CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (19 page)

“What? Like not pouting or stomping off? Am I to blame?” Christy half-snorted.

Dani replied. “No. This is standard in the biz. I was remiss for leaving it out of the original contract.”

Jesus. Alana gave Dani credit. She was smooth in covering Jon’s ass. “Anything else we should be made aware of, given there were parts—standard, as you said—missing from the contract?”

Jon quirked a brow in her direction. “This contract is complete, and then some.”

Dani straightened. “Okay, take a moment to digest what’s coming at you. Jon and I will leave you to speak to each other. Jon, a drink?” She smiled down at him, pushing a loose curl of blond hair behind her ear.

Jon rose and buttoned his jacket. He stared directly at Alana. “I’ll be at the bar. There are a couple of producers I owe a drink. Text me if you’ve questions. Let me know as soon as you’d like us to rejoin you.” Alana wondered if it were possible to trip the attorney and get away with it.

She turned back to the group. “Okay, how do we stay on track? I don’t intend to go forward with any pop contracts. I’ll walk so fast and so far, heads will spin.”

Billy reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Alana, I’m with you no matter what.”

“Hank, Carl, Christy?” Alana asked.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Christy smiled.

“I had my say. If you’re serious about rock, Orion lives for another day.”

Hank puffed on his cigar and looked over to Clarissa. For some reason, Clarissa had opted to stick around and no one even noticed. She was seated next to Hank. A little close to Hank, now that Alana contemplated the situation.

“I like it here in Nashville. I’ve no complaints,” Hank said, his glance swiveling to Clarissa.

Alana got it. Clarissa had something to do with Hank’s newfound happy-go-lucky attitude. “Clarissa, I’m right, aren’t I, when I say it’s a group decision?”

Clarissa rearranged her glasses. “Honestly, only to a certain extent. There’s a window that’s closing fast. Ask Jon about it. That’s one reason he’s moving so quickly on this. He realizes the agreement must be executed or the contract goes to the board. He knows I’m sharing this info with you. Do you want to proceed with the pop contract?”

“Never.” Alana shook her head, addressing the band. “This is what I propose. The hell with the pop contract. We’re sticking to rock. I know you’ve got concerns, but they’re baseless. Lansing Records isn’t going to backstab us if we go for a rock route. But we’ve got to move fast, as Clarissa said. This is my decision. My choice. I don’t care about the amount of money. I care about us staying together.”

Hank spoke up. “Then, according to this contract, if I’m reading it correctly, we sign tonight and it’s a done deal. There isn’t any mention of pop. It clearly says rock track under music genre and the songwriters, promoters, and marketing team are experienced with a slew of big-name groups. Not a bunch of jackweeds. They’re all rock. Not a pop face in the mix.”

Alana glanced down. How had Jon known she’d wanted to take this route? He’d only assured her that he had her back, and so he had. Christ, she had to find him and apologize. For all her distrust, he’d proven more than trustworthy. “Excuse me for a moment.”

She opened the door and scanned the bar area for a tall sex-in-a-suit Brit, holding her breath and wishing to find him far away from a female legal eagle. There he was, leaning against the bar. Smiling. Laughing. His hair a wreck. And surrounded by a small group of men. No Dani in sight. Alana walked on the periphery of the bar area, now packed tighter than a can of sardines. Coming up behind Jon, she overheard him speaking to the man standing next to him. A shock of recognition ran through her. It was Tim Cook, mega-man of iTunes, kibitzing with Jon over drinks. Jon’s sexy British accent rose above the clamor of the bar.

“I’m glad you consider our newest client of interest. Alana is quickly gaining a following.”

“I’ve heard she’s a powerhouse of talent,” Cook said. “The likes of which this industry will remember. Talk about the screen test is off the charts. We’re interested. I want a part of her and am prepared to make a lucrative offer tonight. I found Amanda Frost the same way, and look what happened.”

“Well, I’ve had a voice coach, Stella Brevard, working with Alana to smooth out the rough edges. Perhaps in six months or even a year and she might be ready for some real stage time. I don’t want to rush her, though.”

Cook cocked his head. “Oh, that’s unusual coming from you. What have you uncovered?”

