CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (20 page)

Everything about her veered off course, down to the irritating, tiny details he couldn’t get out of his mind. He drank himself into a haze; then, as the hours clicked by, he became so uptight his metabolism seemed to burn through the alcohol. By the time daylight appeared, he was keyed up and ready to get on with his day and get off the emotional roller coaster he’d ridden since last night.

Fuck it. He’d delivered Alana out of one contract and she was a free agent. Capable of going in any direction. If Alana ended up signing with another producer or manager, so be it.

His label wasn’t hurting for clients. The injury would be more to his ego than to his wallet. He wasn’t grappling over Alana’s career, he craved the woman. Sure, the thought of someone like Cook getting to Alana with his techno-geek squad choked him. But dammit, Cook was better than the other sharks swimming in Nashville at this point.

By seven in morning, nothing. He’d texted Alana, emailed her, and called every member of the band, trying to ferret out any information about Alana. Mum was the word. All he gleaned was that she’d met with Stella and the voice lesson went smoothly. No way could he bring himself to call Stella and ask for details beyond the elements of musical training.

Jon arrived at the office and Baxter promptly appeared in his doorway. “What?” he asked his partner.

“I was wondering the same thing.” Baxter retorted.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, Clarissa.”

“Get serious. You know Clarissa will keep your dirty little secrets to the end of time.”

“You’re right. I’m a toe rag. Who gave me up?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Baxter came into his office and shut the door. “You entered the agreements. I saw them stamped and dated last night. Except I didn’t know if you were holding back. On one.”

“No.” Jon drummed his fingers on the smooth surface of his desk.

His ever-tenacious partner refused to give in. “Late night?”

“All-nighter, if you must know.”

“Do you have her contract? Hell, everyone is waiting to find out the final word.”

“She’s moving in the direction of the rock deal. Same as the other members, with the advantages we talked about. They’ll have the best crew.” Fuck. He should have come clean with Baxter.

“You were able to do what I’d never believed possible. You’ve given Orion a place to leap from in an unstable industry and put one over on the board. There will be hell to pay.”

“Some prick always has his hand out. Tell me something new.”

“They might call your position into question. You ready if they do?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Answer me this.” Baxter scratched the side of his face. “Is she worth it?”

Inhaling, Jon looked out the row of windows at the side of his desk. “I’d crash and burn for her. Absolutely. Hands down.”

“Next move?” Baxter asked.

“I need to speak with her.”

“Heard she’s furious.” Baxter grinned. “For once, in a very long time, it sucks to be you.”

“You have no idea,” he sighed. “You owe me. Clearly, you’re the one who got me into this mess.”

“I was wondering when that shoe would fall. And you’re thinking what will repay this debt I owe.”

“I’ll need you to arrange something. I’ve two special people flying in and I want them in the front row at the Ryman when Alana performs. The works.” Jon took a second, steepling his fingers. “I want them surrounded by people who will showcase Alana’s talent.”

“Showcase? How? She’s talented. She does that by showing up.”

“I know that and you know that. But I want a regular fan club seated around these guests.”

“Fine. I’ll see what I can pull together.”

“Not pull together. I want your pals from the press, people of means within this community. Not your Aunt Mildred.”

“I don’t even want to know what you’ve got going on.”

“No, you don’t. Now, get the fuck out of my office. I’ve got work to do.”

* * *

After working on the final details of the band members’ contracts, Jon touched base with the clients he’d had on the back burner since the Orion storm had ravaged his placid and boring life. He waded through piles of minutia on his desk to slaughter time. The pounding in his head throbbed in proportion to the number of times he wondered about Alana.

Basically, if he didn’t put a stop to the whole deal, he’d be doing what that cocksucker Tyler had done, in garnering the band’s commitment without getting them all to agree to terms. But then, without Alana’s signature, the band would be screwed. He couldn’t believe she’d do that to them.

He got Clarissa on the phone. “What’s going on?”

“I take it you’ve not spoken with Alana.”

“Talk to me,” he barked. “What’s gone down now?”

“Hey, it’s been smooth sailing. I just noticed when you and Alana speak…things have a tendency to get heated.”

“So no complaints?” He leaned back in his chair. Alana’s schedule was emblazoned in his memory. “All set for tomorrow night?”

“You’ll be pleased.” Clarissa lowered her voice. “Why aren’t you here?”

He’d questioned himself about trailing after Alana in his usual style. After tossing around the idea, he’d decided they’d meet and the fireworks would force her back up against a wall. Staying away, he gambled that she’d cool off enough for them to speak sanely, and he’d have a chance to find out if she cared for him, or if what possessed them was some form of anger-crazed lust binding them together.

“I thought she could use a breather. Somewhere I heard I can be rather imposing. Is Alana all right?”

“She looks tired,” Clarissa said. “Jon, I think you should know that Ray’s been hanging around.”

