New York City was saturated with beautiful women, old and young. Wherever you looked you could find a willing prospect. The same held true of the men, and I lost count how many times my fist stung with need to punch one of them square in the face over an obnoxious whistle or catcall. Those who were smart enough to just stare at the stunning redhead beside me still managed to provoke an irrational possessiveness.
The sexual voltage bouncing between us for most of the day could light a city during a blackout. My favorite worn jeans became a denim prison that tormented me with every step I took.
And with all those distractions, nuisances to what was really going on between us, we still had a nice time exploring the city together. Our tiring day led to Lori retreating into her room with the excuse we had an early start the next morning. That led to a lot of time left in a big-ass bed as my mind spiraled with all the lewd thoughts I had simmering in my core.
Flipping through the numerous pictures I’d snapped on my phone provided little satisfaction. In most of them, I had captured her feisty side as she narrowed an unambiguous glare toward the camera. It was the unsuspecting shots where I caught her unguarded beauty that stunned me. But jerking off to relieve the pressure she caused was getting old.
I resorted to the next best distraction, writing a song. For hours, I strummed chords to words that once again poured out of me, inspired by the complex woman who continued to reel me in. There was no way the walls between our rooms were thick enough to keep her from hearing my efforts. It made me wonder if she listened intently on her side, and it had me imagining her reaction to what she heard.
Somewhere around ten, a small knock on my door broke through the music. In only a pair of casual shorts, I opened it, shocked to see her standing there.
“Hey,” she said hesitantly. Her thick auburn hair hung long and loose around her shoulders. She still had on the blue fitted sweater that molded over every inch of her upper body, and she wore equally tight jeans. Off were her shoes and socks, exposing toes painted a scarlet red.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” she said emphatically, holding me hostage as she swept over my body with an unfettered urgency. Maybe a foot of space separated us, but it may as well have been miles. Different ends of the same lustful line. Where my feet itched to close the distance and stop playing this game between us, hers would undoubtedly bolt in an instant, making the divide that much worse. This was stupid, all the pretending, the avoiding. My patience had worn thin because of it.
Taking my silence for what it was worth, she went on to say, “I’m intrigued at what you’re playing. Is it new?”
I moved aside to let her in and did not respond until the door closed shut with a heavy clink. “Just wrote it.”
Her pouty lips gaped open in sync to the rising of her sculpted brows. “You just wrote it? Just like that?”
“Pretty much. Some of it came to me throughout the day. The rest… well, I guess it just popped out of me once I relaxed a bit.” The lascivious smirk that twisted my lips left the innuendo hovering heavily in the air between us.
A quick slide of her gaze down south may as well have been a stroke over my eager dick. I forced myself to kill the instigating thought—she came to my room… therefore all bets are off.
Instead I waved my hand to the club chair in the corner. “Sit. I’ll play it from the beginning.” Picking up my guitar, I sat on the edge of the bed and drilled her with eyes that served as glass doors—transparent enough to communicate every fucking accusation I wanted to spew, but solid enough to hold them all back. “It’s called ‘Relentless.’”
“A diary entry to your success?”
“A testament to my reality.” Her brows drew together as if my admission agonized her. Well good. She asked.
I then sang the song, staring at her in a way that left no confusion as to who it was that drove my obstinacy.
Once I strummed the last chord, she flew up like her ass was on fire. “That’s fantastic, Cannon. Each new one keeps getting better and better. It’s going to be hard to choose which to release first.”
“I trust you to make the right choice, Red,” I said, not at all meaning in regard to my music.
Knowingly, she measured my response, and then she made for the door and wished me a good night. Watching her disappear again meant my plan to possibly create another opportunity had backfired.
Monday morning, we walked into the photo studio right on time. Voices echoed in the cavernous space, bouncing off the overhead exposed beams and concrete floors. Someone named Javier greeted us, and I was whisked into a room to be primped like a runway model. My hair and scruff were expertly styled, yet I looked no different than when I rolled out of bed this morning.
“Is this necessary?” I asked Lori, while the makeup artist dabbed some shit on my face.
She studied my reflection from where she stood. “It’s for the camera; otherwise you’ll look washed out.”
“I meant all of this. I look exactly the same.”
“That’s a good thing,” she quipped.
A full hour later, and after many eye rolls on my part, I was asked to change into different clothes. The long silver rack held a few pairs of jeans and nothing else. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing any of them in all their studded, ridiculous, over-the-top rocker stylings.
“Why can’t I keep on the ones I’m wearing?”
Lori slid the hangers from right to left with a sigh. “These are awful.”
“Yeah, they are. And where are the shirts?”
Just then, Jen walked in. “Good morning,” the uptight blonde said when I glanced her way.
“Morning,” Lori responded, while I merely nodded my greeting.
The tight-fitted black professional power suit and heels she wore mimicked the ones Lori had on. And except for the difference in color, so did the twisted-knot hairstyle that sat on the base of their necks.
Seeing how they were carbon copies of one another suddenly made a fuck-ton of sense. So I hadn’t imagined the way Lori’s pendulum constantly swung from one extreme to the other… carefree to conservative… unruffled to tightly wound… receptive to combative.
