey let him get away with it with a mere raspberry to answer that.

  They climbed into Sasha's SUV, a roomy black Tahoe, and Bailey went straight for his second serving of coffee for the day. He needed it to keep him upright, otherwise he'd crash in the back seat and someone would have to pry him out and fireman's-carry him up to the meeting.

  "What's on the agenda?" Bailey asked of the car in general, doing his part to keep his mind engaged to prevent himself from slipping into a doze.

  "Right on cue," Sasha muttered.

  "I'll do you the favor of ignoring that, because you brought coffee," Bailey informed him.

  "I brought coffee," Tor said, sounding irked. "And you really don't ever check your e-mails, do you?"

  "Don't we have staff for that?" Bailey said, feigning ignorance. He had two cell phones, one personal, one business, but he didn't have a personal assistant unless he was on tour. Even then, he shared the hapless girl with Tor, so there was still plenty that he had to do for himself.

  "Get over yourself," Tor grumbled. "Promo schedule for the album, and discussion of the schedule for upcoming appearances."

  "You could have just said that," Bailey said, "instead of giving me the third degree."

  "You could have just opened your e-mail," Tor countered. "Then you'd have never had to ask."

  Bailey pushed his lips together and made a rude noise. He turned his attention to his coffee. By the time they'd reached the business district, he'd had ample time to read the e-mails in his business inbox, but he'd spent his time on drinking coffee and thinking about kicking the back of Tor's seat as they made random conversation.

  "So why didn't Gunner want to carpool?" Bailey asked, making a conversational left turn out of nowhere as Tor finished up a rant on stage production.

  There was uncomfortable silence in the car for a moment. Bailey kicked the back of Tor's seat to prompt him, and folded his arms as Sasha tossed a brief, vitriolic glare over his shoulder as though to remind Bailey whose car he was kicking.

  "How should I know?" Tor said after a moment. "I'm not the boss of Gunner."

  "Maybe he had plans he didn't want to tell us about," Sasha supplied.

  Bailey latched onto that, straightening up in his seat. "Plans?" he repeated, an octave higher. "Secret plans? What wouldn't he want you to know about? You two are like best friends—"

  "Are best friends," Sasha interrupted, sounding testy.

  "—so what wouldn't he want you to know?" Bailey continued right over him. His brow scrunched. "Unless he got laid last night and doesn't want you to tell me."

  Sasha's shoulders went up and down, and Tor made a noncommitt
al noise.

  "That's it, isn't it?" Bailey demanded. "Gunner got laid. Was it some random girl, or was it serious?"

  "What does it matter?" Sasha asked sharply.

  "It matters to me," Bailey shot back, lifting his chin. "Because he should have standards. Higher standards."

  "What, like you?" Tor muttered.

  Bailey compressed his lips but managed to avoid kicking the back of Tor's seat again. "He could do a lot worse than me," he asserted.

  "Yeah, okay," Sasha said, reminding Bailey that there were worse things than silence. Condescending agreement was definitely low on his list. "And if you had a nice rack and an inversion of your manly bits, he might be willing to upgrade."

  "Don't be so … Love doesn't have to be gendered!" Bailey cried, shoving his phone into his clutch as he began to recognize the buildings that slid past the car windows.

  "Was it love you were after?" Tor muttered.

  "Not you, too," Bailey said. "Tor, you're supposed to be on my side." Even from his vantage point in the backseat, he could see both Tor's hands raise as though he was being held at gunpoint.

  "I'm not taking sides on this one," Tor replied.

  Bailey's mouth thinned, but he let the subject drop as Sasha pulled the car into the underground lot. It was true that he hadn't exactly been focused on Gunner's inter-relationship dynamics during his crusade of the past few months. It wasn't just the sexual tension between him and Gunner, either; Bailey needed to get laid in all the worst ways. He'd been pursuing Gunner to the exclusion of other options, though clearly that hadn't been reciprocated on Gunner's side.

  "I'm a romantic," Bailey claimed as he got out of the car.

  "A romantic who hasn't asked the object of his affection on a single date," Tor observed, raising his brows at Bailey. He bumped shoulders with him, offering a small smile, and headed for the elevator.

  "Maybe I'm a romantic who thinks he should be putting out some effort, too," Bailey replied.

  Sasha made an incredulous noise, but shook his head when Bailey's head whipped in his direction.

  "Just let it drop," Tor said. "It's too early to get into this, and we don't have another coffee to placate you."

  "Not yet," Bailey said. He boarded the elevator after Tor, wrinkling his nose at Sasha and edging just far enough to leave room for him as well. "There's a coffee cart on the execs' floor. How do you think they get through the day?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  They arrived as a group at the designated conference room on time, if the minute hand and the fact that the suits weren't seated was anything to go by. It was visible from the hallway through a wall of glass partition that went the entire length of the room, giving a view of the long oblong of conference table and the window that afforded a glimpse of the city beyond. Bailey sized up the room and took a strategic position near the head of the table, before someone else could claim it. There were identical packets laid out at each seat, and only a third of the oval conference table appeared to be occupied.

  Gunner was absent, Bailey noted with a frown.

  There was someone circulating and taking drink orders, and tempted as Bailey was to shake up the room composition by asking for a Bloody Mary or something equally out of the box, he asked for another giant coffee generous with the cream and sugar. At that point he sat back, steepled his fingers, and waited.

  People began to flock to the table. Bailey didn't necessarily seek it out, but people had a tendency to gravitate to him. He'd taken advantage of that aspect of his charisma a fair number of times on their rise to the top, but most of the time it was more unconscious influence than anything he exerted with intent. He rewarded their press manager, Danelle, with a brilliant smile when she dropped into the seat at the head of the table.

