CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (5 page)

“I suppose they wanted you to marry a dentist and live in a house on a corner.”

“Not exactly. My mother wanted me to be an opera singer.”

His swung his gaze back to her. “Were those the voice lessons you spoke of earlier? Opera?”

Her eyes clouded and she turned to gaze down at the floor, blinking rapidly. “They were. Over ten years of lessons. Twice a week. Competitions. Summer camps. My mom was a stay-at-home and taught singing from the Florida room at the back of our house. Not just any type of singing. Serious concert opera. When my mother carried a note, if crystal was nearby—watch out. Still to this day, my mom’s range and ability to hold a clear musical note both awe and frighten me. I mean, only because my parents act as though they’ve got a second chance at life through me. I know that’s kinda what happens with parents…but there’s this type of desperation for it to all work out.”

No way in hell would he be able to keep his hands off her, with her quivering chin and soft pale lips trembling. Fuck. She needed understanding, and he did something he never would have considered before meeting her yesterday. “I went to boarding school. It was hell. I hated it. The yards of mindless rules. Family went there for generations and loved it. Couldn’t wait to get the bloody hell out. I can tell you, I’ll never send my kid to one.”

Slowly, she nodded as she glanced up into his face. “Then you understand.”

He reached over and slid his arm across her shoulders, squeezing lightly. The impact of touching her sent a wave of warmth through him. “A bit. About living under someone else’s expectations. Tradition can be crap sometimes. Truly, every time it involves parents and their ability to forecast our future. Stinks.”

“I don’t know why I’ve told you all of this.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not one to share my family life either. I stepped away from them to make it on my own. Didn’t want a hand-out or their control. I’ve never regretted it.” Rarely had he dragged up the past about his family, and definitely didn’t do it amongst his clients. She smiled at him, and laughed. The low, sultry sound brought him out of his bubble with a swift reminder of the biting edge of his hunger for her. After hearing of her family life, he wanted to uncover the mystery of her, both her body and her non-stop, enigmatic personality. Alana licked her pink lips with the tip of her tongue.

“That takes a lot of self-determination.”

“Jesus, so can binding agreements,” he muttered, fully aware that he was about to lose his mind.

They walked out of the elevator and through the lobby in silence. He held open the door, gritting his teeth as she lowered herself onto the back seat of the car. “My assistant, Clarissa, will meet you there. A capable young woman who has all her oars in the water.”

“What? You’re not coming with me?”

His smiled tightly, gazing down at her face overwritten by disbelief. “I’ve some things that have come up.” He wasn’t about to say,
My level of arousal, for one thing.
“The photographer and tech are fully knowledgeable of how to run a screen test. Besides, it’s mostly a program-driven test with computer analytics.”

“Why didn’t you just leave me to get ready on my own, then?”

He inhaled, wondering that himself. “Learn to roll with the punches, baby. Things change from moment to moment. I’ll catch up with you later on today. Clarissa keeps me abreast of all that occurs. Not to worry. You’re in excellent hands.” And he wouldn’t be tempted to cross the line with his own hands, say, on her body. Not after this morning’s bedroom unraveling.

“So, you’ve delivered me into the custody of a handler. Is that it?”

“Melodrama isn’t your best color. If you need to find me, use this.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a fully-programmed cellphone. “Speed dial number one gets my cell. Number two—the office. The rest is up to you.”

* * *

At the last second, Baxter had texted him regarding a SNAFU that had arisen impacting Orion’s contract. Alana’s manager had sent over a copy of a fully-executed agreement signed by Christina McDougal that would require some hoop-jumping to undo.

Jon would have put it on the shelf, but then Baxter clarified that it tied all the members of Orion, individually and collectively, up in knots to the wanker. No sense in discussing this with Alana, especially with her screen test looming. Stepping away from the car, he watched its tail lights recede down the street before he tapped on the glass of his car parked up the street.

Jon pulled out a list he’d written upstairs. “I’m driving myself this morning.” He handed the sheet of paper over to Dwayne.

“When do you need this completed?” Dwayne’s expression remained impassive as he studied the list. Impressive, considering the ex-military commando had one hell of a day ahead of him.

