Drew massaged his pounding temples with one hand. A combination of frustration and lack of sleep had brought on the headache. Using the club as the central point, he’d worked his way out in a circle, and cruised the city with the window down, searching for his mystery woman until dawn. He’d hoped to catch a hint of her fragrance. Nothing.
Though it was two hours before show time, Simon had called, urging him to come in early so they could discuss something. Drew turned onto Market Street, and then whipped the steering wheel to avoid a sedan as it swerved into his lane. “Damnit.” A rare parking space opened up right in front of him, and he whipped the car into it and parked, locked up, then hoofed it up the block, then over.
Entering the club five minutes before their meeting time, he paused at the door to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside. Late afternoon patrons lined the bar and sat in small groups at tables nearby. The scent of fine whiskey and strong coffee hung in the air. Tempted to order an Irish coffee, Drew paused at the bar and asked Ron, one of the bartenders, for some aspirin and a bottle of water instead. He kicked back the pills and washed them down with the water before he leaped up on the stage.
He strode down the back hallway to the office and thumped the door with more strength than necessary. When it swung open, he was surprised to find Connor Walsh, the band’s agent, already there. Tony tilted his chair back against Sam’s desk, the front legs of his seat in the air. Seeing Drew, he leaned forward and dropped them to the floor. His dark curly hair looked mussed, as though he’d been running his fingers through it. His Italian features had been set in a frown, but cleared when he spotted Drew.
Rand Michaels was hunched forward in his chair, his hands linked between his knees. His almost-perpetual dissatisfied scowl darkened his face and narrowed his eyes.
Simon sat in a chair directly behind the door. His features remained neutral, but a pulse beat in his throat like his heart was doing a rumba. His smile was weak when he nodded at Drew. “Hey.”
This meeting felt like an ambush. Tension raced through Drew’s body as he studied Connor’s expression.
“We have a phenomenal offer on the table, Drew,” Connor said, breaking the silence. “All you have to do is sign on the dotted line.”
His earlier frustration and the headache combined to make him irascible. “I’m not signing anything until I hear the details.”
Connor sidled closer. “You won’t get a better recording deal than this one, Drew. Your insistence on waiting has worked to our advantage. It’s pitted the companies against each other and caused a bidding war.
Drew’s heart kicked into overdrive and excitement zinged through him. He hadn’t seen any of this coming. If only there was some way to test how a recording of his voice might affect the listening public. “Which record company is ahead?”
“Capitol Records. They’ve promised a higher percentage in royalties, plus a bonus when the CD goes gold or platinum. They threw in some other incentives in merchandising and marketing to sweeten the pot.”
Sam’s chair was the only one available. Drew leaned back against the desk instead of taking it. “I’m listening.”
Connor went over the contract step by step, proving he wasn’t just a pretty face. The man knew his stuff.
The deal was sweet. But could he control how much of his special magic recorded onto a CD? And if he couldn’t, the consequences might be… It was hard to imagine, and defied rational analysis. He remained silent, thinking things through.
Rand exploded from his seat and shoved his face close to Drew’s. “God damnit, man. What is your problem? What do you even have to think about? You can’t say no to this. This is what we’ve worked for since we put the band together. You have to do it.”
Drew breathed through the urge to knock Rand on his ass. Humans were so fragile, and if he broke this one he’d go to jail. Sacrificing his freedom because their drummer was an asshole was not an option.
He focused on a spot between Rand’s brows while he attempted to tamp down the rage threatening to tear loose. He couldn’t stifle the rush of heat fanning out around them. “Get out of my face.”
The controlled, quiet intensity of his voice resonated through the room.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor back away.
Drew’s eyes shifted to Rand’s, and for a long moment he allowed the other man to see the cold, clear anger he held in check.
Sweat beaded Rand’s forehead, and his angry demeanor dropped away as suddenly as it had erupted. He eyed Drew warily as he stepped back.
Drew shrugged to ease the tension from his shoulders and directed his attention to Connor.
“When do we meet with the execs?”
There was a collective sigh of relief from everyone. He allowed himself a wry chuckle. Were they relieved he was going to sign a contract, or because he hadn’t killed Rand?
Connor smiled. “Thursday. Day after tomorrow.”
Tony slapped his shoulder. “Thanks, Drew.”
Damn, he’d been an asshole for not showing how excited he was about the whole thing. He smiled. “We’ve all worked hard for this.”
Simon stepped forward to shake his hand, his thin face homely until he smiled. He’d been working in the music business longer than the rest of them, and if anyone deserved this, Simon did.
Drew smiled. “All your hard work has paid off, man. You may even get the opportunity to do some solo work on the guitar.”
Simon’s grin widened. “Baby steps, man. I’ll be happy just to get my name on the first album.”
