by Maggie Marr
EASY GLAMOUR
Maggie Marr
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About This Series
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Maggie Marr
An Excerpt from One Night for Love
This book is dedicated to Amy Zacky.
You fill my life with love, laughter, and friendship.
Chapter 1
Rhett
The sound check was almost done, and as we waited for the techs to sort out a mic problem I walked over to the bar to take a break. I ordered a beer and then checked my phone for messages. I lost track of the time because when I looked up, I saw a gorgeous girl, backlit, standing in the doorway beside the bar. Tall, slim, long hair. I couldn’t help myself. “Babe, that body would look awesome on the back of my bike.”
The woman whipped around and her eyes narrowed upon me. Oh shit.
“If that’s how you talk to your sister, I can’t imagine what you say to the other girls.”
Amanda Legend pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. Sister. She said the word as though it described our relationship, but it didn’t, not even close. She was living in a fantasy world if she thought she could saunter in here and start with this family shit. I was in no mood to debate it with her right now. Just beyond the bar, Ryan Sinclair moved toward us. He looked about as happy to see me as I was to see them.
“I have two sisters,” I said. I flipped a cigarette into my mouth and flicked my Zippo. A long pull of smoke trailed into my lungs. “I don’t need any more.” My eyes traveled from her to Ryan. He was a big guy and it was obvious they didn’t use a body double for his roles in the action movies he was famous for. He placed his arm around Amanda’s shoulders. His jaw muscles flinched when his eyes locked with mine.
“Beer?” I asked and tipped my bottle toward him. I took a long pull. Let’s see if he could stay sober in this place, see if he really wanted to.
“No thanks,” he said with a smile. A smile that I’d seen on countless other assholes like him. A smile that seemed to say “who the hell are you?,” you’re nothing, a nobody, a bastard kid with no last name.
“Suit yourself,” I said and finished the bottle. I set it on the bar beside Amanda. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I never thought the Hollywood elite descended to my level.”
Amanda stiffened with my question. Her spine straightened, or perhaps it was the pole that was shoved so far up her ass. “I want to invite you to our wedding,” Amanda said.
A laugh burst from my chest. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’ve already spoken with the rest of the family. Anita, Ellen, and Sophia have all accepted our invitation. They even sent in their RSVPs. But what about you? Perhaps you never received the invitation?” Her bright blue eyes pierced me. The damned thing was sitting on the kitchen table at home, coiled like a rattlesnake and ready to strike. I leaned against the bar and waved to the brunette serving the brews.
“I got it.” I turned back to Amanda. “I just don’t want to come.”
She pulled in a deep breath and didn’t say anything for a moment—as though calling up her last reserves of patience or perhaps puzzling a solution to the riddle that was me. I hated to break it to Miss Hollywood, but stronger minds than hers had tried and failed.
Finally she said, “Right, I kind of thought that was it. But I hope that our personal invitation might change your mind.”
I looked from her to Ryan. He was here because she wanted him to be. Contempt shadowed his eyes. I was the guy he’d brawl with because of my smart mouth, a smart mouth that called guys like him on the shit that they pulled. Guys filled with entitlement, and who got everything served up to them like they were fucking royals. People like Amanda and her brother Sterling, and especially my birth father Steve Legend, were all full of it.
“You’re wasting your time,” I said. I stubbed out my cigarette. “I don’t do Hollywood and I don’t do formal affairs, and I sure as shit don’t do weddings.”
“Really? I hear your thoughts on Hollywood may be changing,” Amanda said. Her eyes sparkled. Of course she knew about my deal with Left Coast Records. The ink was still wet, and yet Amanda Legend knew all about it.
“Only when it comes to my music. As for films and the people who make them? I’m keeping my distance.”
“Perhaps the marketing department hasn’t let you in on the secret to selling albums.” A twinkle gleamed in her eye. “Exposure.”
My gut clenched. My music was my everything. Always had been. My voice, my music, performing, saved me from jumping into an abyss every damn day of my life. I would do anything for my music, and hearing this Hollywood princess cast a thread of doubt about the way I promoted myself and my band pissed me off. She had created a shred of insecurity in my perfectly ordered mind.
“You couldn’t buy the kind of exposure I’m offering you. Everyone who is anyone wants an invitation to our wedding and you’ve got one.”
I pursed my lips and eyed Amanda. She was smart. This tough cookie knew how to get what she wanted: she knew what buttons to push. If I liked her, even half an inch, I would have let my wicked smile crack across my face. She knew how to work the system and it turned out she’d figured out how to work me.
“Why am I so lucky?” I asked. I leaned on the bar, close to her. So close that Ryan tensed. “Don’t worry, killer, I won’t hurt her.”
Amanda sighed and shook her head. “Because whether you want it or not you are my brother. A Legend. My father’s second son. I want my entire family at my wedding.” Her eyes hammered into mine. “And that even includes you.” The corners of her mouth turned up. “Especially you.” Her eyes gentled with a kindness that flattened my anger at her and everything to do with the Legend family.
