by Maggie Marr
David’s quick glance around the room was deft, and did not reveal who, in fact, he was actually looking for. It was a trademark skill, especially at any event such as this; you looked at everyone, carefully, and yet you never wanted anyone to know who you were actually looking at. Ah, Hollywood.
David lifted his wine to his lips. “That is Rhett Legend Delgado,” he said and took a nonchalant sip of his wine.
“Legend Delgado? Is he Amanda’s cousin?”
“No,” David said. “He is, in fact, her half-brother.”
I’d heard rumors that Amanda and Sterling had recently stumbled upon a family their father, Steve Legend, had created unbeknownst to them, but Amanda and I had never discussed it.
“I see.” That explained the shocking good looks.
“He’s also Left Coast’s newest artist.”
Again his gaze was on me. My tongue whispered over my bottom lip. A shiver slipped up my spine. A compulsion to indulge urged me to take this one step further. I’d learned the hard way not to get involved with a musician. While they could whisper the sweetest of words, having a relationship with one of them could only end in heartache.
This guy would be no different. The insouciant tilt of his head, the cock of his hip, and his blatant sex appeal sent warning bells clanging in my head. Even with everything I knew about musicians, their life, and their path to success, I found it difficult to tear my gaze away from him. It seemed from his intense look that he was having the same difficulty.
“Billie signed him,” David continued. “He’s been writing and he goes into the studio to record next week.”
“Who’s the producer?”
“Terrell,” David said.
“Terrell’s really good with new talent. Patient.”
“He is for sure. But from what I hear, with that one,” David said, “he’ll have to be.”
Ah, so Rhett was already working on his status as a bad-boy rocker by trying to create an image of being difficult. Did he have the talent to back up that behavior, or was he just another semi-talented guy whose hopes and dreams would be unplugged when his first album dropped with a thud? Left Coast didn’t have the luxury of a thud, and I had to make sure everything we did, from now on, was a huge success. He moved away from Amanda and headed toward the bar. He definitely had the Legend charisma. He moved like a star, confident, composed, sex appeal oozing from every pore.
My phone vibrated and I looked down at the number. Icy fear replaced desire. “I have to take this.” David nodded. I picked up my phone, stood, and pressed a finger into my other ear so that I could hear the person on the end of the line above all the noise. “It’s me,” I said when I answered. “Just give me two seconds.”
I’d waited for this call for days. I skirted the edge of the tent and made a beeline toward the house. I wanted to find a quiet room to take this call. I slid through the French doors of what looked to be the study and glanced around the room. This spot was quiet and empty—just what I needed for this conversation.
“Okay,” I said. “Sorry about that. So, what did you find?”
“It doesn’t look good,” Harold Blumenthal, my accountant and the new CFO for Left Coast, said.
“Well, I anticipated that, but how bad is it?”
“I don’t think you can make payroll next week. Your uncle”—Harold sighed—“it appears your uncle didn’t just disappear with his own money, but he also managed to clear out Left Coast Records’ accounts, as well.”
My legs couldn’t hold me. I sank into the leather couch behind me. “How short are we?”
“A million,” Harold said. “And that’s just this payroll. I’m digging. He hasn’t sent in payroll tax for two quarters. That money seems to have disappeared with your Uncle Lewis, along with everything else.”
The IRS? So now I also owed money to the government? I pressed my lips together and shut my eyes. My uncle was a thief, a liar, and a cheat. He’d forever been jealous of my father’s success. How stupid I’d been to sink into my grief after Daddy’s death and believe that Uncle Lewis would take care of Left Coast.
“Some of the shareholders have been calling me.”
While Left Coast was privately held, and I had the majority of shares, we still had some investors with minority shares. Investors who anticipated quarterly returns on their investment.
“Send me their names and I’ll call them. I still own sixty percent of Left Coast.”
“Yes, well, sixty percent of zero is still zero.”
“What about royalties and licensing?”
