“Who is she?” Teague asked.
Derek reached into his briefcase on the sofa and picked up his tablet swiping at the screen quickly to pull up the report his top-notch investigations team had put together over the last few hours of the day. In Derek’s line of work, having highly capable and highly discreet P.I.s at your beck and call was essential.
“London Sharpe. She’s been with Double D Escorts for the last eight years, and before that it appears she was an exotic dancer at the Beltway Club.”
“So high-end all the way,” Kamal added.
“Yes. She’s a damn grand an hour.”
“Whooo,” Teague shook his hand out and whistled.
“And before the Beltway Club?” Jeff asked.
“There are a couple of years missing in her late teens. She’s the daughter of a Middle Eastern linguistics professor at Georgetown. Father unknown.”
“What’s the mother’s name?” Kamal demanded, extra alert now.
Derek scrolled through the report he’d been emailed by his in-house investigation team. “Farrah Amid. Iranian dissident who claimed political asylum when the daughter was about two.”
Kamal nodded. “Persian. A lot of highly educated women in Iran. I can’t imagine her mother is too pleased with the daughter’s choice of profession.”
“So was she a runaway teen?” Jeff interjected.
“What makes you think that?” Derek asked, something about the idea of the beautiful fiery woman being young and alone twisting his stomach.
“There are years missing right around the time she’s what, seventeen? Eighteen?”
Derek looked at the screen. “Yeah, last adolescent record is first semester of her senior year in high school. She would have been…seventeen.”
Jeff nodded. “And she turns back up when?”
“At twenty.”
Teague looked at Jeff and some understanding seemed to pass between the two men. Jeff’s childhood had been spent in the rural south, while Teague’s was in a New York City housing project. But both men had clawed their way to the top of their respective fields, and they’d both seen a lot of the darker side of life before they got there.
“My guess is that’s as long as she could make it before she had to turn to stripping and prostitution to survive,” Teague said quietly.
Derek’s gut clenched. There was a vast difference between a confident, beautiful woman choosing to become an escort and a scared, hungry teen turning to prostitution in order to eat. He didn’t like either scenario personally, but only the latter made him physically nauseous.
“Luckily she landed in the classier places,” Kamal added. “Could have been worse.”
“She said something to me this morning,” Derek said. “She said, ‘I have complete control over my life. Don’t pity me.’ It sounded so much more like it was a choice than the picture you’re painting.”
Teague shrugged. “Sometimes it helps to convince yourself of that.”
All four men were silent for a moment. Derek knew better than to ask Teague for details about his life prior to the day Teague arrived in D.C. to attend law school at Georgetown, but he’d gleaned enough over the years to realize that Teague had lived through things most people only saw on television shows like Breaking Bad. If anyone knew what it felt like to be young, alone, and desperate, it was Teague.
“Now if only we knew whether she’ll be satisfied with the payoff I gave her…” he muttered.
“She will,” Kamal said with confidence. “Even after she gives the agency their cut she earns a great deal, and she was raised in a culture that highly reveres integrity. Her word is probably as good as gold. You just made her day at work more profitable than usual is all.” He paused. “How much did you give her anyway?”
“Twenty grand.” Derek sighed. He made a very good living, but twenty grand wasn’t chump change, and he’d really been looking forward to having that new Jaguar F-Type parked in his Georgetown garage next month.
“Ouch,” Jeff said, grimacing.
“So we think she’ll keep quiet?” Kamal summarized.
Teague and Jeff nodded.
“And if she doesn’t?” Kamal asked.
“Then we’re fucked,” Derek answered. “And eighteen months of plans are as well.”
No one looked happy at that. The Powerplay club had worked hard to choose Melville. They’d scouted candidates, discussed options, and vetted the Senator very carefully. It was a colossal disappointment to find out he had bad habits they hadn’t discovered prior to his announcement.
“How did this slip by us?” Jeff asked. “There was nothing in his background or profile that indicated he was seeing a hooker.”
