Liner Notes

by Madden, A. M.

  Liner Notes, A Lair Novel

  Published by A. M. Madden

  Copyright ©2019 by A. M. Madden

  First edition, e-book-published 2019

  All Rights Reserved Worldwide.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The use of artists and song titles, locations, and products throughout this book is done for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademarked names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  A. M. Madden

  Email: am.madden@aol.com

  Twitter: @ammadden1

  Instagram: ammadden1

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorammadden

  Website: www.ammadden.com

  Table of Contents

  The Back-Up Series

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  The Back-Up Series Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  More by A. M. Madden

  About A. M. Madden

  The Back-Up Series

  Back-Up ~ Book 1

  Front & Center ~ Book 2

  Encore ~ Book 3

  Backstage ~ Book 4

  The Devil’s Lair ~ Book 4.5

  Backstage Pass ~ A Back-Up Quickie

  Sold Out ~ Book 5

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Shock Jock, A Lair Novel

  Liner Notes, A Lair Novel

  Chapter 1

  Lori

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Ma’am?

  A leggy blonde wearing a postage stamp as a dress smiled as she moved around me to get to the front door. Two friends followed suit, carbon copies of each other from their sun-streaked hair to the expanse of exposed tan skin. And with the sound of the door banging shut behind them, there went my confidence.

  Having settled on tight white jeans, a pale-green gauzy top, and peep-toe coral pumps, I was left in the downwind of their expensive perfumes, second-guessing my choices.

  Shit… I don’t second-guess. It just wasn’t in my nature. I’m the feisty redhead from Jersey known for having balls of steel. But the slight fluttering in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the neon “Hops and Soul” sign said otherwise. The beads of sweat dotting the back of my neck weren’t helping matters either… and I couldn’t be sure it was the August heat that had caused them.

  A virtual slap to the back of my head snapped me out of my temporary insanity. I got this. “I’ll give you ma’am,” I mumbled irritably, my East Coast attitude finally waking up and revealing itself. With a deep breath, I gripped the ornate brass handle to drag open the heavy wooden door.

  Once inside, my eyes automatically squinted to adjust to the dimly lit space. The only substantial source of light beamed a perfect circle down on a small stage, highlighting the man I had come to see. And from the looks of the crowd, so had every other female in the vicinity.

  Cannon Davis.

  Tonight, it was my job to proposition him before he got too big, too popular. “Swoop in and make him ours,” Mr. Vassler had said in his heavy Texan accent over the phone. “No pressure, darlin.’”

  Easier said than done.

  After a rough chain of events, both professional and personal, an opportunity of a lifetime had been handed to me. I had fallen into this amazing career kind of like I’d fallen into everything that had happened in my life. I wasn’t a planner by any means, and every single chapter worth telling about was a result of my impulsivity.

  Not long after I’d started managing a rock band of guys I had grown up with, it had become obvious I’d found my calling. I’d been independent in representing that band, Cliffhangers. It had been my doing that had gotten them signed on with LRV Media. In addition, having best friends who were the infamous Devil’s Lair might have pointed me in the right direction. But my tenacity was what had their label offering me a job once Cliffhangers broke up.

  Sure, the list of screwups on my part had caused the very bumpy road to success, but they had also gotten me where I needed to be. And despite all the ups and downs, LRV Media had faith in me and were counting on me to sign this new talent… one I’d soon be meeting face-to-face.

  Cannon would be my first client under the LRV Media empire and their first solo act in his genre. Therefore, I had a lot at stake.

  I wasn’t worried about him being a success. At only twenty-three, he’d already made quite a name for himself in SoCal. The girls lost their shit over his unassuming presence in a T-shirt, perfectly torn jeans, and trendy beanie.

  No, it wasn’t Cannon doing his part that I worried about. More so, could I make him the musical icon he deserved to be? To be honest, once I got a look at him my gut felt this was a bad idea. Through experience, I’d learned two things the hard way: one, never mix business with pleasure… and two, the kind of pleasure I was attracted to was toxic to me.

  Sexy.

  Alpha.

  Rock stars.

  Jen Baxter, my boss, had said as much the first time I’d met with her after arriving in LA. The woman is a hard-ass, but a professional one. Those who knew her didn’t necessarily like her, but they all respected her.

  As the manager of one of the world’s biggest bands, who happened to be those good friends of mine that I mentioned, her success was commendable. She’d taken Devil’s Lair from performing in dive bars throughout New York City and made them superstars. She was a huge help to me when I began managing Cliffhangers. We’d been working together for a few years now, and she knew my history.