My nostrils flared. It was hard to remain angry with this girl, this woman I barely knew, but who shared a father with me.
“Okay, Miss Hollywood. I’ll be there. But you know what you’re asking for, right? I don’t do gentle and I don’t do nice. I do me. Uncensored. Uncut. Sure you want this brother of yours at your high-end Hollywood affair?”
“I know what I want, Rhett,” Amanda said. She hitched her purse higher onto her shoulder. “The question is, do you?”
“I want it all, Sis, the fame, the money, the girls.”
“Sounds like my wedding could be your kind of party. We’ll see you next Saturday.” She turned and walked past the bikers who had obviously been trying hard to ignore the exchange they had just overheard. It was also hard to ignore her high-end Hollywood backside, protected by the hottest bad-boy in Tinseltown, Ryan Sinclair.
I upended my bottle of beer. A shiver pulsed through my body. Next weekend I would be in way fucking deeper than I had ever dared.
*
I roared my bike up the canyon and watched the sun set over the Pacific. As I pulled into the Legend driveway I got a glimpse of their kick-ass view of the water. Impressive. I drove past the long line of Maybachs and Teslas and pulled to a stop in front of the valet.
“You know how to ride this?”
His wide-eyed look and open mouth told me no.
“Fuck it, man, where you want me to park?”
“Sir, this is a private affair.”
“Seriously?”
“Are you on the guest list?”
A smile cracked across my face. Was I on this guest list? Yeah, I was, but I wanted to jab the asshole in the nose just for asking.
“Rhett Delgado,” I said. The guy started flipping pages. “Rhett Legend Delgado.” I didn’t ever drop the Legend name, but I figured when I was on their turf and they were footing this guy’s paycheck it couldn’t hurt.
“Here you are.” His gaze flicked up to me. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Legend.”
“Right,” I said.
I entered into a foyer as large as the stage at the Staples Center. The wedding had to be finished by now. Hopefully the dinner was too. I wanted the flash, the coverage, and even the opportunity to rub elbows with some music producers and execs, but I didn’t want the formal bullshit of Ryan and Amanda’s “I do”s and to wonder which fucking fork to use after I cut my steak. My mom and sisters might be down for that shit, but not me.
Guests mingled in the foyer. I got the eye from one cougar in a dress that was cut low in front and hitched high on her thigh. She smiled. I smiled. Her bald middle-aged husband, sporting an Italian suit that couldn’t disguise his paunch, pulled his arm tighter around her waist. I kept walking.
I snagged a beer from the bar and walked out the back into a fucking enchanted forest of a tent. Nothing had prepared me for this fairytale. There were more flowers than you’d find in a fucking greenhouse. Guests wandered from table to table, chatting and drinking. I scanned the room but couldn’t find Mom, Ellen, or Sophia. Static buzzed through the speaker system and I turned toward the stage on the far side of the tent that contained the dance floor. A single pure note reverberated throughout the space. The sound sizzled through my blood, and adrenaline pumped through veins.
Music meant everything. Performing meant everything.
I was like Pavlov’s dog when it came to a stage and a guitar. I saw them, I wanted them. I took another long drink of beer. I had no intention of performing with some wedding band. I felt sorry for the poor saps. You knew you’d really sunk into the pit of the music industry when you agreed to start being a trained monkey at a wedding. Starvation and homelessness was more appealing to me than booking a wedding gig.
On stage the setup was good. Looked like those guys at least took their performance seriously. My gaze trailed along the equipment to stage left … and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was that? Oh my fucking God, was that Elton John?
“Glad you could make it, brother,” Amanda said. She wore a white concoction that fit close to her body but poofed out near her feet. Little beads and sparkles decorated the whole damn deal. Too much for me. Why did every bride want a dress that made it impossible for her to do anything but stand around and be stared at? Guess I just answered my own question.
“What do you think of our singer?” Amanda asked.
“Are you fucking for real? I mean, he’s not my style, but he’s one of the greatest musicians of this century.” I tore my eyes from Elton and turned toward my half-sister.
“He knows Daddy. They’re friends. Perhaps Elton would let you sing a duet?”
Irritation like an unscratched itch glanced over my skin. I didn’t trade on Dad’s name, and even here, at an event paid for by Dad for my half-sister, I didn’t feel comfortable with anyone knowing my family secret, our family secret—that Sophia, Ellen, and I were the bastard children of Steve Legend. We were his other family.
“I’ll pass,” I said.
“Think of the coverage,” Amanda said. “I could have our wedding planner leak a picture of you and Elton on stage. TMZ would pick it up. Questions. Press coverage. Pictures. Your album drops in six weeks. Boom. Big star.”
A smile tugged at one corner of my mouth. “You got me all figured out, Sis?”
