CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (16 page)

“As long as what you use works,” he grumbled.

Stella pressed a button and the whirring of the tape ensued. “Darn. I hope I didn’t go too far. Might need to fast-forward it.” She pressed another button. The hallway filled with the voice of a young woman singing an aria. The full-bodied voice hypnotized him.

“Figaro?” he asked.

“
Voi che sapete
,” Stella said. “Alana’s a perfect mezzo soprano.”

“I know she studied opera. A long time ago.” He recalled her choice of safe words,
falsetto
.

Stella nodded. “Something to do with her parents. It must be terribly hard to have come from her upbringing and do something in complete opposition to her parents’ wishes. So much rides on her ability to be the primary visual and auditory focus of the group. It’s not easy to be thrust into the limelight all at once.”

“How did she do under your tutelage? It seems she did a lot of filling you in on her history.”

“Some of the lesson involves getting to the root of where vocalists are coming from. You of all people—”

He jumped in. “You’re right. A good teacher learns as much, if not more, from their student. Any advice?”

“This isn’t about you and me. I think if her parents supported her she’d free up, or if she could learn not to care. With her I don’t see the second one happening. She’s an only child and in the position of wanting to please her parents. Did you know her father is terribly ill?

“No. She never mentioned it.”

Stella sighed. “Until she gets a sense that her parents are on board, I believe she feels the weight of the world resting on her shoulders.”

“Thanks for all you’ve managed to do in one session.”

Stella removed her glasses and bit the tip of one of the earpieces, seeming to contemplate her thoughts. “Jon, she isn’t like your other clients. In many respects. Don’t push this one too hard. Or too fast.”

“I hear what you’re saying. And we’re all handling Alana with kid gloves.” He smiled at Stella. “Keith is all ready for you both.”

Chapter Thirteen

Alana had been shuttled from the morning through the afternoon, chasing appointments scheduled back-to-back, and arrived exhausted to Sammy’s.

Not the easiest of days, considering she’d gotten her photograph splashed across the entertainment section of the
Tennessean Tribute,
and several fans had approached her requesting autographs. For all the adoration, she felt stifled at the confines placed upon her with Clarissa’s well-meaning instruction on what to say and what to do. At one point, she and Christy had eaten in the back of the privately-driven car on the way to a fitting. When she arrived with tahini on her chin, the designer snarled at her to avoid eating as though she’d committed a heinous crime.

“What on earth has gotten Joel climbing the walls?” Clarissa asked, pushing a pair of posh designer glasses up her forehead as she came into the back room.

“Umm, he’s wound too tight,” Christy offered from the corner of the room, texting someone like a maniac. “Smile,” she called out, and held her phone up to take a photograph.

“I was hungry,” Alana responded, flashing a peace sign over to Christy. She shed her clothes and slipped into a lovely sundress the designer had just finished. “A girl’s got to eat. Just because it wasn’t on the computer printout, am I going to be crucified?”

Clarissa shuddered. “In the future, ask before you go rogue.”

“We copped two falafel flatbread sandwiches. I didn’t buy an assault weapon and blast anyone,” Alana said. “Besides, Jon said the screen test results called for a dietician to help me gain weight.”

“I’m not here to argue with you. My job is to assist you in navigating this territory. If you don’t want my help, just say so.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t take up residence on the
let’s think Alana’s a dumb-ass
team. I get it. This is a time to learn the ropes. Deal with me. I’m not that hard.”

Clarissa smiled weakly. “I’ll give you that. You’re not high-strung all the time. You’ve got some give. Very much like my boss.”

“Girl, that’s shooting below the belt.” Alana laughed, and then laughed harder at her own innocent Freudian slip.

If Clarissa only knew what she and Lansing did in private. Jesus, nothing that man did could be construed as laid-back. If anything, he’d satanically seduced her body and mind judging by the way she kept returning to him when the sun went down. Decadent and aphrodisiac. It was the aftermath that tied her in knots. Like during the meeting, and afterwards, they’d come at one another in that colder-than-ice manner he provoked from her. She’d wanted to stomp on his instep again, or bite him—hard—to wipe the smirk off his incredibly handsome face.

