by Jenna Jacob
“Anything.”
“Put the past to rest once and for all.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Try harder. Focus on the kind of life you want, not the one you’re living now.”
“The one I want doesn’t exist.”
“It does if you change here.” She tapped a finger to my head.
“I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Grab a shower. Your limo will be here in thirty minutes.”
I arched my brows. “You’re not in charge anymore.”
She rolled her eyes and sent me a vague smile. Then she was gone.
It was nearly four in the afternoon when the private jet landed in New York. As the Cessna taxied to a limo waiting on the tarmac, I tried to leave the promise I’d made to Angie—that had rolled through my brain the entire flight—on the plane. But it followed me, haunted me all the way to Midtown.
Forcing my prickly unease aside, I peered out the tinted window. I would have liked to say it was good to be home, but I honestly didn’t miss this city. No, that was a lie. I loved the hustle, bustle, and the bright lights. What I hated was the myriad of memories that crawled through me each time I returned. If I could bypass New York altogether, I would.
But I couldn’t.
In a little over forty-eight hours, we’d be kicking off another US tour, with back-to-back sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden. Usually, I was stoked to be around my band brothers again. It beat hanging out at home or at the dive bar down the street. But I had serious reservations about this tour. It was going to be way different than any of the others because Quinn, in all his infinite wisdom—or infinite greed—had persuaded Mia “Phoenix” Harris—up-and-coming rock queen and drummer Ozzy Page’s (second-time around) significant other—to debut as our opening act. I didn’t have an issue with her musical ability. Mia owed her rising fame to her killer stage presence, unique sultry sound, and phenomenal vocal range. I simply didn’t want to watch her and Ozzy eye- fucking each other or listen to them actually doing the deed for the next six months. The tour bus wasn’t exactly a sanctum of privacy.
I tucked my apprehension away as the limo stopped in front of the ornately carved stone and beveled arched entrance of the neo-gothic hotel. I grabbed my bags, slid the driver a hundred bucks, and entered the lobby. Paying little attention to the industrial décor, I strode to the front desk. After dismissing the gushing young woman who handed me my keycard and her phone number, I took the elevator to my suite.
I tossed her number in the trash and started to unpack when my cell phone rang. A glance at the caller ID had me shaking my head.
“Did you plant a homing device in me while we were at the ranch?”
“Don’t give me any ideas, fucker,” lead singer Burk Jennings said with a chuckle. “You make it to the hotel yet?”
“Just got here. Unpacking. What’s up?”
“Quinn’s here.” For our usual send-off. “We’re getting ready to grab some dinner. Meet us in the lobby in ten.”
“What’s the magic word?” I couldn’t resist pushing his Dominant button.
“Fuck you.”
I bit back a smirk. “Be there in three.”
Chapter Two
Harmony
Butterflies dipped and swooped as the airplane touched down on the runway. I’d been staring out the window for twenty minutes as the pilot circled the city, taking in all the lights. Even from the air, New York was larger than life. Hands down, it was the biggest city I’d ever seen. The fear of being swallowed up by the sea of humanity below me only added to my amplified angst.
What am I doing? I asked for the thousandth time.
Saving the family. Yes, but something more lay on the fringes of my psyche that I couldn’t capture or dissect. And the frustration of trying to figure it out was weighing heavier and heavier by the minute.
Last year when I first began posting my video blogs, sharing peace and serenity found through enlightenment—the beautiful building blocks I’d been raised with—I never imagined my teachings would capture the attention of anyone powerful, rich, or famous.
But three days ago, a man named Quinn MacKinnon—claiming to be a successful agent and promotor for several well-known musicians—emailed me a unique and intriguing request. I always strived to find the good in everyone, but at first, I thought his message a hoax. After doing a little online research, I discovered Quinn was the real deal. He actually was the president of Fusion Productions, an industry leader of music promotion.
I cautiously opened the attachment he’d included and nearly swallowed my tongue. The man had already drawn up a contract, offering me an obscene amount of money if I could drag one of his longtime clients, a man named, Ross Walker, from his self-imposed fortress and reintroduce him to a life of light and love.