“Escort,” Derek interjected half-heartedly.
“Whatever,” Jeff replied.
Teague snorted.
Derek continued, “I don’t know how it slipped by, I’ve talked to our investigators and believe me we’ll be shopping around for some new talent, but in the meantime I do not like someone else holding the cards here.”
“Let me look into options to get us in a better position,” Teague said. “Maybe we can find some sort of leverage to insure she keeps quiet.”
“I’ll ask my contact at the D.C. police department what he can tell us about the escort service too,” Jeff added, running a hand over his buzz cut hair. Even though he’d been assigned to the Pentagon for several years, he kept his hair as short as a field officer did.
“Good,” Kamal said. “And let’s get Scott to keep an eye on our candidate while he’s at work on the Hill.” Powerplay member Scott Campbell was Chief of Staff for the President Pro Temp of the Senate.
“And I’ve got him when he’s on the campaign trail.” Derek scowled.
“Now,” Kamal pressed. “What’s next on the agenda?”
Buy The Kingmaker
Turn the page to read the first two chapters of A Lush Rhapsody, the first standalone book in the Rhapsody rock star romance series.
Sample from A Lush Rhapsody
The bestselling Lush Rock Star series continues with this cross-over to a new band, a new challenge, and a hot new love.
She's Everything That's Lush…
Tully O'Roark just scored the most coveted job in rock and roll: keyboardist and backup vocalist for the world-famous Lush. Now she has to earn the trust of Joss, Walsh, Mike, and Colin, if she's going to have a place in the band that's also a family.
He's the Rhapsody She Can't Resist…
Peterson "Blaze" Davis is the Type A lead guitarist for Rhapsody, and his long-standing feud with Lush's Mike Owens is about to heat up. As the two bands embark on a summer tour together Blaze has his sights set on Lush's sexy new keyboardist, and he's not going to let a little bad blood come between them.
It's a Battle of the Bands…
When the NFL announces that Lush and Rhapsody are in competition for the coveted Super Bowl half-time concert slot, Blaze sees a chance to finally come out on top. He's ready to press every advantage he's got, including Tully.
And There Can Only Be One Winner.
As the attraction between Tully and Blaze roars to life, they must each make hard choices--their bands or each other? Can two lovers from rival bands find a way to have it all? Or will one of them choose wrong and lose their band and their heart?
Tully
I’ve got the phone pressed so hard against my head I’m afraid the radiation is going to turn my brain into a baked potato. My hand is cramping from the clench I’ve got on the little metal and plastic box that is keeping me connected to the biggest dick I’ve ever known in my life—my brother, James. I should clarify that. All of my brothers are dicks, but James is the tallest, and usually the drunkest, and therefore he gets the dubious title of biggest dick.
“Listen to me, Tully,” he slurs, “if you didn’t want Mom to know about that tat then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten it and posted it on your fucking Instagram page.”
“My Instagram page is privat
e for a reason, James. Mom would never have seen it if you hadn’t decided to show. It. To. Her. And you only did it to cause trouble and take the focus off of Jeanette dumping you. You would never do shit like this to Keith or Lou.”
“Yeah, well, Keith and Lou don’t go around getting tattoos of birds on their asses. Don’t you have any shame? What guy is going to want you when you’ve got that shit on your ass? Even your idiot rock and roll pussy guys won’t want to tap that.”
My stomach roils and I feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes. I know he’s been drinking. I know I shouldn’t listen to the things a drunk says, but it’s tough. My whole life my brothers and father have treated me like a second-class citizen. They’ve spent twenty-two years trying to make me into something and someone I’m not, and even though I know better, I still let them hurt me.
“Fuck you,” I tell James. “And stay away from my social media. Consider yourself unfriended.”