Not one text today. Not a call to check-in. Not even a reminder that he’d tan her hide if she stepped out of bounds. Not since Esquire McPherson had appeared on the scene.

Clarissa tied the strap at her shoulder. “Are any attorneys coming to the dinner tonight?” Alana asked, picking at a loose thread.

“Don’t think so. Why? Do you want Dani to come? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” Clarissa stopped and their gazes met in the mirror.

Alana snorted. “I bet.”

“What’s up with that?” Clarissa squinted.

“Ask her, Alana,” Christy said as she sat on the ornate chaise lounge, flipping through an Italian fashion magazine. “If you don’t, I will.”

She wanted to smack Christy but settled for a sharp glare. “I’m not sure that Dani has my interests at heart.”

“Meaning…?” Clarissa began tying the other strap.

“What Lanie means, ‘rissa, is that the mouthpiece in a pencil skirt seems overly keen on J.P. Get it?”

Clarissa glanced down at the floor. “He’s got a fan club. But Dani? I don’t think so.”

“Roll up the pant legs with that one,” Christy muttered.

Chapter Fourteen

Jon texted the address of the restaurant to Clarissa and had her advise the group where to meet. Down in the Gulch, they could grab a bite and then talk about the future of the band.

He’d taken the day to ponder the
Alana situation.
She required a different trajectory and, just as she’d asked, what did he expect…she wasn’t willing to put her career on hold. He didn’t blame her. Hell, he was the one pushing her to take the elevator all the way to the top and not look down. But that wasn’t what she was telling him when he finally decided to listen to her wants and needs. Was it? He had the contracts prepared to suit her and Orion.

His car pulled up to the curb in front of the restaurant. He scanned the band standing on the small landing near the wall of cascading water without seeing Alana. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out his phone prepared to text Clarissa and inquire about
his client’s
whereabouts. In a flash he spotted Alana’s achingly familiar profile in the sea faces. A sharp twinge wedged in between his ribs.

He sat back, watching her as the band exchanged greetings with people coming and going. The crowd parted and he drew an even sharper breath. Alana and Christy appeared, sauntering along the railing outside the restaurant entrance. Every man in the vicinity stared at the striking sight the two presented.

The sunset cast a rosy hue over everything. Alana turned toward the direction of his car. “Jesus,” he softly exhaled.

Wearing a dress that framed her long legs, she laughed at something Armstrong said. Jon tightened in hands into fists staring at them. Heat crawled up his neck and he closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes in time to see Alana make her way past the band and he wondered where in the hell she was going. His gaze followed a path down her body…lingering on her legs he wanted to tug apart at that moment. For a couple of heartbeats, he believed she purposely selected shoes to torment him.

Forcing his attention upward, he simply stared, captivated by her hair hanging loose, the tips caressing her golden shoulders. The bangles she wore on her wrists and large hoop earrings gave her the cosmopolitan flair. Unlike what he felt at that moment which amounted to wanting nothing better than to drag her inside this car and cart her away.

He stared off into the distance. Free is what she needed to be—not have her wings clipped. Christ, he wasn’t doing her any favors at this rate if all he desired was to sequester from the world. Pretend everything was bloody fine. But just like him, she had work to do on that front. He didn’t know how often she spoke with her parents, and wondered if they’d called her after he made contact earlier in the day.

He exited his car determined to keep the evening moving in the direction of contract agreement and walked up to Clarissa. “Everything right as rain?” he asked.

“I’d say. No mishaps today. We were able to get sound checks completed. Did you get the proofs from the photographer? He said he’d have them by five today.”

“Reviewed them all. Not a bad photograph in the bunch.”

Clarissa lowered her voice. “I heard talk amongst the guys, they’re not pleased with being put in the position of having to force Alana’s hand, one way or the other. Things are somewhat amped up, more so than this morning. What have you got planned?” His assistant gazed at him, expecting he’d explain his tactic.

He regarded the band members, and it very much appeared as if lines had been drawn. If he didn’t pull the ranks together, there’d be a full-blown fight. “Right now I can’t very well force anyone to do anything they oppose. This will take some jockeying.”