“I know you want to be a rock god. A legend. That one isn’t so tough to guess. You wear your desire for musical greatness on your sleeve. It got you here, didn’t it?”
“That it did.”
“You know,” Amanda’s gaze swept the room, “the new president of your label is over there at the table nearest the stage. Where Elton was sitting. Her name is Tasha—”
“Jones,” I said, finishing Amanda’s sentence.
“You’ve met her?”
“Nope,” I said and shook my head. “Just a little cyber-stalking, since she’s the lady that I have to convince of my imminent rock god status.”
My gaze locked on the newly minted president of Left Coast Records. Tasha’s long red-blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Her dress barely contained all that luscious flesh. Her skin was a mocha color and her face lit up when she smiled. “Her pictures don’t do her justice.”
“No,” Amanda said. “Nor do the stories that have been written about her. Don’t let the looks fool you. Tasha is smart and a shrewd businesswoman. Just because she had to take over Left Coast when her uncle suddenly left doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of running the company.”
“She better be,” I said. “From what I read she’s got some people gunning for her.”
“Probably because her uncle left the company quite suddenly. Yes, there’re rumblings about Tasha taking over. I’ve met her uncle. Not the nicest man.”
“We’ve got that in common,” I said.
Changing the subject, she said, “I haven’t met Anita’s brothers, your uncles.”
“No loss there,” I said. My stone-faced expression must have indicated to Amanda that discussion of my uncles was not a topic for her wedding day. Smart girl, she changed the subject again.
“Tasha grew up in the music industry. Her father groomed her for this job since we were kids together. I have every faith that she’ll manage whatever problems she inherited from her uncle at Left Coast Records.” Amanda’s gaze left Tasha and her eyes traveled back to me. “She signed you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, she inked the deal, but I haven’t met her.”
“Does she know you’re a Legend?”
A muscle tightened in my shoulder. “I guess, yes, since Billie brought me in and Billie knows you and Sterling.” A fire burned in my belly. My musical talent, my voice, my looks, basically the whole package was enough to get me signed, so why should my father’s last name matter? “But that’s got nothing to do with who I’m related to.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” Amanda said with a cool nonchalance, “but it does. The Legend name doesn’t get you the gig, but it can open doors. Use it for what it’s worth. I’ve had years and years of practice. If you’re going to be saddled with all the attention and the photographers and the intrusions, you might as well make it work for you.”
“That’s not how Ellen, Sophia, and me were taught to roll.”
“I know,” she said. “But you are a Legend, and you have nothing to hide. You’re all three grown up and you’re just as much Daddy’s kids as Sterling and me. So don’t hide. Unless you want to.”
I’d seen a photo crew working the reception and now a guy with a giant camera stood in front of us.
“Amanda, a picture with your friend?”
Amanda placed an arm around my waist. “This guy isn’t my friend,” she said. “He’s my brother.”
Chapter 2
Tasha
The last place I wanted to be was here. The walls were crashing down around me. The last thing I wanted to do was attend a wedding, pretend to smile, and make small talk. But what choice
did I have? As the new president of Left Coast Records I couldn’t refuse an invitation to the biggest Hollywood wedding of the year. The Legend-Sinclair wedding was too big and too important. Besides, Amanda and I were more than casual acquaintances; I might even call her a friend. I glanced across the room to where the wedding photographer snapped a photo of Amanda with a guy in a snakeskin jacket. Who wore a snakeskin jacket to a wedding?
The camera flashed, Amanda turned to the guy and placed a gentle peck on his cheek. He stiffened with her kiss, but relaxed and smiled at something when Amanda whispered in his ear. Then his gaze landed on me.
Heat, like a rush of lava, shot through my system. Those dark eyes, that light brown skin, even his wicked grin combined with his snakeskin jacket told me that this guy was a musician.
I could spot them. I’d spent my entire life surrounded by musicians and music executives. There was something fundamentally different about people in Hollywood who chose music as their life. As though it was a choice? I’d been spoon-fed rhythm and blues, classical music, hip-hop, rap and every other type of music since I was born. Music was my family’s life.
His eyes trailed over my skin and even from a distance his gaze felt as though he were touching me. A lick of heat unfurled in my belly. A near caress from his eyes. I was used to getting attention from musicians. Most of them were looking for something from me or, in the past, they paid attention to me to get to my father.
I’d been involved with a musician once before, but I’d learned my lesson. I’d sworn off them after that. Right now I needed to sign as many talented artists to our label as I could. If I was going to save the sinking ship that was my family’s business, and that my uncle had nearly wrecked after my father’s death, I would need to deal with musicians all the time.
This guy’s face was familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him. I pulled my gaze away and glanced over at David, my late father’s second in command and a close family friend. He seemed to be the only ally I had in the entire world at this point. “Who is the man with Amanda?” I asked him.