Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

Then open your door.

  Surprised, she moved back through her house to the front. She checked the peep hole and swung the door open. “Hi.”

  Lila was on her stoop but she definitely didn’t look like the usual woman who was barking out instructions and reminders. She wore white shorts and a navy and white striped cotton shirt.

  Margo glanced down at Lila’s feet and was dumbfounded to see Chucks.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t wear a power suit every day.” Lila pushed by her and inside.

  Margo gripped the door and stared after her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in flats, let alone shorts.”

  “Yeah well, I’m here in a non-professional manner.”

  Margo closed the door and followed her into the vestibule. “Okay. I was just having coffee, would you like some?”

  “Is it a day ending in Y?”

  “Touché. Come in.” She led her down to the kitchen. She unhooked a poppy red mug from her company cups and filled it with the last of her French-pressed coffee. “Black, right?”

  “Damn right.”

  Margo set a mug in front of her. “Well if you’re not here for business, what can I do for you?”

  Lila cupped slim, ringless fingers around the mug and tapped her forefinger on the handle. “Can I be blunt?”

  “I’m not sure you have any other mode.”

  Lila lifted her mug and smiled over the rim. “I like you.” She took a sip and her wide blue eyes went heavy-lidded. “And I’ll pay you five thousand dollars a week just to make me this coffee every day.”

  “My one vice.” Margo nodded to the back. “Why don’t we go out on the patio so I can finish mine?”

  “Lead the way.”

  Margo held the door for her and caught Lila looking around at her house. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  Lila’s golden brow rose. “Was I telegraphing?”

  “Well, I’m sure you know what a studio musician makes. Add in the Philharmonic, and it still wouldn’t cover this place in Boston.”

  “No. It wouldn’t. Especially when you were dismissed from the Boston Philharmonic,” Lila said as she sailed through the door.

  Margo’s fingers tightened on the doorknob. “And here I thought we weren’t going to discuss business.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Lila sat on the rattan couch and crossed her elegant legs.

  Margo perched on the matching chair at the end of the oval table. “Okay. Since you obviously have a plan for this visit, care to share?”

  “May I?” She nodded as Lila pulled Margo’s laptop toward her. She typed for a moment then spun the screen to face Margo.

  Callahan’s filled the small video player box. Margo’s heart skipped a beat and her lower belly pulsed as the camera focused in on her and Simon making a small circle around each other.

  Intense and prowling, they were the center of attention for the videographer. She glanced down at the name of the video—Since when is a violin player this hot?

  The audio was questionable with the level of background noise and shouts, but the video was certainly the important part.

  “Yes, Simon came in and played.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “God, no.”

  “So this wasn’t planned?”

  “No.” Margo crossed her arms. “What are you angling for, fifteen percent or something?”

  Lila put her mug down and gave a delighted laugh. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

  “What’s with the interrogation, then?”

  “It was a roundabout way of asking you if this was planned or just happened.” She picked up her mug again and leaned back on the couch and looked around. “I like this set-up.” She wiggled her fingers. “All New England chic.”

  “I’m glad you like my postage stamp backyard.”

  “Brrr. It just got chilly.” Lila’s wide cornflower eyes sparkled with humor. “Look at the other videos.”

  Margo sighed. “So, a few people took videos. That’s what people do when famous people are around.”

  “Indeed they do. But there are over forty videos from that one show and look at the views. Hell, even the crappy videos have tons of them.”

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  Lila sighed. “It means whatever chemistry you and Simon have on stage translates to salivating fans.” She tipped the mug back and frowned when she got to the bottom. “More?”

  She started to stand and Lila waved her back.

  “I’ll get it. You keep looking.”

  Margo scrolled down and saw the views and the comments. Some were obvious troublemaker types, but on the whole, there were a lot of people excited to see Simon play on stage with her. Some that were shocked that a violin player could be so cool, others that couldn’t get enough of Simon dirty dancing with her.

  In the comments, there were other links to their release party videos. She leaned forward at the sheer number of posts on the sidebar of the site.

  Hundreds.

  Thousands of views and shares.

  Their rendition of “The Becoming” seemed to be the most watched video. And that was from the second night in Los Angeles. Back to back, they were one with each other on the stage and when he circled her to come at her from behind, her body reacted.

  Stiffened nipples and a throb so deep inside that she shut the laptop.

  “Pretty amazing, huh?”

  Margo lifted her mug and took a healthy swallow, saying nothing.

  Lila came down the three stairs and settled on the couch again. She’d changed out the standard red mug for a huge black one from her cupboard. “You can’t deny that was awesome stuff.”

  “I hope it translates to sales for them.”

  “Oh, it did. We actually rebounded from the top twenty on Billboard to top five again.”

  Margo swallowed. “That’s great. I’m happy for them.”

  “You know what it also sparked?”

  “No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

  “Don’t look so glum, Margo. This is a good thing. We’re releasing the video from the Los Angeles show this week as a fan club marketing tool. I have a feeling it’s going to go viral.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?” She set her mug down carefully.