“But in the past…you’ve swayed clients.”

“This time there’s a world of
difference.
” There was that word again.

Alana came back into view. He gaze lingered on her. Yeah. She was different. Complex, complicated, difficult…they all described her. She laughed and god, how he longed to touch her and see her smile up at him.

What he needed from her was a whole lot of distance. What she needed from him was guidance. What they needed together had nothing to do with either. They did their best communicating mouth-to-mouth, where instinct, lust, and hunger delivered them over a wild cliff, far removed from contracts and business negotiations.

“Let’s go inside. We’ve a reservation,” he said to Clarissa.

“Hold on. I’d better take this one. Marketing is on the wire.”

Up ahead, he stared at Alana at the top of the stairs and he felt as though he were drowning. Outside in the light, her beauty shimmered, tore into him, and had him regretting his decision to put her on a rock band tour bus.

Chapter Fifteen

On seeing Jon’s sleek, black car pull up outside, Alana whirled around. A spasm overtook her stomach as an abort mission siren blared inside her head.

She squeezed past Hank, murmuring, “Excuse me.”

“Need company?” Christy arched a brow. “You look killer. He’s dead in the water…just saying.”

Alana gasped. “What? No, I just need a moment.”

“Gotcha. Don’t worry, I’ll hold down the fort ‘til you get back.”

Inside the restaurant, she moved through the black and crimson interior, vaguely aware that a few pairs of eyes followed her. Her body tightened and she stared straight ahead, uninterested in the row of business suits lining the bar. Only one guy came to mind, and she envisioned how his scowl played his full lips to the hilt. Played her to the hilt as well. She asked for a glass of water, and sipped the cool liquid, desperate to feel some of that inside. Glancing around, there throngs of people surrounding her. The buzz near the bar and all the bodies swarmed her senses. This wasn’t what she needed. What did she think running away would accomplish?

The guy standing next to her leaned over. “Hey can I buy you a drink?”

“Thanks. I’m waiting to be seated. As a matter of fact, I’d better be going.”

She returned outside just in time to see Jon come up the steps of the restaurant landing as he spoke with Clarissa, and thought he was better looking than ever in his casual attire, dressed in dark jeans and a button-down shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Alana refused to stand at the top step as though she were a love-starved puppy waiting for her master. Smiling broadly, she tuned in to the rapid-fire conversation between the band members.

“Alana, remember the time…” Billy recanted a story. Christy’s tearful gaze shook her, and she missed hearing the quip he shared.

“Hey, I was only gone a second.” Alana entwined her arm with her friend’s and whispered, “Whatever it is, suck it up. Be strong.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Christy choked. “You, too.”

During the day, Christy had shared the true dismal state of her on-again-off-again sex-affair with Billy. It had completely disintegrated during the practice at the Ryman. Apparently, Billy had had enough of Lansing’s magnanimous attitude. First the suggestion for a name change, and then Jon’s comment referring to poor equipment maintenance had stung Billy. He’d been the one they all came to for equipment malfunctions while touring. Their budget barely paid for the essentials—forget things like extra musical instruments. Christy said she’d tried to defend Jonathan. But then going into offensive mode, Billy had flung in her friend’s face a rather nasty question, snidely asking whether Christy had the music exec on her
to-do list
.

Alana couldn’t argue that Billy appeared to be giving Christy his coldest shoulder. Freezing, if she was being truthful.

Billy nodded at some young hotties, and Christy tugged her arm. “Let’s get away from here.”

“Come on. Let’s see what our savior has in store.” Alana had seen these moves on both Billy’s and Christy’s parts. Time would tell. Either they’d end up howling at each other or there would be some loud pounding in whatever bedroom they occupied. This time, the razor-edge to Billy’s biting sense of humor appeared punishingly jagged, more so tonight than she’d ever witnessed.

Then coming up to Jon made her senses spiral. She longed to run her fingers across the stubble over his jaw, and the hollows of his cheeks. The man never just greeted her—he devoured her with his eyes. Hunger laced with darkness swirled in her belly, hinting at a wicked promise, and by now her body smoldered in wanting him.