The door of the recording studio resembled a hungry mouth. Katana James set down her guitar case and wiped her sweating palms on her jeans. Waves of anxiety engulfed her, invoking a fine tremor in her hands. Her breath came in short, quick pants as her lungs threatened to quit taking in air. Casting quick glances around the parking lot and walkway, she grabbed her Xanax out of her purse. Unscrewing the bottle, she shook out a tiny oval orange pill. A half one or a whole? Her mouth twisted in an indecisive frown. She was definitely anxious enough to merit a whole pill, but she didn’t want to slow down and fuck up a riff.
“Please, God, don’t let me blow this,” she whispered.
She had been given the once-in-a-lifetime chance to fulfill one of her deepest fantasies: to be the lead guitarist in her favorite band, Bleeding Vengeance. Although the chance was slim of them choosing a nobody, much less a girl, she was beyond thrilled at the opportunity.
Even now she couldn’t believe she was here. Every mile of the fifteen hour drive she’d had to fight back the giddy flutter in her heart to concentrate on listening to the sample tracks they’d sent her to learn her parts, all the while praying her trusty old Subaru wouldn’t die on her. For the longest time it seemed that her best friend Kinley had all the luck, somehow snagging a job as a roadie for her favorite band, Viciӧus, and miraculously joining them as stand-in guitarist when their own went to rehab. But if Kat managed to impress Bleeding Vengeance, she’d be more than a stand-in. Because Lefty Swanson was dead.
He’d been a legend and her biggest inspiration. Now she might be called on to take his place.
Forcing herself to take deep breaths, Kat snapped the Xanax in half with her thumbnail and swallowed it with a swig of water. She grimaced at the acrid taste as she put the other half back in the bottle. Lifting her chin, she picked up her guitar case. It didn’t matter. She’d show everyone that she could shred with the best of ’em.
When she entered the studio, the guy looked up from the counter and sneered. “Girlfriends aren’t allowed in here.”
“I’m not anyone’s girlfriend.” Kat lifted her guitar case. “I have an appointment with Bleeding Vengeance.”
The guy blinked. “You’re the studio musician they’re trying out?”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Kat nodded. “And possibly their next guitarist.”
The son of a bitch scoffed. “A chick in Bleeding Vengeance? No way, it’ll never happen. You couldn’t fill Lefty Swanson’s shoes.”
“We’ll decide that ourselves, Frank,” a soft voice countered before Kat could retort. An extremely tall man had emerged from a recording room, just outside a shaft of sunlight from the window. “Katana James?” he inquired.
She started forward and froze with a gasp. It was none other than Klement Burke, the bassist of Bleeding Vengeance. But he was more than just the bassist. He was the brains behind the whole band and composed almost half of their songs. Which meant that he’d be the one to decide her fate. He was the one who’d first called her for an interview.
When she’d answered the phone, Kat had almost embarrassed herself, mistaking him for the IT guy who worked on Metalness.com, the fan website she and Kinley ran on the side while pursuing their music careers. Klement’s voice was eerily similar to IT Guy’s. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice Kat’s confusion as he questioned her intently about her musical background and abilities. He then sent her the MP3s of the songs she needed to learn and set an appointment for her to come down to the studio in Denver for a session. Now, here she stood, staring up at him like an idiot.
He had to be near six and a half feet tall, way taller than he appeared in their album pictures or on stage. Long, sandy blond hair caressed his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. His blue-green eyes danced with mischief and intelligence. Some strange, intense feeling tightened Kat’s stomach and chest, making it hard to breathe.
She stared for what felt like an eternity, her heart pounding before she recovered herself and nodded. “Yes, I’m Katana.”
Klement gave her an unreadable smile and gestured for her to follow him to where the rest of the band waited, including Cliff Tracey, the lead singer and her biggest crush. Kat didn’t know what would be worse: Klement rejecting her, or humiliating herself in front of Cliff. Sucking in a deep breath, she squeezed the handle of her guitar case in a death grip and followed.
The bassist’s long strides led to small break room where three men lounged, men she’d only seen from a distance on stage at concerts and up close on posters on her wall. Roderick Powell eyed her up and down with a friendly smile.
“’Ello, love. So you’re the one who’s going to help us make this album?”
His British accent made her want to melt into a puddle. She nodded and shook his hand, hoping she didn’t look too star-struck. “I’m Katana James.”
“Roderick Powell.” He continued to scrutinize her. “You look too little to be behind those blistering samples we heard.”
Behind her, Klement laughed. “Yeah, she is pretty short.”
“Five feet.” Kat managed a nervous smile before her gaze strayed to the front man of the band. Cliff Tracey stood only five feet away. Her breath halted as she took in the sight of his rich chestnut curls, chocolate eyes and sculpted jaw. The man was too beautiful for words.
His gaze swept her from head to toe as he shook her hand, making heat rise to her cheeks. “So you’re ‘Metal-Kat’ from Metalness.com. You’re even better-looking than your partner. But you look too cute for this work.”
A line from the Rudolph Christmas special rang in her head. He thinks I’m cute!
She choked back a giggle. She could do that later when she called Kinley and told her how it went.