I was totally shocked but slowly realized I’d been chosen by Maat—the goddess of truth, justice, and order—to receive her divine intervention. She was offering me a chance to bring balance back to the people of Gaia Garden. My family.
The duty to restore harmony rested solely on my shoulders. Not because of my name but because I had been chosen to right my mother’s wrong. Astrid had given me life and the gift of sharing this lush Kentucky mountain with many beautiful people. Then she robbed us all and ran away, taking the money we’d scrimped and saved, selling our wares—money earmarked to cover the annual property tax of our home.
Pushing my disappointment in Mother aside, I’d typed the name; Ross Walker in my search engine and netted a plethora of images. Photos of the most beautifully erotic, massively muscle-bound, intimidating man I’d ever seen in my life lit up the screen.
My breath had caught and crazy somersaults tumbled in my stomach as I gaped at his chiseled cheekbones, the rebellious set of his strong jaw, and the arrogant tilt of his bald head. Clicking through the pictures, I’d lost a little more of myself in each one.
Pausing at a shot of him stepping from a swimming pool, I’d traced a fingertip over the drops of water beading the mouthwatering muscles bulging beneath his bronze skin, the colorful tattoos decorating his thick arms and the ridges and planes of his marbled pecs and washboard abs.
With a wistful sigh, I’d savored the sight of his rugged body like a square of milk chocolate melting on my tongue. A naughty pulse had flared between my legs. Sliding a stare from his amazing body to his emotionless expression, I focused on his dark blue eyes. I’d been so captivated by his stirring physique, I’d missed the stark suffering reflected there. An ominous chill slid down my spine. Trying to determine the root of his glaring turmoil, I dropped my barriers and set my empathic gift free. But instead of gaining the insight I sought, my emotional receiver bounced off the sturdy wall he’d erected around himself.
“You’re going to be a tough nut to crack, aren’t you?” I’d muttered out loud.
Rising to the challenge, I’d clicked a link in my browser and started gathering as much information as I could about this beautiful but troubled man.
Ross Walker, born March 30, 1988. In 2006, he joined Burk Jennings, Ozzy Page, Darren Ash, and Syd Wilson as drummer of the multiple-platinum and Grammy Award winning rock group Licks of Leather.
I’d never heard of the band or any of the songs listed on the site, but that didn’t surprise me. I’d been born and raised on our mountain in Kentucky. The only music I’d ever heard was the bluegrass melodies Jeb played on the banjo at night around the firepit.
I’d continued reading the encyclopedia-type page only to feel my heart sink when I learned that Ross had been addicted to cocaine. Relief came quickly when I discovered that he’d sought rehab and, from what the article said, had been clean and sober for over four years.
Scrolling down the page, I’d sucked in a gasp as an image of Ross, flashing a carefree, panty-melting smile, came into view. Mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the blinding happiness glimmering in his eyes and lighting his face. Unlike the other
photos, there wasn’t a trace of suspicion or uncertainty in his unguarded expression.
My heart and mind had started racing.
Though I couldn’t connect with him through the photos—an issue I hoped to remedy once we were face-to-face—I knew this happy, glowing version of Ross wouldn’t have succumbed to addiction without a damn good reason. Clearly, something catastrophic had pushed him over the edge.
I’d decided then and there to do everything in my power to replace the ghosts haunting this man with light and love. And maybe, just maybe, he would gift me with one of his blinding, tantalizing smiles.
Without thinking twice, I’d replied to Quinn’s email. After a few more exchanged messages, and finally a cell phone call, I’d agreed to let him fly me to New York and meet with him before signing his generous contract.
As the airplane taxied to the gate and stopped, I stood and inched my way down the aisle, sending up a silent prayer to Athena—goddess of wisdom—for the proper insight to heal the gorgeous drummer’s soul.