  “Tell me, what exactly do you have planned for this summer?”

  “Studio work. I’ve gotten a lot of great offers because of the work I did with Oblivion.”

  “You should have. I put your name out there as the one to call for violin work.”

  Surprised, Margo gripped her knees. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want there to be any reason for you to turn me down.”

  “I—what?”

  “The band is heading to Saratoga, New York to rehearse for their summer tour. I want you to go down and rehearse with them. See if that magic is still in effect.”

  Margo stood. She tapped her thumb with her middle finger as she paced the little square of shale patio. “Why?”

  “Would there be a personal issue as to why you wouldn’t want to go?”

  Margo stopped and met her gaze. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you two are damn sexy and that usual translates to naked time.”

  “It’s not an issue.”

  “Now why don’t I believe you?”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  Lila groaned. “You fucked.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your face. There’s no love stuff but definitely sex stuff. I know the signs. It’s happened a lot recently.”

  Margo pushed her hair out of her face. “We have history,” she agreed.

  “Which means you’ve had sex a few times. How recently?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “So, at the bar?”

  “Ms. Shawcross—”

  “Wow. It must have b
een good.” She held up a hand. “Look, I know what Simon is. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Whatever you two do after the show is none of my concern. Unless it becomes trouble for the show.”

  “This is not a done deal, Lila. I’m not one of the members of the band that you can railroad into doing your bidding.”

  Lila snorted. “Keeping these guys in check requires a firm hand, but it also is about knowing what they need. They are an awesome unit already, but since adding you to the stage, they’ve reached another level.”

  “I’ve only played with them a handful of times.”

  “Which is exactly why I want you to go to the rehearsals.”

  “Have you talked to the band about this?”

  “No.”

  The decisive way she said it made Margo turn. “Why?”

  Lila sighed. “Because they don’t know what they need until they make the decisions for themselves.”

  “You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

  “It does for them. Nick would rather cut off his leg than bring a new person into the band, but even he was looking for ways to layer in the sound with his own. Deacon is our resident composer and he came to me asking if we could add you to the whole show for the Los Angeles performance, not just the three songs you were scheduled to do.”

  Margo lowered to a metal chair on the far side of the patio. “That was him?” She’d wondered why Deacon had been so adamant about getting her to learn the songs.

  Not that she had to do much.

  She’d been listening to them on a loop since she’d gotten an advanced copy of the album. She knew them all. “And Jazz and Gray?”

  “They’re mostly in the clutches of baby fever, but they are also most open to collaborations.”

  “Simon?”

  “I think you can answer that question.”

  Margo laced her fingers together and sat forward. “The summer is when I make most of my money. Now, more than ever, that’s an issue.” She met Lila’s direct gaze. “I’m not sure how you found out about the Philharmonic, but my current job situation also means that the studio work I’d miss out on would be detrimental to my livelihood.”

  Lila tipped her head and rattled off a number.

  It was only because of years of training that Margo’s jaw didn’t drop.

  “And that’s per show.”

  “Per show?”

  Lila nodded.

  “When do I leave?”

  Lila smiled. “Tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Simon dropped onto the carpet of green grass and rolled onto his back, his chest heaving.

  Deacon turned around, running in place. “C’mon, Simon. You’re never going to survive the summer if you don’t get some cardio training.”

  Simon waved him ahead. “I’m just gonna lay here and die. Nick can sing.”

  Deacon jogged over to where he was on the ground and ran circles around him. “You said you wanted to do this.”

  “Changed my mind.” He pressed a hand to his sweat-slick belly. “You’re a sadist.”

  “We’ve only done two miles.”

  Simon rolled onto his belly and buried his head in his stacked arms. “I’m good.”

  “You’re going to cramp.”

  Simon lifted his foot and grabbed his sneaker to stretch out the back of his legs. “There.”

  “Don’t come crying to me,” Deacon said and jogged back to the path.

  “Oh, I won’t,” Simon said more to himself than anything since Deacon was already gone.

  Saratoga State Park butted up to the parking lot of the Saratoga Performing Arts Center and Deacon had found every damn path there was.

  Just because Deacon felt the need to abuse his body with five to ten miles of running a day did not mean Simon did. Sure, he needed the cardio, but two fucking miles was more than anyone needed.

  Add that in with the resistance training Deacon was forcing on all of them, and Simon was ready to kill him. If only the bastard wasn’t so big, or so fast.

  Day one of the rehearsals had gone well. They had most of stage set up and the soundboard was a dream. Nick, Gray, and Deacon still had hard-ons from that little tour.

  Jazz and Harper were talking babies twenty-four-seven and he was fairly sure there would be a pair of really good wireless noise-canceling earbuds in his future.

  All he needed to do was nod and smile, anyway. He might as well listen to good tunes while he was doing it.

  “Fucking baby fever.” Simon pushed himself up off the grass and stood. It was going to be a damn long walk back to the venue.