“I want everything ready to roll by tonight.”

“No prob,” Dwayne retorted, chomping on a wad of gum. “I’m not into a Charlie Foxtrot situation.”

“No substitutions, either. I want it cleaned, painted, sparkling—like new. Make certain the cottage is ready by six.”

Behind the shades Dwayne wore, the man’s gaze never wavered. “Consider it done. I’m on it.”

If Dwayne gave his word, Jon considered the matter a done deal. “How many days?” Jon asked.

“A week and no cigs. Cold fucking turkey.”

“Harsh without the patches. I guess those are considered pussy shite.”

“Straight up. I don’t want this to be pleasant. I want to remember how much it sucked so I learn my lesson.”

“I hear that.” Jon nodded and pounded a double-slap on top of the roof. Maybe that’s why his hunger for Alana rocketed out-of-control. Nothing sucked better than her sweet lips around his cock. The whole package of her body had him spinning. He ran his hand over his jaw, encountering stubble, noting this was the first time in years he’d forgotten to shave.

Walking into the deserted parking garage, he opted to take the stairs and read a message he just received from his attorney concerning Alana’s prick of a manager. “Bastard,” he grunted at the accumulation of problems disturbing his morning.

The blood pounded in his temples. Hell and high water would come to pass before he let Alana get within twenty yards of Tyler. He directed his attorney to do whatever was necessary to free her from the cocksucker, breaking the manager’s so-called three-year exclusive agreement.

He stormed up to the third floor, slamming open the stairwell door, and double-clicked on his car’s key controller. Lights flashed in the corner of the garage, red against the gray cement walls.

Peeling out of his spot, his mechanic would cringe at how he handled his latest acquisition, a Bugatti Veyron monster, with twelve-hundred horsepower and sixteen cylinders. The car handled as though it could drive itself; shifting gears smoothly, he was surprised to find himself cruising along Broadway doing over a hundred and suddenly needing to turn. He made it back to Music Row without incident, to the renovated Victorian he’d purchased, and which housed the administrative part of Lansing Records.

The place hopped at all hours and he parked around back so he could enter through the basement studio door. With the help of Baxter, his best mate and partner in their music industry venture, Lansing Records had three assistants working around the clock. They’d grown from an office on the East Side, to this building, to having offices in New York and L.A. as well, and a half-dozen studios in Nashville. Typical corporation with regular board meetings and headaches.

A group of techs and marketing managers stood outside smoking, talking, and drinking coffee. Jon ambled over, taking in from their bleary expressions and wrinkled clothing that something was going down.

“Another all-nighter?” he asked Ted, his senior marketing guru, who stood leaning against the brick wall closest to him.

“How about third in a row? We nailed Trap Door. The record’s an epic success based on prelims.”

“Who so far has given a listen? If your preliminaries are coming from our associates, discount them. I want to hear real numbers.”

“I’m talking Chicago and New Jersey, L.A., and London. No slight of hand. These are the people who matter. You’ll be pleased, Jon. The stats are on the server.”

“So fast. You’ve upped your game. What about the new client? Plans?”

“Paulie is on it with her crew. Glitz has put in a bid for songwriting for Orion.”

“The pop route? What about the indie scene? Tell Pauline she’s to report to me directly. I want a meeting with her crew by this afternoon. Is she around?”

“She left ‘bout an hour ago. Better take a look at what’s being projected for St. James. Sure, you could go indie or even folk at this point, if someone in the band played a banjo. I’d say nothing short of a regular feeding frenzy is occurring on the wire to get in on the action.”

“In twenty-four hours?”

“Massive. Seems like the lead singer has been on someone’s radar for the last week…at least. Jon, she’s hot. Untouchable. You snagged St. James at an opportune time.”

“Thanks. Good work on Trap. I’ll sign off.”

“Music to our ears,” Ted said, and the rest of the staff laughed and high-fived each other.

He walked up the back stairs and, once inside the dark hallway, Jon’s vision hazed and he walked toward the inner door pondering who was interested in Alana, unaware of his surroundings.

“Look who’s finally arrived. Christ, I’ve been waiting for you.” His partner’s booming voice filled the hall.

