Irresistible Refrain t-1 Page 12

  The crowd roared their approval.

  Why couldn’t I get all hot inside for him? Studded belt, low slung dark jeans, crooked smile. What was not to like?

  Nothing. Only he wasn’t Bryan.

  My gaze segued to his counterpart at center stage. Bryan’s guitar hung crotch level low. His light eyes were half shielded by heavy lids; his expression sublime, entirely within his element. It was a look I’d seen before in a much more intimate setting.

  My cheeks warmed.

  The sound of voices drew my attention away. An intense Marcus Anthony was talking to someone I didn’t recognize, a suited executive type. The mid-thirties brunette had a curvy figure and was wearing a stylish Marc Jacobs two button, double placard pocket charcoal grey pinstripe with a really cool pair of t-strap pointy toed pumps with four inch spiked heels. Her brown brows were drawn together. “Is she alright?”

  “She’ll be ok. Sam and Trevor are back with her.” Marcus gathered the ends of his shoulder length hair into his fist. “Avery’s a professional.”

  The suit put her hand on Marcus’ arm. Suddenly, his entire expression softened. A moment later, I saw why, as Avery Jones sank into his arms. Her eyes were red rimmed. I wondered what all the drama was about, but when she looked over in my direction, I threw my hair over my shoulder dismissively.

  I didn’t really care what her problem was. I had more important things to worry about than that haughty bitch. She’d probably just broken a fingernail. Tugging at the jagged material on the end of my sleeves, I checked the rest of my outfit one more time. Strategic flesh colored inserts covered everything important up top. My belt hung just right low around my skin tight jeans. It was all good.

  I blinked as a camera flashed next to me. Kimberly had just taken another picture of the guys. I’d wanted to strangle War when he’d introduced me to the Rolling Stone photographer. Like I needed any more pressure knowing that the magazine was covering the very event where I was to make my debut.

  “Kimberly, how are you?” A handsome man with steely blue eyes, deep dimple grooves, and grey close cropped hair approached her and held out his hand.

  “Charles Morris,” Kimberly replied. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought this was a Black Cat affair.”

  “It’s a concert, Kim.” He raised a brow. “As far as I know those are open to the public.”

  “Alright Atlanta. Help me welcome former Tempest songstress, Lace Lowell.” War’s voice blared over the venue’s speaker system.

  I spun back around.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  My heart was racing from nerves and from the line of coke War and I had done earlier. Shoulders back, I made my way out to him, willing my hands not to tremble. War took them in his own and kissed my cheek before leading me to the piano. I could feel the heavy weight of stares from a packed arena. For a scary moment, I thought I might puke, but luckily it passed.

  Taking a calming breath of air, I settled onto the piano bench. As I lifted my head, my eyes met Bryan’s. His gaze was warm and he gave me an encouraging smile. I could do this. I placed my fingers above the keys and began to play the song that I’d written for him. My voice rang out steady and sure. I sounded really good. I relaxed into the song, and by the time I reached the chorus, I could feel that an electrified hush had fallen over the arena.

  Wow.

  Cool.

  War was at my side as soon as I finished. “You nailed it, Lacey,” he said in my ear right before the thunderous applause rained down on us.

  My face broke out into a wide smile. War took my hand and led me out to center stage. “Miss Lace Lowell,” he repeated into the mic after the applause died down. “And Tempest.” All six of us took a bow hand in hand, Dizzy on one side of me, War on the other.

  “It’s a fucking rush, ain’t it, babe?” War asked after he guided me off stage with his arm around my shoulder.

  “It’s amazing,” I agreed, eyes bright from the adrenaline still rippling through my body. Right this moment I felt like nothing was out of my reach.

  “Warren Jinkins,” an authoritative voice jarred me from my reverie.

  It was the same brunette executive I’d seen earlier with Marcus, only this time she looked extremely vexed. She gestured with her hand. “Come with me.”