When I stepped into the terminal, I gaped at the ocean of people pulsing and pushing their way through the labyrinth of bodies. My heart drummed wildly as my fear of being swallowed up by humanity became a reality. Fighting the urge to rush back to my seat on the plane and return to the safety of my Kentucky mountain, I sucked in a deep breath before merging with the masses and followed the signs to the baggage claim.
Quinn had promised a limo would pick me up from LaGuardia and deliver me to a hotel in Midtown Manhattan. But I had no idea how I was supposed to find said limo. As anxiety began to skyrocket, I glanced to a line of men wearing dark suits and holding placards in the air. Skimming my gaze over the various names scrawled on their signs, I felt my angst bleed away when I spied my name emblazoned on one.
I made my way to the older man holding the sign and smiled. “I’m Harmony Sharp.”
“Good evening, ma’am. My name is Gerry. I’m your driver this evening.”
Though he was a total stranger, his warm smile ignited my sixth sense—which was screaming that he possessed a kind and gentle soul—and melted my anxiety.
Suddenly, a loud buzzer sounded behind me. I jumped and turned as the baggage carousel began moving. After I pointed out my suitcases gliding along the revolving belt, Gerry plucked them up, then led me outside and into a long black limo.
I gazed up at the sweeping arch of tiny gold star lights embedded in the ceiling and smiled at the shimmering glass-and-chrome curved bar—fully stocked—across from my seat. A glass of champagne sat in a cupholder to my left while the open bottle lay chilling in an ice-filled reservoir on a long table in front of me, beneath a flat-screened television.
“I thought taking my first plane ride was going to be exciting,” I murmured as the limo eased from the curb. Skimming a hand over the soft gray leather seats, I stamped the ostentatious interior to memory. “But this…this is insane.”
Plucking up the glass, I took a sip and swallowed. The bubbles tickled my nose and tongue and I almost choked on a giggle.
“So, this is how the rich and famous live. Not bad,” I said to myself before taking another sip.
So enthralled with my surroundings, I nearly forgot there was a big, busy city beyond the heavily tinted windows. Careful not to spill my champagne, I moved to the seat beside the door and peered out the window.
“Mercy,” I whispered, taking in the bright lights, the crowded sidewalks, and the tall skyscrapers reaching for the stars.
I definitely wasn’t in Kentucky anymore. No, I wasn’t. And if I failed to mend Ross Walker’s damaged soul, there’d be no home for me to return to. The people of Gaia Garden were counting on me to save our land, our oasis of peace. I couldn’t let them down… I wouldn’t let them down.
I took a gulp of champagne to wash away my worries as my cell phone rang. After a glance at the ID, I swallowed the bubbly for fortification.
“Hello, Quinn.”
“Hey, Harmony. I just received a notice from the limo company that you’re en route to the hotel.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Did you have a good flight?”
“I did. It was exciting, and this limo…wow. It’s…just wow.”
Quinn chuckled. “Glad you like it. Listen, I just got back from dinner with the guys. They’re hanging out at the bar now, so I’ll meet you in the lobby and help you get settled in your room.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, but you don’t need to help me—”
“I do. There’s some things we need to discuss before I introduce you to the guys, well, more specifically, Ross.”
Already sensing Quinn hadn’t divulged everything about the big drummer’s past, my mind started whirling with dozens of disturbing scenarios. Tamping them down, I reminded myself that I was in New York via a verbal agreement. I still hadn’t signed my name on the dotted line of Quinn’s contract. If the skeletons in Ross’s closet were heinous or morally reprehensible, I’d have no other choice but to return to Gaia Garden with my tail between my legs.
Please don’t let it come to that.
“O-okay.”
“Great. I’ll see you shortly,” Quinn stated and ended the call.
I glanced at my empty glass. Other than a couple sips of boysenberry mead Daisy made back home, I didn’t drink, and I’d never put alcohol on an empty stomach. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Throwing caution to the wind, I plucked the bottle of champagne from the vat of ice and refilled my glass.
By the end of the night, I’d either be taking a grand adventure and accompany Licks of Leather on their tour or returning to Kentucky.