  "Shall we get started?" Bailey asked quietly, gathering in the rest of their staff with his eyes. Jonn Davies, their production manager, was already sitting across from them. There were a couple of other people, support staff, one person he was sure was either a production assistant or notetaker.

  The door clicked open and shut, but Bailey didn't look over his shoulder.

  Danelle rubbed her hands together briskly. "Now that you're all here," she said, raising her eyebrows at the late entrant.

  Gunner slid into a seat on the far end, at Sasha's other side. When Bailey flicked an annoyed glance in his direction at last, he noted that Gunner didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. Coffee was placed at Bailey's right hand and he reached for it.

  "We'll start by going over the roster of upcoming appearances," Danelle said, flipping open her packet. "These have already been approved in e-mails, but we're finalizing them with all of you so that there are no surprises."

  Bailey gave a brisk nod, sipping his coffee. This was why Danelle was his favorite of the three PR managers they'd retained over their tours of duty.

  They went through the list, with Bailey and Tor occasionally interjecting questions. They didn't like to repeat too much material from one appearance to the next; if their footage got too stale, the fans called them on it. Courage Wolf was nothing if not attuned to their fans.

  Bailey let Tor keep the finger on that pulse, though. As Sasha often advised, the further they stepped away from the Internet, the better for their own sanity. After Googling himself a few times, Bailey had learned that the urge to know was easier to quash than the un-ventable rage that would surely arise from finding out.

  "Okay," Bailey said when Danelle and her assistant wound down their pitch, and drummed his hands briefly over the table. "That all sounds good. No surprises there …"

  "Unless a few reporters try to sneak in a curveball question," Danelle's intern muttered.

  Bailey cast a sharp look in her direction. "What kind of curveball?" he inquired, deceptively mild.

  Danelle inhaled a short, sharp breath. "Carrie, Vikram, please clear the room?"

  They got up, taking their packets and retreating, closing the door behind them. Bailey's brow furrowed, but he didn't quite turn his frown on Danelle.

  "Something top secret?" Bailey asked the room at large.

  "More of a delicate matter," Danelle replied, lacing her hands together over her closed packet. She tipped her head and regarded Bailey until he eventually met her eyes, unable to tolerate the weight of expectation any longer.

  "What kind of curveball?" he repeated the question, louder as though volume would secure him an answer.

  "We don't want any problems at these upcoming appearances," Danelle began obliquely.

  Bailey bit his tongue on a prompt answer of so I'm a problem, now? He didn't even need the nudge of Tor's foot against his own, cautioning him against that exact thing. "What kind of problem?" he asked instead.

  "I think you know," Danelle said. "There's been tension lately, between you and Gunner. The fans pick up on that sort of thing. They'll be pushing for a question to get slipped into an impromptu segment."

  Jonn spoke up. "The fans are all over this, Bailey; don't bother playing dumb. You two need to work this out and get over it."

  Bailey set his hands down on the table forcefully. "That is none of your business!" he snapped.

  Danelle pulled in a slow breath and exchanged a long look with Jonn. She picked up her packet, tapped it unnecessarily against the table, and stood. "All right, I've said my piece," she said. She raised her brows at Jonn.

  Bailey was well-versed in body language, easily enough to identify that look as tag, it's your game now.

  "See you right before Ellen," Danelle said, including all of them in the general farewell. She waved a hand and left the room as quickly as her staff.

  "Bye, Danelle," Sasha said, managing to sound dry and forlorn all at once.

  Bailey remained in his seat and hunched in on himself, folding his arms and glaring at the expanse of polished table between him and his manager. When the door closed behind Danelle, that left just the five of them, and the odds weren't good for Bailey.

  "I really do
n't want to have this conversation," Bailey announced to the room.

  Jonn sighed. "That makes two of us," he replied, "and yet here we are."

  Gunner's hand shot up in the air. "Can I be excused? Ow."

  Bailey looked down at the table to hide a grin. At least Sasha wasn't slow to bring order to that end of the line.

  "No; this is a band matter, this isn't private business," Jonn said, sounding aggrieved. "No one's leaving until we've cleared the air."

  "There isn't anything to clear up," Bailey insisted.

  "Don't be naïve," Jonn said flatly. "You've got to patch up whatever's going on between you and Gunner, and if I have to lock the two of you in this room and guard the door until it happens, then damn it, I'm committed to that extent."

  Bailey folded his arms, setting his mouth in a stubborn line.

  "You two need to have a functional working relationship," Tor added.

  Bailey jerked his head to the left, giving Tor a betrayed look.

  Tor was already raising his hands the way he had in the car, but now it looked to Bailey as though he was implying that he came in peace. "Come on," Tor said. "The two of you barely talk to each other anymore."

  "I fail to see how that's my fault," Gunner said.

  "Yeah, you would," Tor muttered under his breath, and Bailey had to bite back a grin. His expression transformed into dismay, though, as Tor pushed back from the table and stood.

  Tor turned toward Gunner. "You need to stop playing oblivious," he told him. He turned and gazed down at Bailey. "And you need to face up to reality." He hesitated, looking as though he'd say something more, but he simply shook his head slightly and stepped back from the table.

  "I think you had a good idea, Jonn," Sasha said, rising from his own chair.

  Jonn pulled a face, but he was getting up, too. Bailey's mouth thinned down as he regarded his coffee and tried not to feel like he was being abandoned.

  "We can't work it out for you," Jonn said. "So, please, work this out. We've got a lot of promo coming up, and we need to keep things positive for the band's image. The last thing we need is half a dozen tabloids talking about the imminent breakup of Courage Wolf."