“They’re coming in, but not fast enough to cover the payroll next week. Whoever tapped out Left Coast Records—and I know we’re assuming it was your uncle with his sudden disappearance—really hung you out. This is a big hit. I’d recommend bankruptcy with restructuring—”
“No,” I said. I pressed my fingertips to my temple. “I can cover it. I know how to cover it.”
“Tasha, that’s not my recommendation. Whatever capital you put in now you may never recoup. You could seriously end up holding the bag for your uncle’s malfeasance. There are creditors, and payroll, and new artists, and expenses—”
“I can cover it for now,” I said. “I know how. Just get us back on track. Make sure we meet payroll and cover our expenses.” My spine straightened with determination even while my heart grew heavy with dread. “We keep going until we can’t, and we don’t let anyone know about this. As far as the shareholders and our artists are concerned, Uncle Lewis handed over the reins and retired to Tahiti. And all is well.”
“Of course. I won’t say anything, but Tasha, I have to caution you, this is a precarious position you’re in. Even with Left Coast being privately held. Are you sure you don’t want me or David to at least entertain some offers? I could make some discreet inquiries.”
“Absolutely not,” I said. Daddy had expected me to run Left Coast after his death and I’d failed. I’d chosen instead to wallow in my grief and then live the rock star lifestyle with a man who I’d mistakenly thought I loved. Now I was paying the price of my own bad decisions. Daddy had spent his lifetime building Left Coast Records. I couldn’t sell or let the company fold. “Left Coast Records was started by my father and I’m not about to be the person who lets it fail.”
“I understand,” Harold said. Although his tone indicated that he didn’t understand and that he thought I was nearly crazy for attempting to salvage the wreck that my uncle had left behind.
“I’ll have the money to you by mid-week,” I said. “You’ll keep looking for assets and liabilities? Help me to come up with a solution?”
“Tasha, if there is a solution to be found in these books, then I will definitely find it for you.”
“Thanks, Harold,” I said. I ended the call. My shoulders sagged with the weight of all the information that Harold had just given me. Then heat began in my belly and rolled up through my chest. “Fuck!” My voice loud and angry. My high heels thudded against the floor. “How the fuck could you leave me, Daddy?” I said to an empty room. Anger blossomed in my chest. “How the hell do I keep Left Coast alive after Uncle Lewis runs off with ten fucking million dollars! What the fuck was he thinking?”
“Maybe he thought that a private island only costs five?”
My blood turned to ice water. Oh, my God, no. No, no, no! I whipped around toward the direction of the voice. My gaze locked on those now-familiar black eyes. I needed to keep Left Coast’s financial distress a secret. If anyone in the music industry knew that we were bleeding they would come in for the kill.
My heartbeat sped up. He stroked me with his gaze as he set one foot in front of the other and moved toward me. Like a predator ready to pounce, he moved slowly, long-legged sex in a snakeskin jacket. He stopped just in front of me and heat roared through my body. If the news got out that Left Coast was in financial distress, then the label would be dead in the water. I placed a flirtatious smile to my lips, one infused with sex appeal. Most musicians’ e
gos were easily manipulated and, right now, with Left Coast sinking, I wasn’t above a bit of emotional manipulation.
“Rhett Legend Delgado,” I nearly purred. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” Charm might convince Rhett to forget whatever he thought he’d just heard.
“Looking for, or looking at, Miss Jones?”
Heat rushed up my neck. My name on his lips in that black velvet voice. “How could any woman not stare?” I said. “You’re just so damned handsome.”
While the corner of his lip hooked upward into a wicked Billy Idol grin, his eyes were hard like steel. He had an ace. He’d overheard every damaging word and his mind, it would seem, was much too sharp to let what I’d said go. Why would he forget what he’d heard when now he had perfect leverage over me, the president of his label?
“Flattery,” Rhett said. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever met a musician who is immune.” He reached out and his fingertips brushed a strand of my hair behind my shoulder.