  “You too, Miss Lowell,” the woman ordered sternly. I looked to War, but he had already moved to follow. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so intimidated.

  We followed the exec back through the busy corridor. Shoulders tight she led us to an empty dressing room, and then turned to face us. Her light brown eyes flashed at me. “Who gave you permission to be out on that stage tonight?”

  “I did. She’s one of us,” War answered. “She used to be in the band.”

  “Warren.” Mary shushed him with an abrupt hand motion. “Phillip’s Arena is not a high school talent show.” She frowned. “Are you the one paying the nightly rent on this facility? Do you sign the paychecks for this tour?”

  His lips flat, brows drawing together, War shook his head.

  Oh, now it was beginning to make sense. This dynamo woman must be Mary Timmons the CEO of Black Cat Records.

  Mary stepped closer. Even though she had to peer up at him, there was no doubt in my mind that she was totally in charge. “You may think you’re some wild stallion, but the fact is, you’re not. You’re just another horse in my stable. You ever pull a stunt like that again without my prior approval, and I’ll turn you into a gelding. You get where I’m going with this?”

  War nodded again. I was surprised he didn’t say yes ma’am. Then those light brown eyes brimming with confidence turned back on me.

  Uh-oh. I gulped, fighting the urge to squirm under her perusal.

  “That said I want to talk to Lace for a minute.”

  War moved toward me protectively.

  “Alone,” Mary clarified.

  He scooted out of the room like his ass was on fire.

  When he was gone, Mary took in a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were actually quite good out there.”

  “Thank you,” I acknowledged.

  “Why haven’t I heard of you?” Mary muttered more to herself than me.

  I shrugged.

  She frowned and typed into her phone. I heard the bloop of an outgoing text message. “You could benefit from some voice lessons, though. You’re raw, but clearly talented.” She fixed me with a level stare. “Have you ever thought about a career in the music industry?”

  The way the CEO studied me, I had a strong feeling that how I answered was really important. “I have. In fact, it’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing.”

  “Solo?” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “No band or boyfriend to back you up. Just you at center stage. Win or lose. Think you could handle that?”

  I raised my chin. “Absolutely.”

  Mary’s brows rose. She studied me for a moment more. “Alright, then. Beth Tate, one of my execs is flying down tomorrow. I want to sit down and talk with you formally in Orlando.”

  20

  I checked the apartment number against the text from War, wondering what was up with all the cloak and dagger shit. I knocked, and the door immediately swung open. An attractive woman with a low cut blouse and a blue tooth device clipped above her ear swiped her finger over an iPad. “Welcome, Mr. Jackson. Zenith productions and Mr. Morris are pleased you could come. Bar’s in the corner. And if there’s anything else you feel that you need or require, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make it happen.”

  I nodded, and then scanned the swanky setup. It even eclipsed the meet and greet affairs we’d had so far on the tour. The apartment was spacious and modern with dark hardwood floors, multiple seating areas, and chrome and glass fixtures. The DJ’s mix featured a heavy bass line that permeated the entire space. Guests packed the place, most dressed a helluva lot fancier than I was in my navy button down and jeans. I wandered in, my eyes drifting out to the b
alcony and the intriguing view of downtown Atlanta.

  The more intriguing scenery was inside though.

  Wearing the same sexy outfit she’d worn on stage, Lace was perched on the edge of a wide white chaise next to War. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him. He noticed me and waved me over.

  The man they were talking to turned and offered his right hand confidently. “Charles Morris. Zenith Productions.”

  I tossed War a puzzled look. What was he doing here at a party thrown by another label?

  “You’re a hell of a guitar player,” Morris told me with a respectful chin dip. “I’ll tell you upfront what I told War. I want you both, and Zenith will make it worth your while to break from Black Cat.” His eyes went back to War. “I’ll let you fill Mr. Jackson in on the details. I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.” He shook War’s hand, then mine, and kissed Lace’s cheek. “I’ve got other business to attend to, but we’ll talk soon.”