“That’s right.” Roderick leaned forward. “I love that site. You give us good promo, and your memorial post for Lefty did him justice.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. “Kinley wrote most of it, since…uh, she was there with you guys when it happened. I just filled in the background.” Kat looked down at her feet, feeling depressed and awkward at bringing up that tragic day when Lefty had been found dead from a cocaine overdose in his hotel room during the band’s tour with Viciӧus. Kin had called her both right after it happened and then at the memorial service, knowing Kat wished she was there herself to honor the memory of her idol.
The fact that she was here to replace their fallen comrade and her idol struck Kat again full-force. She didn’t want to usurp Lefty. She wanted to honor his legacy. She prayed they would see that.
Cliff stepped closer to her. “The part you wrote was the most beautiful.”
Kat shivered at his proximity and husky voice. “Thank you.”
Klement made an impatient sound behind her. “Let’s get rolling.”
She snapped to attention, ashamed of her giddy distraction. She was here to work, not flirt with a potential colleague.
Cliff grinned. “Open up that case, sweetie. Let’s see what you got.”
Kat smiled back, hoping she wasn’t blushing, and opened her case to reveal her vintage Gibson Flying V.
Cliff nodded in approval. “Good choice.”
“Lefty played a Gibson V.”
Klement’s soft voice washed over Kat, tremulous with sorrow. The grief in his eyes gave her an unreasonable urge to hug him.
“I know,” she whispered. “He was my hero.”
They exchanged a long look, and Kat was struck by the sincere respect in the bassist’s eyes. In all her twenty-three years, no one had ever taken her so seriously before. Even Kinley often rolled her eyes at her, accusing her of being too girly. Kat wanted more than anything to be worthy of this respect.
She was led into the recording room.
“So, where do I plug in?”
He handed her a giant set of headphones and gestured to the center of the room, where speaker cabinets were arranged along with a set of whammy pedals. “Right here.”
Kat hooked up her guitar, and Klement showed her where to plug the headphones so she could hear the music and instructions from the console station behind the glass. “We’ll be back there keeping an eye on things, but try to pretend you’re alone.”
Easy for you to say, she thought.
Roderick and Cliff were already in there. They waved at her from the window. Klement nodded and strode off, leaving her alone in the chamber feeling like a zoo exhibit. Kat swallowed, mouth dry.
The bassist’s voice echoed in her headphones, alarmingly intimate in her ears and somehow familiar. “We’re going to start with ‘Sorrow’s Harvest.’ Are you ready?”
She nodded with a confidence she didn’t feel.
“Remember, just like you’re at home practicing….”
Klement’s voice faded out. Something about the echo made Kat think of her IT guy again. But he couldn’t be—
The thought broke as music began to play through her headphones.
The song sounded almost the same as it had on the MP3 sent her to practice with, only the scratch guitar section was gone and Cliff’s voice sounded more pure. Closing her eyes, Kat struck the first chord just in time. The faces of her audience faded from her awareness as fierce concentration overtook her being, focus on touching each string at the right time, adding the correct pressure, making her instrument sing. Like an auditory engineer, she focused on one note and then the next until the song finished and triumph straightened her spine. She hadn’t messed up. In fact, she’d sounded pretty good.
Clapping echoed in the headphones, jolting her back to reality.
“Bloody well done, love!” Roderick said.
Cliff stared at her through the window with increased interest. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
“I…uh…” Kat shrugged. “I just keep trying until I get it right.”
Klement shook his head. “It’s not where she learned it, it’s why.” He looked at her long and intently. “Why do you play?”
She gave him a direct stare through the glass. “I love music.”
He smiled with such understanding and satisfaction that her body warmed. “That’s right. Now let’s see how well you learned the new songs.”
Those penetrating blue eyes left hers and turned to the others. “Let’s do ‘Forsaken.’ It’s the one that’ll probably get the most airplay.”
Kat sucked in a breath. The song began with a complicated lead guitar riff.
I can do this, she told herself as she positioned her fingers. Klement gestured for her to start. Kat breathed out slowly and executed the riff. Was it right? It sounded right.
As the bass, drums, and rhythm guitar played in her headphones, her pulse settled and she was able to continue. Her usual joyous abandon was diminished in the face of her concentration upon playing the song perfectly. However, there was another sort of bliss in tapping her feet and focusing on the beat as her fingers moved with precision across the fret board and the right sounds were birthed.
When the song finished, Klement and the others gave her quick, satisfied nods before moving on to another.
So far, so good.
They had her do two more songs. On the last, just as she was beginning to relax, she fucked up and hit a G instead of a C. Her hands lifted from the guitar as if it had suddenly turned molten hot. After she halted, the music stopped with a sharp click in her ears and everyone turned to stare at her. The silence rang like a death knell.
“Sorry,” she whispered, face flaming. “I fucked up.”
“So?” Klement snapped at her, eyes suddenly gray and stormy with annoyance. IT Guy never sounded that sharp. “That doesn’t mean you should stop. We can mix it out if we need to. Now start over.”