What am I doing?
“Yeah, yeah…saving the family,” I mumbled to myself.
Before I started grasping for the other elusive reason, I shoved the task away, sipped more champagne, and turned my mental energies on meeting the legendary Quinn MacKinnon.
When the limo pulled to a stop, the butterflies returned, dipping and swooping in my belly. My future, the future of a hundred and sixty others was resting on my shoulders. I couldn’t screw this up. After downing the rest of my bubbly, I set the glass in its holder, and drew in a deep, calming breath.
Gerry opened my door and extended his hand. Hoping he didn’t notice the tremble of my fingers, I placed them in his palm and stepped from the limo. As he retrieved my luggage from the trunk, I rummaged through my purse, searching for one of the three twenty-dollar bills Arlo had managed to coax from the community for my trip. I only hoped the remaining forty dollars would be enough to get back to LaGuardia if things didn’t work out with Quinn.
Knowing that sending negative energy into the ether had dire consequences, I shook all pessimistic thoughts away and handed Gerry one of my coveted twenties.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Mr. MacKinnon has generously taken care of my tip.”
The relief that flooded my system sent a pang of guilty greed sluicing through me as well. But the goddesses were undoubtedly sending a sign to hold on to the cash. With a pensive nod, I tucked the bill away and drew strength from Atalanta—warrior goddess no man could best—then strode past the doorman and inside the majestic hotel.
I immediately spotted Quinn, sitting on a beige industrial couch, staring intently at his cell phone. Even if the lobby hadn’t been deserted, I would have recognized the man from the shock of auburn hair and scruff adorning his sharp jawline. He looked exactly like his online photos.
“Good evening,” a young, bubbly female desk clerk greeted. “May I help you?”
Quinn jerked his head up. As he stood, he pinned me with expressive green eyes and a wide, welcoming smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Harmony.”
The Scottish lilt in his deep voice intrigued me.
With a reciprocating smile, I extended my hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. MacKinnon.”
“Please, call me Quinn.” He chuckled softly. “Pardon me for staring. It’s just…yo
ur eyes. They’re as uniquely beautiful in person as they are in your videos.”
It wasn’t the first time someone had remarked about my bright blue eyes. Since I was a child, my father, Bodhi, had told me the story of how Asteria, goddess of the stars, teamed up with Isis, goddess of magic, and bestowed me with the striking color, and the ability to see beyond flesh and bone to perceive the good and bad in others’ hearts.
Quinn’s heart was good.
“Thank you.”
“My, my. Your southern accent is even sweeter.”
“I don’t have an accent…at least not in Kentucky.”
“Neither do I, lass,” he teased with a wink and a grin.
After thanking Gerry, Quinn gathered my suitcases and began strolling toward the elevator. Instead of standing like a statue in the middle of the lobby, I quickly followed the man.
“I took the liberty of checking you in and have your room key in my pocket. And I hope you don’t mind, but I also ordered you dinner,” he explained as I followed him inside the mirrored elevator. “If you don’t like steak, we’ll call and change your order when we get to your room.”
Though I’d only eaten deer meat—thanks to the bow and arrow abilities the hunters in our group possessed—I didn’t think beef would taste much different.
“No. Steak is perfect. Thank you for ordering me dinner. I’m starving.”
“I figured you might be.”
When the doors of the elevator slid open, I stepped onto the thick carpet and followed him down a long hallway.
“Since this is your first trip to New York, I booked you a suite with a terrace that overlooks Times Square.”
After sliding the key card into the slot, Quinn smiled and pushed the door open. When I stepped across the threshold, I swallowed down a gasp. I felt like I was floating on clouds in a fairy tale. Turning in a slow circle, I took in every detail of the elegant room. Overwhelmed was an understatement. The place was stunning, from the inviting cream-colored sectional adorned with fluffy burgundy pillows to the sparkling glass-topped coffee table positioned in front of a massive flat-screen television. On a bar with its own sink were colorful bottles of liquor and shimmering crystal glasses.