There was a struggle within her, one that toed the line between the real Lori and the one she thought needed to be more like her boss.
“You ready for this?” Jen asked me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great.” She glanced at the rack of hideous jeans. “Did you decide which you’ll wear?”
Before the filter failed on what I wanted to say, Lori jumped in first. “Jen, these are awful. He’ll keep on the jeans he wore here.” Jen’s ice-blue eyes made a judgmental slide down my body.
“They look—”
“Like him,” Lori interrupted. “Where these do not,” she added with a flippant wave of her hand. “And where are the shirts?”
Jen folded her arms, revealing a small crack of cleavage. “The label and I think he should be shirtless. You and I both know this first album will set the stage for the performer Cannon will be. Right out of the gate, we need to tap into the millennial demographic or we’re sunk, Lori.”
“Can you give us a moment?” Lori asked through tight lips, in essence ignoring every word Jen had said.
After a quick exasperated puff of air, Jen walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my agent.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Lori said with a no-nonsense air. “She’s right about the demo we need to target. It’s obvious your fan base will be females early to late twenties.”
“I happen to have a huge fan base that are also male driven, older, very hard around the edges. One of my best gigs is at a biker bar in Glendale.” I sounded defensive, but I felt I needed to be. Scrubbing a frustrated hand through my freshly coiffed hair, I turned to face her, planting my hands on my hips. “Maybe I should have had this conversation before now, but I’m not comfortable being a sex symbol who won’t be taken seriously.”
“I wouldn’t
let that happen, Cannon,” she said gently. “Having said that, you do want to use what God gave you to your advantage. Right or wrong, you have that it factor… the better your debut tour and album go, the more you’ll be able to demand on your second.” She allowed me to process what she was saying between the lines. “This will be a great conversation to have with Jack. He’s been here, and he gets every demand he asks for because of the success DL achieved right out of the gate.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Are you comfortable wearing your leather jacket without a shirt under it?” I considered her suggestion. “I think it would be sexy, but not obvious… more like the real you.”
Why that little tidbit woke my cock up was beyond me, but I ignored it while giving her a petulant nod. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. I trust you, Red.”
“Cannon, I want you to be happy with any decision we make. Like I said, this tour will set the tone for the persona you want to portray. There’s nothing wrong with showing some sex appeal as you wipe the floor with their wagging tongues.”
“I’m cool with that.”
“Good. Just take off your T-shirt, put on your jacket, and let’s go make you a legit star.”
I did as she asked, again ignoring the arousal growing because of how insanely attracted I was to this amazing woman. Her eyes on me were as effective as a caress, spurring on my libido that has stood at attention since the day we met.
A few minutes later, we walked out of the dressing room and deeper into the studio. Smack in the center of a flurry of activity was a prepared space ready to go with dozens of spotlights all pointed at a large black backdrop.
Jen stopped speaking to who I assumed was the photographer to inventory my body. Before she could say a word, Lori beat her to the punch. “We’re good to go.”
“Very nice,” said the dude holding a camera, leering my way salaciously. Placing his free hand on the sliver of chest exposed between the open zipper of my jacket, he grinned and said, “I’m Chet. Let’s create beautiful images together, Mr. Davis.”
Chapter 20
Lori
Cannon barely glanced at the opulent lobby as our clacking footsteps echoed off the high ceilings. Nor did he seem impressed with the first-name greeting the doorman threw my way with a wink. Since getting into the cab to head over to the Lairs,’ he’d been very quiet. Something had him on edge, and it wasn’t truly evident until the sliding heavily polished brass door isolated us in the elevator.
With each floor we climbed, he repeatedly clenched and released his hands into fists. That, as well as the thick layer of uncertainty veiled in his silence, forced me to finally ask, “Are you okay?”
It was as if the sound of my voice had reminded him that I was even there. “Yeah, I’m cool.” The climb to the penthouse seemed to take forever as I wondered what was bothering him. Just as the doors opened, he said, “Fuck, I’m lying.”
Without thinking it through, I pressed the button to have the doors slide closed while holding us on the floor. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
A long moment passed as he stared at me before blowing out a resigned breath. “This is so out of my league, Red,” he finally admitted.
I was just about to ask what was when it hit me. Until then, I’d only seen tiny blips of his vulnerability, but it suddenly flashed brightly through his uncertain gait. “Hey, they’re just like us.”
“It’s not only that they are the Lairs. You’re used to greatness, success that brings all this,” he said with a wave of his hand. “What if I fail?”
Not caring if we rode right back down to the lobby, I released the button to place my hands on his shoulders. Our breaths came short and quick, the moment laced with that pesky attraction we shared. Ignoring it was hard, but necessary. He needed me, and the genuine response I was about to voice needed the touch that came with it to prove a point.