  Once Morris had faded back into the crowd, I turned to War. “What the hell kinda game are you playing? You know we’ve got an exclusive contract with Black Cat.”

  War’s eyebrows went up. “No deal’s ironclad exclusive. I’m just exploring all my options. There are always buyout clauses and Morris says he’s willing to pay them to get us out. Tempest is a major deal now, Bullet. Rolling Stone may do a feature on us. We have a top ten hit. But Black Cat’s still treating us like we’re second tier. We should be headlining our own tour man. Fuck. We don’t even have a music video yet.”

  I considered that for a moment. “What do the other guys think?”

  War polished off his drink and handed the tumbler casually to Lace. “Could you get me a refill, babe?”

  Lace’s eyes narrowed, but she did as he asked.

  “The other guys aren’t included in this deal,” War admitted in a low, confidential tone when she had gone. “This offer is just for you and me.”

  “What the fuck?” My heart thumped hard against my ribs. He looked so nonchalant sitting there planning a deal that would leave the rest of the guys in the group behind. This wasn’t taking care of your friends. It made me wonder how well I’d ever really known him.

  “Bullet, wake up.” War stood and the toe of his boots touched mine. He swayed. His pupils were pinned. He was wasted again. “This is just business. Zenith’s offering ten times what Black Cat’s paying. You and I write most of the songs anyway. Face it. The other guys are replaceable.”

  “Bullshit.” I leaned in, hands balling into fists. “This is bullshit, War. You forgetting Dizzy was the one who came up with the riff on ‘We’re Through.’ That riff makes that song what it is. Not to mention that he’s a solid rhythm guitarist. Sager and King pull their weight, too. They lay the foundation that gives you the freedom to do the improvising you like to do. Tempest works the way it is. The five of us work. You said so yourself just the other day. What the hell’s going on with you?”

  War finally had the decency to look uncomfortable. My gaze slid over to Lace who was watching us from the bar her mouth in a worried frown.

  “What about her, War? What’s Lace gonna say when she finds out you’re going to stab her brother in the back?” Glaring at him, I dug my hands deep into my pockets and cursed my bad luck that I found no cigarettes. I needed a smoke in a bad way right now.

  “She’s getting her own contract with Zenith outta this.” War shrugged. “She’ll come around eventually.”

  “You’re fucking deluding yourself if you think that’s gonna happen.”

  War straightened to his full height. He was leaner but a half inch taller than me, something we used to joke about. I didn’t feel like joking now. “She’ll understand I did what I had to do.”

  “What’s going on?” Lace returned with War’s drink and glanced back and forth between the two of us.

  “Nothing, Lacey. Just guy talk, right Bullet?”

  I didn’t answer. I stared at War for a long time, feeling completely sucker punched by his actions. My best friend seemed to have suddenly morphed into someone completely different. Or maybe the problem was me. Maybe I had turned a blind eye to the subtle changes in him over the past two years. Fame was a rabid bitch that had bitten War. I wondered how long it would be before he decided I was expendable too.

  My gaze tipped to Lace. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but you were really great tonight. You were meant to be up on that stage.”

  “Thank you,” she replied looking embarrassed.

  “I’d better get going.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s late. I wanna hit the gym early in the morning.”

  She dipped her head. Message received.

  “I’m heading back to the hotel.” My eyes slid back to War. “I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

  21

  We’d only just gotten back to the hotel room after the Morris party and here War was, down on one knee, an open velvet box in his hand. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe that he had just proposed to me.

  “Lace,” he prompted. His brown eyes were warm, but he cocked his head to the side as in wonder that I hadn’t tackled him in enthusiastic acceptance.

  “Yes.” I nodded instead, smiled tremulously, and held out my hand. War slid the pear shaped diamond ring on my finger, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me long and hard. Being engaged to War would give me the security and respectability I craved. I knew he loved me, and I knew him. He wasn’t Martin. There wouldn’t be any surprises. War wasn’t cruel. Why then did I feel so unsettled and unsure?