I jab my finger at the screen to end the call and look up to find Joss Jamison, Mike Owens, and Colin Douglas staring at me from across the room. I still can’t get used to spending the majority of every day with the famous rock band, Lush. That I’m actually a member of said band is even more unbelievable. I’ve pretty much been in denial since they first hired me two months ago, and the way things have been going I won’t make it another two months before I get fired, so I really don’t need to believe the fairytale anyway.
Now, faced with their looks of shock at me spewing poison at James, not so quietly on the stage where we’re rehearsing for a summer tour, something inside of me that might once have been called professional pride shrivels up and dies.
“What’s the matter? Never heard a girl tell her brother to fuck off?” It’s a defense mechanism—my antagonistic attitude. I know this, but I don’t always have control over it. In my mind it’s better to be a bitch than to admit that I’m humiliated.
They all look uncomfortable and start clearing their throats. Before they can answer though the door opens behind me and I turn to see Walsh Clark come in carrying the cutest little dark-haired toddler I’ve ever seen.
“Hey, Tully,” he says with a big smile. “Let me introduce you to someone.” He reaches me and stops. The little boy looks up at me with such serious eyes, his chubby cheeks pink and smooth.
“Hey, dude,” I say making sure to soften my voice. The kid lays his head down on his dad’s shoulder, watching me carefully.
“This is Pax,” Walsh says as he rubs the boy’s back. “He’s twenty-two months. Pax, can you say hello to Miss Tully? She’s working with daddy today.”
Pax lifts his head from his dad’s shoulder and says, “Hi, Miss.”
My heart melts. My family may think I’m not a normal girl because I don’t wear frilly shit and cook all day, but I love kids as much as the next chick. In fact, I even want some of my own someday, not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
“Hi, Pax,” I say stroking his little hand. “You’re about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“He is indeed,” Walsh says, so proud he looks like he’s going to burst.
The door flies open and Walsh’s wife, Tammy, bustles in. She’s about five eight, stacked, and looks like a supermodel. Her reputation is as an uber-bitch that only a guy as nice as Walsh could stand to be married to. But honestly, I feel like she’s just uncomfortable a lot. I get that. But she’s got Walsh, and they’re about as close as any couple I’ve ever seen. Childhood sweethearts who made it work for the long term. She and Pax came here to San Diego with us for our two weeks of rehearsals before the tour starts. Walsh tries to take them with him as much as possible when he’s on tour.
“There you two are,” she admonishes as she rushes over, pointedly ignoring me. “I’ve got to get him to his appointment.” She reaches out her arms and Walsh hands Pax to her after giving him a kiss on the forehead.
“Okay. They doing shots today?” Walsh asks.
“No, just a regular check-up,” Tammy answers, nuzzling Pax’s cheek. He pats hers in return. The sight makes something in me ache. I’m not ready for kids, I have a career to conquer first, but I do envy all that love. It radiates off the three of them, and I crave some of it for myself.
“Thank God,” Walsh answers her. “I can’t stand it when they make him cry.”
Tammy laughs, and then gives me the side eye, because, well, she’s Tammy.
“Let’s get to work,” Joss yells from across the room.
Oh hell. My stomach flips again. I hate this.
I can’t remember the first time I played a piano, but I do remember the first time someone told me I had a knack for it. I was five or six, and I was sitting at the old piano in my parents’ living room. No one in my family played, but we’d inherited it from my mom’s grandmother, so it sat there, an ancient upright, taking up the corner of the room, gathering dust. I’m sure it was out of tune, and it had some of the keys chipped, but it played, and I loved nothing more than to spend my afterschool hours teaching myself songs I’d heard.
That day I was playing Pop Goes the Weasel, with a little variation—kind of a freeform blues riff, kindergarten style—when my grandmother came in and heard me. “Tallulah.” She walked over and sat next to me on the bench. “Where did you learn to play like that?”
“I didn’t learn it, Nana,” I told her. “I teached it to myself.”