“Not what you think. She’s brilliant, but I’m working on some issues that need to be addressed. I don’t want her caving under pressure. We’ve all seen what happens when an inexperienced artist is pushed too soon.”

“Right. You’re a good man, Jon. She’s fortunate to have you on her team. Not every producer with a client like her is willing to hold back and guide them along the way. What are your plans for the group? I’d like to catch a show.”

“Small venues. Backdoor has an opening this weekend. I’ll let you know. I’m looking at the smaller, more intimate venues until I can figure out some vocal concerns. The larger stages would tax Alana, possibly cause some damage. Right now, Orion will take baby steps.”

Alana’s body stiffened as though she’d been turned to stone. A wave of anger tinged by hurt overtook her. She’d been so cavalier when extolling how Orion was going to run the show. What show? As far as Jon was concerned, they’d be doing the same type of gigs they did now, and for a longer haul. Oh God, she thought back to that first time he’d watched Orion perform, and realized that his pained expression must have honestly conveyed exactly what he’d just shared with the iTunes executive. In Jon’s eyes, she lacked talent…training, and her vocal abilities were questionable. If she’d only learn that mixing sex and business never worked out. She’d been a fool to believe Jon had confidence in her skills and talent.

She moved away from him, her stinging eyes focused on the floor, and she almost head-butted Dani. “Alana, you guys ready upstairs?”

Alana gazed at the attorney, her chest tight as though every last molecule of air had been extracted from her lungs. All her visions of how this was going to work out disintegrated, and her heart shattered as though made of thin glass.

She nodded, stuttering out a response. “Y-ess.”

“Let me grab Jon.” Dani brightened. “I just left him at the bar talking shop.”

“I don’t see why. The group signed the contracts. He looks busy.” Alana jutted her chin over toward where Jon was stationed.

There was nothing Alana could do to reverse that fact. To go back up there and tell her friends to tear up the contracts…how would she explain her plans or their future? Sure, Billy and Christy could get promos, but when it had come to showing up and scheduling, that had been Alana’s job over the last three years. Negotiations had gone well because the group was accustomed to following what she presented. Same situation here.

The only silver lining for her was that the band was going to be paid a salary.
Salary!
Alana clenched her jaw. She’d tossed aside a contract that had more zeros than she’d laid eyes on…ever. Jon had been hot on her taking the pop agreement until tonight.

Something must have happened in the sound booth this morning. Those strange exercises that Stella had her complete. Her voice warbled, uncontrollably cracking. She resembled a frog croaking by the end of the voice lesson. Now, she realized the folly of her false pride. She bet Lansing Records had sighed heavily in relief.

“I’d like to go make certain the contracts are properly executed. Are you coming? I know Jon would be terribly upset if I didn’t alert him. But sometimes, that’s not a bad thing where men are concerned.” Dani winked and then glanced around the room until her gaze settled in the direction of Jon. “Definitely…not bad.”

“You go. I’m going to the ladies room.” Anger spiked her bloodstream. What, did Jon threaten to spank Dani also? How did the attorney know that Jon’s ire took on…special bedroom dimensions?
Idiot
. She walked past the bar to the general vicinity of the restrooms.

Approaching a tall blond man, he smiled and nodded to her. “Pardon me, Ms. St. James?” A commanding voice peeled away some of her confusion.

She contemplated this vaguely familiar guy who’d called her name. “Uh, hello. Have we…”

“Met? No.” He held out his hand. “Ray. I would have introduced myself sooner, but you disappeared shortly after arriving this evening.”

“Right,” Alana breathed. “The bartender said you’d wanted to buy my friend and me a drink. Thanks.”

“The offer still stands,” he smiled innocuously at her. For a handsome businessman, his self-assurance didn’t run to arrogance, and that in and of itself deserved points. “Or perhaps you’ve had enough here.”

His offer hung in the air. Alana surreptitiously glanced back at Jon who stood talking with a small group. Jesus, in seconds Dani had successfully wedged a spot next to him. Briefly, her gaze met Jon’s, and her stomach plummeted a foot or more. She could stay, chancing a nuclear meltdown, or she could leave. No one held her or twisted her arm, as Jon had so eloquently taunted her.