The music began again before she could reply. Kat breathed a silent prayer and played her part. When she came to the solo, she gritted her teeth until it had been executed—flawlessly.
Klement’s voice echoed in her ears. “Okay, that’s enough for today.”
Her headphones went silent as she watched the band file out of the room. But what did it mean, “That’s enough?” Had she blown her audition, or would she be invited back tomorrow to work on another song?
The band came out and unplugged the gear and rolled up the speaker cords while Kat packed her guitar.
She rubbed her shoulder. “Sorry I fucked up that riff.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Klement said. “Just don’t stop next time.”
She dared to raise her head to meet his gaze. “You mean there will be a next time?”
“Maybe. Unless…” He paused and approached her. His great height made her tilt her head up. “Hold out your arms.”
Blinking with incomprehension, Kat complied, extending her arms, palms upward as if in supplication. And as the bassist scrutinized the pale flesh of her inner elbows, realization struck. He was looking for track marks.
Outrage and disgust made her stomach roil. How could anyone think that she shot up?
“I already told you during the first interview that I don’t touch that shit,” she growled.
Klement crossed his arms over his broad chest, resembling a merciless Viking. “Sorry, it’s a precaution that we all decided to adopt. We don’t want to hire another guitarist only to lose them to that shit again. If you’re offended, you can go and we’ll call the next guy on our list.”
“No,” Kat answered quickly, chastened. Of course they’d make double sure that their next guitarist was clean. She must look like a petulant bitch. “I’m not offended, and I completely understand why you want to be careful. You just caught me off guard.”
The tips of Klement’s fingers, long and callused from his trade, lightly touched the palms of her outstretched hands. An unidentifiable tremor coursed through her body at the feather-light contact.
“You can put your arms down now.”
His words broke off in a chuckle. Reeling from embarrassment, Kat dropped her arms and clutched her guitar case. Why couldn’t she be more like Kinley? Kin was tough. She never had stage fright and she always remained cool and professional in front of her band even though she’d had as big a crush on Quinn Mayne, lead singer of Viciӧus, as Kat had on Cliff.
At the thought of Cliff, Kat whirled around to face him, praying he wasn’t looking at her like she was an idiot. He wasn’t looking at her at all. He was cleaning under his nails with a guitar pick.
As if sensing her attention, he glanced up and winked.
What did that mean? Was it a good-job wink, or a flirtatious wink? Kat tentatively smiled back.
Klement’s voice yanked her back to business. “How about you meet us around five at my place and we’ll let you know how we’ve decided to proceed?” He grabbed a pen and wrote down his address and directions.
“Okay.” Her stomach churned with anxiety. Was she hired? What if fucking up that note made them change their minds? What if Roderick or Klement—or worse, Cliff—decided he didn’t like her?
No, she admonished herself. Aside from one mistake, I nailed that audition. They all were impressed, I could tell. And Klement—
The thought broke off as Cliff smiled at her. “See ya later, babe.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she barely heard Roderick’s and Klement’s farewells as she made her way out of the studio.
He called me babe!
As she got into her Subaru GL Wagon, she allowed reality to sink in.
I might be the new guitarist for Bleeding Vengeance! She flipped on the air conditioner and let out a sigh as gradually cooling air blew across her sweaty brow. If I do make the cut, I have to be professional. I can’t be ogling Cliff, no matter how hot he is. I need to see him as a colleague and not a fantasy.
But what if he wanted to date her or something? A rush of dreamy hope came at the thought, only this time it ebbed quickly with cold practicality. She’d lose all credibility with the rest of the band if she did that, and never gain any with the fans. Hell, some Viciӧus fans were calling Kinley “Yoko” ever since she’d started dating Quinn, and she was only a temporary band member.
No. No matter what, Kat couldn’t give in to temptation and do anything with Cliff.
She put the car in gear and headed off to her hotel room. Her IT guy was supposed to call in an hour. With all the new traffic the site she and Kinley owned was generating, the comments section had exploded with spam.
Despite the irritation of dealing with computer errors, she looked forward to talking to him. He had a gentle lullaby voice that made her worries flee, if the echo from the speakerphone was annoying. He never yelled at her like her father or her ex-boyfriend, even when she jumped ahead of his instructions and clicked the wrong key. During long nights when bad dreams and depression kept her from sleep, Kat was tempted to find out more about him: where he lived, what he did when he wasn’t helping people with their computers. If he was single.
But she never dared. Not only would it be unprofessional, he probably lived across the country. And he could be married, or one of those antisocial overweight guys that lived with their moms and spent all of their income on video games. That’s what Kinley said when Kat brought up her speculations.
Would it even matter if he was chubby, though? After her last relationship, looks were starting to matter less to Kat. All she wanted for her next boyfriend was for him to be kind. IT Guy definitely fit that bill.
Either way, they had a good friendship. She took pleasure in that. He’d known she had a big audition and would be excited to hear how it went. Of course—Kat grinned—she hadn’t told him that the audition was with Bleeding Vengeance. Even though he’d never mentioned the band when they’d talked music, he had to have heard of them.
She wouldn’t tell him that he sounded like one of the band members, she decided. That would be weird.