Turns out neither my grandmother nor my mother had inherited the music gene from the piano’s original owner, but I had. And Nana decided she wanted to pay for me to have piano lessons. As the youngest of five kids, I didn’t get much attention. Both of my parents worked full-time at my dad’s construction business, and I was left with the older kids to supervise me. Once piano entered the picture though, I got to spend an afternoon every week with someone who thought I was special. It was the thing that saved my childhood.
Now it’s the thing that might destroy my adulthood, because as much as I love Lush the band, Lush the guys just don’t seem to understand how to function with the addition of a keyboardist and back-up singer.
Joss scratches his head and shoots a look at Walsh. “So, Tully. On that lead-in to the chorus, I’m wondering if you can drop the harmonies. I think it’s kind of busy for this song. If you’ll follow the main thread through there, then into the chorus, maybe we can add those harmonies at the bridge.”
The anger bubbles up inside of me and I struggle to breathe deeply like my sister always tells me. I need to be patient, not combative, but it’s tough for me. If you’re going to be heard in my big Irish family you sometimes have to get angry.
“I disagree,” I say, with as much patience as I can muster. “What you call busy is what Dave asked me to do here. He wants that extra embellishment, that complexity. You’re not used to it, but trust me when I say it’s adding a new depth to your sound.”
Mike sighs. Loud and long. Then I hear him muttering something that sounds like, “Don’t mind us, we’re only fucking Grammy winners.”
Now I’m mad and embarrassed—again. I know he’s right. In a sense. I don’t have the kind of elite credentials that Lush does, but I do have the musical chops. I haven’t been recognized for it yet, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s music.
“Well, excuse me,” I snap, spinning to face Mike and gritting my teeth. I keep my voice soft, but my words are like a whip snapping out. “I’m sorry I’m not a famous Grammy-winning rock star. But what I am is the one your own manager put here, with explicit instructions to do shit like those harmonies in the lead-in to the chorus.”
From the corner of my eye I see Joss do that signature hand through his hair move and then roll his head up to the ceiling. He’s like this creature from another world. He’s so physically beautiful it makes you want to shield your eyes, like somehow you’ll go blind from all that glittering perfection.
Mike steps toward me, his guitar hanging across his body as he jabs an index finger in the air in my direction. “Listen up, little g
irl—” he snarls.
Before I can take a breath, Colin has jumped in between us, the neck of his bass pointed at Mike. Mike is the band asshole, Colin is the defender of the underdog. The four guys are very different, but somehow they make it work. Where I’m supposed to fit in is anyone’s guess though.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Colin admonishes Mike. “Let’s all take a breath here, dudes—and dudettes.” He tosses me a heart-melting smile over his shoulder. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s get Dave on Skype tomorrow morning bright and early. Let him listen to some of these variations, and he can tell us what he’d like. He’s the guy who helped us hone our sound the first time around, no reason he can’t do it again.”
Walsh, Mr. Happy Go Lucky, splashes out a little flourish on his cymbals and yells, “Sold! To the man with the funny-looking guitar.”
Colin flips him off, his eyes still focused on Mike who is an interesting shade of red right now. I smirk at him over Colin’s shoulder and he growls again. I can’t help it, he looks so much like a big angry bear it’s sometimes hard to take him seriously.
“Dude. Right?” Colin prompts.
Mike throws his arms up in the air and twirls around toward Walsh. “Fine.”
“Great!” Joss exclaims, falsely cheerful. “I’ll let Dave know right away. Let’s call it for today and pick it back up tomorrow. Ten a.m.”
My hands are shaking as I work to pack up my keyboard and stand. Joss has told me there’s plenty of security here. I could leave my stuff overnight, but this keyboard is the most valuable thing I have aside from the baby grand I bought used that sits in my apartment, and I can’t risk losing it. The guys all set their stuff down and walk away, so in mere moments I’m here alone. I’m also frustrated, embarrassed, and really considering not coming back tomorrow, no matter how great an opportunity this might seem to be.
POTUS: A Powerplay Novel Page 25