My heart thumped harder with his near-touch. A tingle pulsed in my sex and he hadn’t even placed a fingertip upon my skin. I forced myself to remain calm, and not press into his hand like a cat needing to be stroked.
Rhett Delgado was magnetic. Over my lifetime I’d been exposed to the world’s biggest stars, and never had I felt so much like a moth seeking a flame. I could barely control the desire to step forward and press my skin against that long lush body, against the chest that rippled beneath that shirt, and feel his hands stroke me on every intimate inch of my skin.
“Should I be concerned about my studio time next week?” He asked. His voice a low-toned throaty concoction that spoke of whiskey and cigarettes and late nights with long sultry kisses. Kisses that lasted for days.
“No, of course not,” I said. I pulled my eyebrow upward and tilted my head. “Why should you?”
The wicked grin remained. “Because it seems as though you may be in some trouble,” he said. “Money trouble.”
I pressed a sly smile to my face. “Ah, Rhett, surely you know Left Coast is the most profitable privately held label in the world.” My tongue chased over my bottom lip and I took a step closer to Rhett. “Why you, yourself, are one of the very reasons that Left Coast is going to have its best year ever. We have the ability to spot talent. New, fresh talent that the world so desperately craves.”
His pupils dilated at hearing my words. My body was alert to him. Every cell, every sinew, every fiber of my being pulsed in response to the desire that I saw transform his features.
My nostrils inhaled the rich scent of Rhett. The outdoors, tinged with a hint of danger, the sweetness of tobacco, and something that had to be just inherently him—Rhett Legend Delgado. This man, if I let him, could grind down my determination to never become involved with a musician, especially not a musician who was in business with Left Coast Records.
“Left Coast can definitely spot new talent,” Rhett said. “But lately it seems the problem for Left Coast is actually keeping the talent.”
My heart pinged as though I was a target, and he’d zipped an arrow straight into the bull’s-eye.
“It’s true,” I said. “We’ve lost some artists who were very important to the LC family.”
“Some? And now your uncle ditches you? And, from what I just heard, ditches you and leaves you short a lot of money that you need to find before the middle of next week.”
“Rhett, I’m not sure what you think you heard—”
“Tasha,” he said, leaning closer, his lips very near mine. “I know what I heard. Now we can go back and forth like this, where you use those God-given sexual gifts—which are many—to try and woo me away from knowing what I know, like some Jedi sexual mind trick. Or we can be real with each other. I don’t doubt Left Coast’s ability, your ability, to make me into the rock god I deserve to be. I simply want to know if I should be concerned about my studio time next week.”
Air rushed from my lungs. A desperation to press my lips to his clung to every part of my body.
“No, you shouldn’t,” I said.
“Great,” Rhett said. He took two steps back. Cool air rushed between us. He slid a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and flipped one into his mouth. He walked toward the French doors and paused. A flash of flame and he lit his cigarette. The clang of hard steel as the Zippo closed. “And you’ll be there? At the recording session?”
His request caught me off guard. I hadn’t planned on being at the studio when Rhett recorded. Terrell, his producer, was great at what he did. I didn’t need to be there.
“I signed with Left Coast because of you,” Rhett said. “Because you’re Craig Jones’ daughter and he was a magic maker. I expected that you would be there when I record. I hope you’re a magic maker, too”
Who was this guy? A debut musician making demands? But, I had to admit that Rhett was a debut musician with name recognition, a great voice, amazing looks, and now leverage. He was currently privy to my deepest darkest financial secrets. Thanks to my uncle, Daddy’s company had taken some heavy hits. We’d lost a couple artists and we were going to lose a couple more. It was rumored that even Johnny Tucker, aka a rock god and my former boyfriend, had decided to leave Left Coast after his next tour ended.
Rhett needed me to make his album and, right now, with our diminishing cash flow and already heavy investment in Rhett, I needed him. I needed him to be my first breakout star so that I could prove to the record industry that Left Coast was still a strong label, and that I had not only inherited Daddy’s company, but also his magic touch for picking musicians.