  He’d completely caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting anything like this, that’s for sure. There hadn’t been any hints leading up to it. And he’d been acting a little weird, distracted and checking his cell a lot since Bryan left the Morris party. I didn’t know what was up with him. I couldn’t read him like I used to be able to do. And why did I have this niggling suspicion that the Morris deal had something to do with the timing of his proposal?

  War pulled back from me and smiled confidently. “We should celebrate.” He moved to the safe and pulled out the leather pouch. He dumped the contents on the desk, immediately placing a brown blob on a two by two piece of tinfoil. He held a lighter underneath the foil and heated it up. “You sure you don’t want at least a little hit tonight?”

  I shook my head though my mouth went dry with longing as the heroin liquefied and I inhaled the familiar fumes. My hands shook as I turned away. “No. I’m ok.” I stood with my back to him and looked out the window. The lights of downtown Atlanta were softened by the coming dawn, but there wasn’t anything soft about my heart. It was pounding its way out of my chest with desire for that, ‘little hit.’

  Behind me, I heard each one of War’s practiced movements. I knew without looking when he reached the point of drawing up the seductive liquid to a syringe. My resolve rapidly dissolving, I turned around.

  “Change your mind?” War’s eyes met mine.

  I nodded. What did it matter anyway? I closed my eyes as if that would keep me from seeing what I’d become. Chin down, I crossed to him and held out my arm.

  He lifted my chin, his gaze moving across my face. “It’s just a tiny dose. I’ve been lowering the amount each time just like you wanted.” He tied off the tourniquet. His eyes were already heavy lidded as he bent over my arm. He’d already had his dose. Anticipation swirled in my belly as I watched the needle enter my skin. The effect was almost immediate. My brain detached from the world around me as I felt the warm euphoric haze descend. I didn’t even notice when War removed the needle.

  When I woke up later I was curled up on my side, War sprawled out on his stomach in a pair of black boxers on the bed beside me. I glanced at the bedside clock. Six a.m. The dose must have been really small. I’d only been out a couple of hours, but War was snoring, indifferent to the world around him.

  He didn’t even stir when I moved to the bathroom. I stripped out of my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d lost twenty
pounds over the past year. Food, fashion, passion, music…all were losing their appeal, everything in my life taking second place to my desire to get high. Disgusted with myself, I turned from the harsh truth that stared back at me from the mirror.

  A junkie.

  As bad as my mother had ever been.

  My life that once had so much potential was circling the bottom of the drain. If only I had refused that first hit when Martin offered, maybe things would’ve turned out differently. But I’d been too weak. It had been so much easier to give in to the belief that I was as worthless as my mother had always made me feel than to fight the battle for my self-respect.

  I showered and dressed, pausing for a moment to glance down at the sparkling gem on my left hand. I’d made my decision. Hadn’t I? Yet after only a cursory glance at War, I found myself tip toeing quietly out of the hotel room and heading downstairs for my rendezvous with Bryan.

  On the elevator ride down to the workout room, I used a rubber band to twist my hair back into a sloppy bun, but avoided looking at my guilty reflection in the mirrored wall. When the doors finally opened, I sighed heavily.

  Avery.

  Great. She was the last person I wanted to see right now. And besides, what the hell was she doing down here on the workout level with Bryan anyway?

  “Good morning.” The redhead took a step back to let me out. She let the doors close without getting on. “I heard you sing last night.” Avery’s hands twisted on the handles of a jump rope. “You were really good.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, eyes narrowing. “Did you have a good workout this morning?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, completely oblivious to the double entendre. “I like to jump rope while Marcus does the treadmill.”

  “Oh, really?” I peered over her shoulder. “Where is your fiancé?”

  “He’s finishing up. Why?”