  “The people at LRV love you, Lori. But… if I can give you a bit of advice, keep it professional… or you’ll end up having the wrong kind of reputation in this business.”

  In other words, don’t shit where you eat. Most would have been offe
nded by her advice, but I deserved it. I have since sworn off hot, moody musicians. From now on, maybe I’d set my sights on a nice accountant or a computer geek. But… that was a story for another day. All water under the George Washington Bridge.

  New start. New beginning. New goals.

  There was no way I’d be making the same mistakes this time around. Like I said, I had a lot at stake. This was a brand-new beginning in the sunny state of California, thousands of miles away from my past.

  After only a few weeks in Los Angeles, I’d already fallen in love with the Golden Coast. Besides acclimating to my new home, I’d spent most of my time familiarizing myself with the area and reading up on my potential new client.

  From the footage I’d found online, the man’s voice was as smooth as melted chocolate, yet raspy and seductive in the way it reached into your soul and caressed it like a lover’s hand. In person, it was even better, because his presence could be felt through every strum of his guitar and every note he sung.

  Mesmerizing.

  That summed up his performance in one word. Cannon rarely looked out toward the crowd. His eyes alternated between staring down at his strumming fingers and sliding closed. It looked like he was making love to the guitar in his large hands, seducing it with every pluck of the strings.

  I watched from a distance, paying particular attention to the response he received from the crowd. Both men and women sat riveted, silent, and respectful of the art he gifted them with. And that was just what it seemed to be… whether you were familiar with his work or not, the chords melding perfectly with his voice felt like a gift.

  My music preference was classic rock, but I got the lure of the folk-rock genre he specialized in. It soothed the soul while rousing a hunger for more… if that was at all possible. But it was those damn lyrics set to evocative musical chords that gripped you, held tightly, and pulled you in.

  Do you know? Can you see? The way you’ve broken me?

  He could have easily been singing about my life and my experiences. Cannon Davis was relatable, and I couldn’t help but to take his songs personally. I also had no doubt every woman in the place felt the same. That ability would make him a huge star.

  You’ve ruined me in the worst of ways. Stripped me of my soul.

  The music faded and his fingers slowed until he stopped playing altogether and sang the last line a cappella.

  Yet… as I watch you leave, my heart bleeding and raw, I know I’m nothing without you.

  The slightest pause hinted to the audience that he was done, causing a maelstrom of applause to erupt like thunder.

  “Thank you,” he said shyly, competing with the praise. The left side of his full lips slowly quirked up in an adorable smile, and my heart stopped at seeing it.

  “Good God,” I uttered out loud. From the many clips of his performances that I’d watched online, smiling wasn’t something he did often while performing. He had this raw sexual magnetism that pulsed around him. But that smile… witnessing it felt so intimate. No doubt the man could make a nun blush and toss her habit aside. With LRV Media behind him, Cannon Davis would no doubt be on the path to dampening panties across the globe.

  “Thank you so much.” One hand gripped the neck of his guitar as he stood tall, a looming presence on the stage. Raising his other hand, he uttered one last “Thanks.”

  A white-haired man, looking as worn as the wood paneling behind him, stepped into the spotlight while clapping. “Cannon Davis, everyone!” The response again amplified, but Cannon had already slipped out of sight behind the accordion divider to the left of the stage.

  I waited for the house lights to glow before making my way over to the corner he should have exited from. No sooner had I reached the area where he emerged than I was pushed aside by the gaggle of women who rushed over to see him up close.

  Patiently watching, I took in the way he made eye contact with each and every one of them, making them feel special. Eventually, he admitted he needed to get going, prompting them to move on.

  Once they were gone, he cut his attention to where I stood and stepped closer. “Did you like the show, sweetheart?” While towering over me, his eyes landed on mine before they made a slow scan down to my feet and back up, setting off tiny sparks all over my body. “You’re stunning.”

  I waited for him to finish his perusal and meet my eyes before I straightened my spine and lifted my chin defiantly. “Cannon Davis, I’m Lori Banzini. We spoke on the phone.”

  That one side of his mouth lifted again as he took my offered hand. “So much for first impressions. Nice to meet you, Lori Banzini.”

  Ignoring the way he drilled my eyes with a gaze dripping of sexual energy, or the way humor caused them to crinkle when I forced a swallow, I mentally yanked on my agent pants while pulling my hand out of his. “Can we sit?”