“Yes, I’ll be there for sure,” I said, not sure I wanted to agree to his request.
“Great.” Smoke rose around his features and his black eyes devoured me. “And don’t worry, Miss Jones, all your other secrets are safe with me.”
Rhett
The reception was winding down. Amanda and Ryan had said their good-byes and walked into the house to get ready to leave for their honeymoon. Ryan was so happy he’d even shaken my hand before his departure and given me a grudging smile. Amanda had wrapped me into her arms and bounced up on her tippy-toes. “Thank you for coming, Rhett,” she whispered and planted a big kiss on my cheek. Her eyes shone with joy, then she gave me one more hug and slipped away with Ryan.
Must be nice to be that fucking happy. I wanted to stay mad at Amanda. For what? Fuck if I knew. All of my childhood bullshit was wrapped up in anger at Dad and Sterling and Amanda, and the life I had imagined them living, snug and happy in Bel Air.
Amanda hugged Sophia and Ellen next, and then Mom. Mom walked with her toward the house, but Sophia turned to me. “Nice isn’t it, being at such a public event.”
“Sophia, what are you angling for? You’re always up to something.”
Sophia was tall, nearly six feet, with the black hair of both our mother and father. Her skin was the same color as mine, but her eyes were bright blue. She had just finished her final semester of college.
“You see that woman over there?” She nodded her chin toward the far side of the tent. A tall woman with grey hair styled in a blunt cut close to her chin sat and talked to a couple of young beauties.
“You mean the woman between the models?”
“Yes,” Sophia said. “Exactly. That is Jasmine Collins. I need to meet her and she needs to sign me. Elite is her company and I’m her next big client.”
“Sophia, you’re smarter than that,” I said. “You’ve got a brain and looks, why do you want to parade around in some designer’s clothes?”
“She is exactly why,” Sophia said. Her gaze drifted away from Jasmine to me. “Because I am smart, and I am beautiful. Everything is a step on the path to achieving my dreams. I want into that business and I want to work as a model because of the connections, the fun, the networking—and to understand everything from the inside out. Just like Jasmine Collins.”
“You want the fame and attention,” I said. I knocked back my drink. Sophia could never get enou
gh attention. And fame? One look into her eyes and you could see adulation was her drug of choice.
“What’s wrong with fame? Didn’t you just sign a multi-album deal? You want the fame and attention, too.”
“I want to share my music,” I said. Heat began to burn in my chest.
“Yes, I know you love your music, Rhett. We all know you love your music. But get real and be honest. Signing with Left Coast isn’t just about the music; it’s also about being a rock star. Now that we can use our name and be out in the open about who Dad is, everything will happen faster. As long as you’re smart about it.”
“What the fuck? Sophia, I’m not releasing this album with Dad’s name on it.”
She looked at me, her lips pulled down as though she actually felt sorry for me. “Rhett, that is a horrible business decision.”
“It’s not about business, Sophia, it’s about pride. Why would I want to use the name of the man who, until recently, wouldn’t publicly acknowledge us?”
“That’s exactly why. And let’s get our facts straight, shall we? Daddy always told us that it was Mom and Uncle Ramone who didn’t want us to use Dad’s name, or tell anyone who we were. I remember all of Daddy’s offers to tell the truth. Many, many times he asked Mom to let him tell the world about us. So just because you have some giant chip on your shoulder about Daddy and Sterling and everything not being the way you thought it should have been—”
“He had a secret affair with our mother for over twenty-five years. He still does,” I said. I shook my head. “I’m not willing to forgive Daddy dearest for all the bullshit that I’ve seen in my life simply because his last name might be helpful.”
“Right, okay. Use the anger you have to get what you want, but don’t be a fool because of it, Rhett. The public is going to want to know everything about you, and you can make them need to know if you let them know you are a Legend. Don’t make the launch of your album more difficult for you, or the record company. Make it easy for success to find you.”