  Or, he could run.

  Because he was alone, he let himself whine a little before he picked up the pace. It was a gorgeous late May day. He brushed off the stray bits of grass from his chest and waved at the two girls playing golf.

  He grinned when one completely missed her ball before twisting around to watch him run by. Okay, so the workouts for the last few weeks weren’t all of the suck. He’d never work out like Deacon, but he had to admit he liked the six-pack he had going.

  He was prone to skinny and only ripped because he was usually climbing on something. But he’d always been the skinny kind of ripped. Thanks to Deacon, he had a little more meat on his arms and shoulders.

  And the fact that their bassist wouldn’t let him sleep in anymore. Which sucked. But Simon needed to be in fighting shape for this tour. They weren’t just doing a forty-five minute opening act anymore. The current setlist was reaching for two hours.

  Slowing to a jog, Simon resisted the urge to grab his knees and pant like the bitch he was. He’d wait to do that on his bunk in the bus.

  In privacy.

  Where he could cry.

  He didn’t even know the name of the muscles that hurt. All of them?

  He slowed to a walk as the huge gold and black bus came into view. “Home sweet home,” he panted and grabbed the handle for the door.

  He landed facedown on the loveseat at the front of the bus.

  “You are a schmuck.”

  “Fuck off, Nicky.”

  The offending asshole dropped onto the longer couch next to him. “You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to go running with marathon man.”

  “You did it yesterday.”

  “Yeah. But so did you. No need to run every day, idiot.”

  Actually, he did need to. Running on that stage and singing was going to kill him if he didn’t find some way to train. Deacon had warned him earlier, but he’d never been the type that needed to exercise. When he was a kid, food wasn’t exactly a commodity in his house.

  He’d learned to go without a long time ago.

  Nick moved over. “You smell like a fucking vodka bottle.”

  “Sweating out my sins, my friend.”

  “Lots of sins.”

  Simon grinned unrepentantly. “I believe you tried to hang with me last night, buddy boy. You didn’t make it to midnight.”

  “That’s because you’re pickled.” Nick rose and grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Simon took one and sucked it down. He rose to refill it from the filtered tap on the front of the fridge. The cold water felt awesome on his abused throat.

  Landing facefirst in the grass wasn’t his best move. He didn’t have allergies like some people did, but he was a cement jungle guy—grass wasn’t one of the staples in his life. The back of his throat was tickling like crazy.

  “Lila’s here with Donovan.”

  “Oh yeah?” Simon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did he see our sweet setup yet?”

  “She’s showing him around now. She wants us to meet her down there in an hour.”

  “Cool.” He moved to the back of the bus for a shower. Now that it was just him and Nick on the bus, it was a helluva lot easier to take a shower. And the upgrade of the bus meant it didn’t stink like chemicals.

  He washed up and stepped into a pair of faded jeans. And because
the big boss man of the label was there, he tugged on a Rebel Rage t-shirt instead of one with rude sayings.

  He jammed his feet into socks and his motorcycle boots, and then grabbed a pair of sunglasses from his stash. A half-dozen brand name companies still sent freebies to him.

  God bless America.

  Nick had already left. The boy didn’t know how to relax. The couch looked mighty comfortable, but he knew if he tried for a nap, he’d end up sleeping for four hours.

  Even with enough vodka in his system to make his liver weep, he hadn’t been able to sleep much more than a handful of hours.

  They’d be officially doing their first rehearsal tonight. And of course Donovan had to be there. How the hell was he supposed to figure shit out if Mr. Suave was there to judge?

  As if he hadn’t been nervous enough.

  He trudged through the gravel pit outside the bus to the stairs that lead to the underbelly of the stage. Half a dozen roadies were running around with huge trunks on wheels, unloading from the semi parked behind the building.

  He climbed the back stairs to the stage and froze. Two forklifts with human sized baskets were on either end of the stage. A huge steel arch was being reinforced by two guys in welder faceplates.

  Sparks spit and sprayed at each end.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Impressive, huh?” Lila asked as she and Donovan came out from the side stage.

  “Yeah. I didn’t see this in the drawings.”

  “Well, since you continue to give me and my insurance people heart attacks during the shows, we figured we should give you something to climb on.”

  “Were you a gymnast in a former life, Simon?” Donovan asked.

  Simon folded his arms, gripping his forearms, his eyes never leaving the archway. “I never knew when my old man was going to take a swing, so I got good at ducking and rolling. Just seemed to grow from there.”

  At Lila’s shocked silence, Simon cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m totally psyched to have something to climb on.”

  “Just don’t split your head open, all right?”

  He rubbed his hands together and finally looked away from the set-up. “Nice to see you again, Donovan.”

  The Englishman held his hand out. “I had to come out and see the build. It’s impressive.”

  Simon shook his hand. “Yeah, I thought the ramps around the entire stage were rad, but that?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I want to get on it now.”