But they still had a problem to deal with. Drew’s gaze settled on Rand again. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah, more money. Real money,” Rand said with a smirk.
“I’m not talking about the money. I’m talking about the music.”
Rand was a brilliant musician. He could write music and maintain a steady beat for hours. He had an instinctive understanding of how to add in the special tempos of his instrument. But his control over his temper was non-existent. It seemed no one had ever called him on it.
With the ego boost from more fame and fortune, he could become a huge liability for the rest of the group.
Drew kept his voice quiet, but emphasized every word. “To get to the money, you have to produce a quality product. And you can’t shoot for star quality if you’re lost in your own hype. It interferes with creating the music. In other words, you’re going to have to adjust your attitude. The rest of us are no longer going to enable you by cleaning up after you, Rand. No more bailing you out after fights, DUIs, or public intoxication busts. No more putting up with your temper tantrums. I’m not going into this with someone who can’t be depended on to do the work.”
A sullen, ugly look crossed Rand’s face. “I’ll do the work.”
For a while he’d do it, then he’d screw up and he’d be gone.
As though he read Drew’s thoughts, Rand’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re not cutting me out of this deal.”
“No.” He could step in and take the man’s anger from him, but human psyches were fragile, and it might rob him of other things as well. Things he directed into his music that made his playing special.
Rand’s relief flickered across his features.
“You’ll be the one to cut yourself out, the first time you miss a gig or a recording session because you’re sitting in jail after a fight, or because you’re drunk. Your anger will be what ends this for you, Rand. So either direct it into your music, or get help. But you’re not going to fuck this up for the rest of us.”
Tony laid a hand on Drew’s shoulder in support. Simon stepped close as well.
The drummer looked from one to the other, his lips compressed in anger. Then his expression altered when he met Simon’s stare, the one member of the band he truly respected.
“You’re a talented musician, Rand,” Simon said. “But this is the big leagues, not a garage band or small club stuff. It will be a circus. And it will be up to you to hold it together.”
Rand nodded. “I won’t screw it up, old man.”
It was even-tempered Tony who offered Rand his hand first. Then hand shaking and shoulder pounding moved around the circle. Drew dragged pretty boy Connor into the huddle. “You’ve done a great job for us.”
“Thanks.” Connor smiled. “But it was your nerves of steel that brought things around to where we wanted them. Were you really that reluctant to sign a contract?”
No. Yes. What was he supposed to say? “The other deals didn’t feel right.”
Connor shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to play poker with you, Drew. You have no tells, and you don’t flinch.”
Drew grinned. He’d heard it before. “I didn’t go into this for the money, Connor. I went into it because I’m good at it, and I like to make music. It was what I was born to do.” No lie there. It was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes. “So far it’s the only thing that’s truly important to me.”
“I want to be around when that changes,” Rand said. “You’ll finally be as human as the rest of us.”
That could never happen. Or could it? Once again the blonde intruded into his thoughts. He tossed a smile Rand’s way. “I’ll never let you know if or when it does. You’ll rag me from now till doomsday.”
“Damn right,” Simon said, with so much feeling even Drew laughed.
As they filed out of the office Simon said, “Next time you’re playing chicken with our band business, Drew, you need to fill the rest of us in.”
“It was only by accident,” he admitted.
Simon’s steps faltered and he stared at him. “Jesus, man.”
“Holy shit!” Tony exclaimed.
Drew laughed. “Like you said, it’s going to be a circus. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of it.”
“But you’re going to sign the contract now,” Simon said with a troubled frown.
“Yeah. You guys deserve it. And as long as I can make music…” He shrugged.
“How ’bout we celebrate the contract with a drink?” Rand interrupted.
“Not before the show, Rand,” Tony said.
Drew almost smiled. If he’d known all it would take was his standing up to Rand and reading him the riot act, he’d have done it months ago. He flipped on his keyboard. “I’m going over the new song we’ve been working on.”
“Jesus, guys. We’re gonna be rich, and you don’t even want to celebrate.” Rand stared longingly at the bar.
“Yes, we do, Rand. But not before the show,” Simon said.
“Jesus!” Rand shook his head.
“After the show I’ll buy a bottle of champagne and we’ll do it right,” Drew suggested.
Rand grimaced. “How ’bout a bottle of bourbon instead?”
Drew grinned. There did seem something wrong with the image of Rand sipping from a champagne flute. “All right. A bottle of bourbon.”
A couple came into the club, bringing with them a flash of sunlight that reflected off the mirrors at the bar.
Drew caught a faint whiff of the scent that had haunted him for days. He twisted on his heel and pulled it deep into his lungs before the door swung shut.
“What is it, Drew?” Tony asked.
“I just remembered something I left in the car. I’ll be right back. Go ahead and warm up without me.”
With the urge to run dogging every step, he forced himself to stroll to the door and out onto the street.