She redirected her attention back to Ray. “I hate to ask you, a stranger. Are you leaving, by any chance?”

Chapter Eighteen

For years, Jon had kept himself tightly wound. But seeing Alana smile and talk with Ray Oliver in the shadowy corner had sliced through him, so sharply that he had to ask Cook to repeat himself. By the time Ray had his fingers curled around Alana’s elbow, he was ready to blow a gasket.

Jon watched her mount the stairs, and he glanced back to the bottom step where Ray was stationed and obviously tracking Alana’s swaying hips ascending the stairs. Jon tensed, expecting that Ray would walk away; he was prepared to catch the man and lay down the stay-the-hell-away-from-Alana ground rules. Fuck. The son-of-bitch took out his cellphone, still staring at Alana, now on the top step. He’d better not be waiting for her. Jon excused himself and walked past Ray, scowling at him.

“Think you should shove off,” Jon grunted into Ray’s surprised face.

“Damn, Jon. Almost didn’t recognize you. Man, what’s got you fired up?”

“The lady who just went upstairs isn’t available to the likes of you.”

“Got it. She’s your client. Christ, no wonder you’ve got a heavy-hitting stable. You take this type of commando control of all your clients…or just the ones of this
caliber
?”

“Makes no difference. Don’t mess with her.”

“Gotta say, this time I promised the lady I’d be right here. Jon, you of all people, know a gentleman never goes back on his word.”

“You make this up as you go? I don’t think your three ex-wives would think you practice that philosophy. Fuck you, Ray.”

Jon mounted the stairs and spotted Alana speaking with Christy. Then she waved, and blew a few kisses around the table; apparently she was bolting. With her head down, she walked back toward the stairs, unaware that he was watching her. Finally she looked up when she was a foot or two away from him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

Her chest heaved. “I…that’s none of your business.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

She glanced around before whispering. “Get hold of yourself. This isn’t the time of the Vikings. I signed an employment contract, not an indentured servant’s term of service.”

“Didn’t I deliver exactly what you wanted, to a ‘T’?”

“Oh, sure.
That, and more
.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Taking a step forward, Jon knew any second he’d reach out and touch Alana—more like crush her to him.

“I’m leaving,” she whispered, lifting her chin as though daring him to interfere.

He’d had enough. Basically, he’d screwed himself in rapidly maneuvering the agreement just to keep Orion, the contract, and Alana under the radar of the board of directors of his own company.

“Fine. Don’t let the door hit you in…”

She grimaced and went to move past him. “Wouldn’t you like to be that door?”

He curled his fingers around her wrist and tugged. He lowered his voice. “Fuck. Alana, I want to tell you that you’re playing with fire. But I won’t.” Her incredible aqua eyes stared back at him, unblinking, while his heart hammered hard enough to batter its way out of his chest. The truth swelled within him.
Now or fucking never.
“Don’t leave, baby.”

A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. “I can’t—stay. I heard what you said to Mr. Cook.”

“Don’t cry, love” he murmured, tracing the wet trail with the pad of his thumb. For a few seconds, he had difficulty recalling what she referred to and then it hit him.
Shit.
“Cook asked about a market plan for you and the group.”

“And you said I was
inexperienced
and
needed work
,” she said miserably. “All this time, I thought you believed in Orion. That first night, the truth was spread all over your face. Us getting involved swayed you. Admit it.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, stepping closer though unable to breathe.

“I heard you,” she whispered. “Six months or a year. My voice is rough. I might cave.”

Jon tunneled his fingers through his hair, desperate to stop this train wreck from happening. “I’m an arse. I didn’t want him near you.”

Her brows swooped together. “You let your personal life get in the way of my career. I don’t blame you. I take responsibility. At least in the beginning, you had a rule about getting involved with clients. I should have listened. People don’t have rules for non-issues. I’ll take the blame.”

“Alana. Don’t walk out of here. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Or I’ll have Dwayne drive you.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a ride.” This time her words cut. “I don’t want another thing from you.”

* * *

Jon arrived home and began calling Alana’s cellphone. Alone in the house, he paced from room to room, wondering if she’d come by or where she ended up. Fuck, more than likely she’d settle in with the band over on the East side. Going according to plan. All the band members had executed their contracts except one. Alana.