  “Sure.” I assumed he’d prefer the bar behind us, but instead he waved toward the booths that lined the opposite wall, where a small “Reserved” sign sat on the only empty table. “After you.”

  “So,” he said once his beer and my ice water were placed before us. “Who did you say you work for?”

  He sipped his beer, waiting for a response while those light-brown eyes snagged on mine. Like a commercial where a spotlight hits the handsome hero and perfectly showcases their brilliance, I could spot specks of gold and orange. A perfect meld of warm tones steeling my cognizance like a fine aged cognac.

  Once again, his mirth at my silence was revealed in the tiny lines that crinkled the smooth skin around those eyes. “Um… LRV Media.”

  “And what’s your role there?”

  “I’m an agent.”

  “Aren’t agents supposed to be slick men in their forties?”

  “Well, it’s your lucky day that you got me.”

  “I’d say. And as an agent… what did you think?” A quick glimpse of vulnerability brought on by his question reminded me just how young he was and helped keep me in boss mode.

  Just channel Jen—the words sure to become a mantra whenever I was near this guy.

  “You’re very good. LRV would like to meet with you to discuss being signed,” I informed him, not bothering to beat around the bush.

  The only evidence of his surprise to my blunt statement was the slight lift of his brows. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. You’ve caught our attention, and now we’re interested.”

  A large hand pulled off the black-and-white marled beanie to reveal a mess of chestnut-brown waves that would curl if longer. He looked away, only to return his gaze… one that I tried my best to appear unaffected by. The longer those cognac eyes assessed me, the more I pretended to be the hard-ass professional I needed to be.

  Yet internally I couldn’t help but think this was an evil test from the universe. Because if I couldn’t pull off that I had every intention to represent this man, make him a star, all while ignoring the woman I’d been, then I might as well have packed my bags and hightailed it back to my former life.

  The beanie landed on the table, and a slow sexy smirk transformed his mouth into something that should have been illegal.

  “Well, Lori Banzini…” My eyes followed the deliberate back-and-forth motion his thumb made over the corner of his bottom lip. All humor was gone, replaced with an obvious tenacity that someone his age shouldn’t possess. “Name the time and the place… and I’m all yours.”

  Chapter 2

  Cannon

  Jesus Christ, I’m fucked.

  “Opportunity… talent… household name… Mr. Vassler… Texan…”

  I studied her as she spoke. Eyes as green as the bottle of beer I sipped from. Thick auburn hair that was long enough to wrap around a wrist. A smattering of freckles dotting her nose that served to enhance the creaminess of her skin. Plump lips I knew would be as sweet as the berries tinting her lipstick… lips that I vividly imagined traveling over every inch of my body.

  Speaking of bodies, tits perfect in size, enough to
fill my palm… or my mouth. Toned arms that weren’t too muscular, legs long enough to circle my waist but petite enough to carry those fuck-me heels that adorned her feet.

  I’d met plenty of stunning women in my life, so I really wasn’t sure what the instant draw to my new agent was about. Maybe because I hadn’t expected the woman who’d called me to be this hot. Yet as quick as that notion came to mind, I knew it wasn’t the real reason. I found all women attractive in one way or another. They fascinated me, which helped to inspire the lyrics that came from my soul.

  Being the only son of a strong independent woman, along with two older sisters, naturally created a profound level of respect toward the opposite sex. Dear old Dad took off just after I turned five, and thanks to the females in my life, I never missed nor needed a man to teach me life lessons.

  Sitting there only minutes after meeting Lori Banzini, it was easy to acknowledge it wasn’t just her beauty. It was a fuck-ton of confidence, a touch of arrogance, and just enough class that created the perfect trifecta for a man like me. All that combined with her looks was what piqued my libido. Piqued, aroused, erected—whatever, they all applied.

  The girls my age were just that, girls. Wanting attention and seeking it out through scanty clothes and obvious enhancements. Most I knew, or had met through my music, came off shallow even if they were anything but. Some hid their intelligence, seeming to think guys like me preferred innocence and naivety, when in fact either turned me off.

  It could have to do with my past and wanting as different from my ex as I could get. I believed if a woman could sell herself short just to catch a man, then that only created a foundation of falsities.

  But an intelligent woman who had balls, attitude, and beauty—well, fuck, sign me up.

  “Contract… solo tour…” Unfazed by my ogling and daydreaming, she continued to educate me on the label she worked for. Meanwhile, I imagined her watching from the sidelines as I performed in a huge arena. “Cut the album… studio time… buses… garters.”