“Baxter, you tosser. What the hell is going on?” Jon asked.

“I’ve jumped in, once I read your memo. Figures Tyler would try to get back into the swim of things. Legal is on full alert. Chuck is on his way to court to file an emergency injunction in a hearing on Orion’s contract.”

“We didn’t have time to consult on this one. Any problems with my directives?”

“You’re right on point.”

“Chuck had some issues he thought might be hard to dismiss.”

“No. I’ve discussed the contract with each member of Orion already.”

“Anything come up?”

“Chuck is seeking to shred the contract to bits on its merits based upon lack of soundness. From what I hear it’s doable, given that one member supposedly signed away the rights of everyone. He knows his stuff. I’m not worried.”

“What the devil?”

“Jackass manager is what. Apparently, Tyler used Ms. McDougal. Got her stoned to the gills, then had her sign the blasted thing. I spoke with her on a three-way with Chuck this morning. She said she vaguely remembers, but stated and restated that Tyler said everyone in the band had signed the same deal. Apparently, the dick had told her that she was the hold-up. I spoke with Carl, Hank, and Billy. No one signed any such contract. I couldn’t reach Ms. St. James.”

Jon’s vision adjusted to the dim lighting and he watched his partner shuffle from foot to foot, a typical Baxter move when he couldn’t get out what was on his mind.

“Let me guess. You heard that Alana was with me.”

“Bingo. A regular mind-reader. You up for this game? I didn’t think you did this sort of thing. What changed?”

“Can we talk about this behind closed doors? Not in the middle of the hallway?” Jon had seen the look on Baxter’s face often tossed in his direction when he’d done something outlandish. If his partner only knew just how atypical his behavior had been last night…but no way would that happen. Dwayne would never mention a thing even if he’d witnessed Jon’s ravishment of Alana in the alleyway.
Snitches got stitches
was one of Dwayne’s mottos.

Stepping inside his office, Jon removed his jacket and loosened his tie. “So, what’s eating you?”

“You look like you had a lively evening. Not quite hell, but you’re stressed. What happened? And don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes.”

“Drink?” Jon asked.

“How bad is this? And it involves the lead singer from Orion?”

“Remember me around Natalie?”

“Nothing for me.” Baxter took a seat, and stared across the desk at him. “That was years ago. Holy shit. How far gone are you?”

“I don’t know. Alana is different from anyone I’ve ever met.” He picked up a file.

“I’d say so. I haven’t heard you mention Nattie in a long time.” Baxter sat forward in the chair, his eyebrows pulling together. “I never would have asked you to take a look at them, if I hadn’t thought Alana was something special. Was it a mistake?”

Hearing her name mentioned, Jon closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He proceeded to gather his thoughts, and then opened his eyes, responding in a quieter tone. “Depends on the cost. Right? I won’t know that for a while.”

His partner’s whole manner bordered on flustered. “What went on last night? A few hours—”

Jon’s head whipped upward. “Enough to know I want to do it again. And bloody well plan on it. Tell me how to avoid the press.”

Baxter rolled his eyes upward. “Million dollar question there. I don’t know. Killer if you sleep together and she spends the night. They’ll wait for you. In the morning, hanging around. That’s how it goes down.”

“You can’t be speaking from experience…”

“Of no concern to you. Each of us has some secrets.” Baxter released a low whistle. “You’ve got to know, in this business people meet and do the short-term roll-in-the-hay easy enough. But Jon, every so often, people do make it work out.”

“From the get-go? I don’t know about that. Officially, she wasn’t even under contract yet. It might be construed…no, I know it would be spun that I had her at a disadvantage.”

Baxter laughed abruptly. “Disadvantage. Have you forgotten what Alana looks like? I think any man with a working set of eyeballs fully comprehends who is at a disadvantage. It ain’t Ms. St. James, brother.”

“She’s young and inexperienced. Did you know she’s only twenty-two? Remember when we were that age?”

“No. I don’t think I was ever that young.”

“I wonder what would have become of me if things had gone differently.”

“You mean, if Natalie was still here?”

“Precisely. If she’d waited for me and not hitched a ride.”

“Don’t go down that road. It wasn’t your fault some sicko picked her up.”