“It’s me who has failed, and because of it I refuse to again… especially not with you. The difference between then and now, I don’t think I ever truly believed in Cliffhangers the way they deserved.” As he eyed my hands falling off his shoulders, I quickly went on. “My support for them was tightly wound around my love for them. We grew up together, and they were the family I chose. When emotions that run as deep as ours had created the foundation to a working relationship, I may as well have built their success on a mountain of dry sand.” I waited for him to absorb my claim before adding, “I believe in you, Cannon. With every part of me I know you have everything it takes to get all this. I won’t allow anything to hamper that.”
The words were dual edged—needing to support him while discouraging what continued to grow between us as each day went on. The part I held back on was actually saying that maintaining a personal relationship while building a brand didn’t mix well. It wasn’t the time or place, but eventually he’d have to hear it.
He remained silent, the only noise coming from the elevator completing its descent back down to the lobby. As it hit the bottom, I repunched in the penthouse access code while he remained silent during the climb back up.
When the doors slid open for the second time, Jack stood waiting for us with an amused grin. “Like riding elevators now, Banzini?” His gray eyes landed on Cannon as his smile grew. “Ah,” he added, like the jackass assumed we’d partaken in what he probably had a thousand times in that very same box.
Nipping his salacious innuendo in the bud, I sauntered out while rolling my eyes. “Shut up, Lair.”
Cannon followed tentatively. Jack clapped him on the shoulder and offered his free hand. “I’m Jack. It’s really great to meet you, Cannon.”
“Thanks, man.” During their handshake, Cannon went on to say, “I apologize in advance for my nerves.”
Jack’s gaze bounced between Cannon and me. “The only thing you should be nervous about is that your agent is only a few chromosomes away from being a praying mantis.”
“Do I even want to know what that means?” I sneered at him, causing his smile to grow.
“The female eats the male after they…”
“Jack,” Leila scolded before he had the chance to finish his fun fact, or before I had the chance to rip him a new one. Maybe bringing Cannon to meet the Lairs wasn’t such a great idea.
“Sorry, babe,” he said robotically, lacking the contrition he should have felt.
“Ignore my husband.” Leila moved right into Cannon’s space and hugged him in her normal dorky way. “I’m Leila, and we’re so happy to meet you.”
“Okay, thanks for dropping him off,” Jack interjected while pretending to push me toward the elevator. “You can pick him up later tonight.”
I swatted at him. “Stop it!”
The entire episode had Cannon chuckling in an unguarded way. I guess I should’ve been grateful for that.
Leila took Cannon’s hand and pulled him into their apartment. The awe he lacked when we first entered the lobby was now unabashedly displayed. “Holy hell,” he mumbled adorably.
Leila’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I know; it’s a bit pretentious if you ask me.”
We all plopped down on their oversize leather couches, and Jack said, “My wife would prefer we lived in the one-bedroom box she rented in Hoboken.”
“No, just in something less…” Her brown eyes scanned her apartment, but nothing came out of her parted lips until she finally muttered, “Ugh.”
Jack and I shared an eye roll. On this we agreed; my friend would never get used to the spoils of fame. And as obvious as those spoils had been for them, they still kept it very real and down to earth, regardless of their riches. The only live-in staff they had was Beverly, their nanny. No cook, no butler, and no housekeeper meant Leila did most of the day-to-day chores herself.
Case in point, Jack asked what we’d like to drink, and while he retrieved our choices, Leila motioned toward the appetizers that she had laid out on the coffee table. “Please help yourself. The lasagna won’t be ready
for an hour. Cannon, tell me about your contract with LRV.”
As Cannon filled her in, Jack returned carrying a tray with our cocktails. He passed Cannon a beer, me a glass of merlot, and finally a glass of blush to his wife, complete with a nauseatingly chaste kiss before sitting with his body flush against hers. Jealousy pinched in my chest. The man couldn’t stay away from his wife for more than a minute at a time. When Leila placed an affectionate hand on his thigh, I made the mistake of glancing at Cannon. He caught their bond, as was clear when he met my eyes… that ever-present challenge evident in his expression.
“Touring for the first time is very intimidating.” Leila glanced at me before adding, “But Lori will have your back. Jen didn’t tour with us, so we were like fish out of water.”
“I haven’t decided if I’ll be joining him yet.”
My friend’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why not? You’ve never toured; it would be a great learning experience for both of you.”
Cannon remained quiet as I shrugged. “I’ll hit some key cities, and I’ll be a phone call away if he needs me in other ones.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the tone of my voice or the intensity in my eyes that Leila picked up on, but thankfully she dropped it. “Before you leave tonight, we’ll exchange numbers, Cannon. Any questions you have at all, please call us.”
“I really appreciate that,” he said before casually laying his arm behind me across the back of the couch. My posture involuntarily stiffened, though he wasn’t even touching me. And she expected me to live on a bus with him for months at a time?
Needing to deflect, I plucked a piece a cheese and asked, “Where are the munchkins?”
“With my parents,” Jack responded. “Lei and I wanted to enjoy this adult time with you guys. It doesn’t happen often.” He looked at Cannon and grinned. “The maturity level of my bandmates is sixteen.”
“You’re being generous,” I quipped. “Hunter actually brings that average down to twelve.”
Liner Notes Page 14