Jon slammed his hand down on the desk and shot to his feet. “And you kept this information to yourself because
why
?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know he was lurking over Alana.”

“Dammit. I’m coming right over.” Purposefully, he kept his voice low and in control. No chinks in his demeanor and he’d be fan-fucking-tastic.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, the practice is about finished.”

“Well, you know what I think? I bet not, because you’ve obviously forgotten I requested to be updated on all important information. I think a stalking moron tops that list. Clarissa, I don’t expect you to deal with this all on your own.”

“She’s already gone.” Clarissa spoke the words fast, and in a whisper.

His mind couldn’t grasp the reality of it. “Where?”

“I’m not certain. She left and now Ray’s gone, too.”

* * *

Baxter called in a few favors from his never-ending list of who owed him, and they were able to get a private detective to track Alana down within two hours of her departure from the Ryman. With photographs of Alana and Ray in hand, and the detective’s detailed—and illegal—transcription of telephone calls, Jon was more than certain that she and Ray were on platonic terms. For now. Oh, he was one hundred percent sure that Ray would do anything he could to shag Alana. From her conversations, however, Jon was assured that nothing had happened.

Jon had not understood, until he’d spoken with Christy, why Alana had refused to stay at the house he’d leased. Or maybe he did, and preferred to ignore that when Alana had said she’d not take another thing from him, she might be dead serious.

Christy confirmed that Alana had no intention of jumping into bed with Ray, only that she needed a moment. Away from everything. Apparently Ray’s offer to stay in one of his condos in the Gulch, free and clear, had come at the right time. Ray had given her keys to a swanky new model, one of many condos the man owned.

All it took was a few minutes of conversation and he’d gotten the address out of Christy, confirming the information he’d already received. If Alana asked, he’d admit he leveled the playing field and had her followed. He wasn’t about to start lying to her regardless of the disaster it might cause.

With his blood racing in his veins, he drove over in the Veyron, parking curbside in front of the modern, green-glassed building. When asked by the doorman, he explained he was Ms. St. James’ employer, and here to collect her.

The doorman eyed Jon curiously and followed him to the private elevator. Faced with a keypad, he realized he needed a code to enter the elevator, the only way to reach the penthouse unit.

“Right,” Jon muttered to himself. He reached into his billfold and extracted a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.

The doorman pocketed the bill and reached past Jon to punch in the code on the keypad. “Enjoy your evening, sir.” He retreated as the elevator doors opened in front of Jon.

At the top floor there were only two units, and without waiting Jon knocked on the one labeled as the model unit. His pulse threaded wildly while waiting for Alana to come to the door.

After what seemed like years, he finally heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. “Yes, who’s there?” she asked.

Jon inhaled, placing his palms against the door. “Alana, it’s me.”

Silence. He swore silently; with his hands up against the door, the energy she exuded was palpable. “Alana, open the door, baby.” The door moved as though she had leaned against it.

Another decade of silence and he tried again. “We need to talk. Now, Alana.”

His mind raced, wondering if she planned to stonewall him until the concert and then blow Nashville. Without a comprehensive contract executed by each member of Orion, she could disappear and he’d have no way to keep her.

After an age when it felt like his chest was being ripped apart, Alana finally opened the door a few inches. Her face was unusually pale and her eyes were red and swollen. He stared into those mesmerizing aqua pools he longed to dive into.

“Christ, you’ve been crying. What’s upset you to this extent?” Jon demanded, blood pounding in his temples. “Did that prick do something to you?”

“No. Ray’s been great in letting me stay here.” Her voice shook and his gut reacted as though each word were a mule kick. Alana held on to the doorknob, standing in the narrow open space. Jon pressed his hands against the door, willing all he felt for Alana to be transmitted by some miraculous form of osmosis through the solid wood and into her heart.

“Alana, let me come in.”

“No. Jon, please. I can’t handle seeing you. Not now.”

No glib comments or smartass rebuttals were handy. Fuck. He had to come clean. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I understand you need more.”

Silence.

“Alana, can’t we talk about it? Hell, I admit I’m a son-of-bitch and a tosser. No mystery. No argument. Take your best shot. Yell at me. I just want to see you for one minute.”

Thick, lumbering silence. But she was still next to him. Right in front of him. Except this wasn’t the moment she needed him to be an overbearing arse. He’d already played that hand, and respected her too much to push his way into her life. Alana deserved a softer approach.

“I understand you’re still upset. I want you back with me. I miss you more than you could imagine. I completely understand you want to be respected…deserved to be respected. I do respect you. Immensely. That’s why I’ve given you space.”

“Please, Jon. I’m confused. Don’t you understand…this isn’t about slapping on a new coat of paint. Everything isn’t always going to be new and exciting. I come with baggage. So do you. That’s part of being real. But not if you keep it locked away in some tidy, secret closet. I don’t think being with you right now is going to help. ”

“Is there anything you need?”

“No. You’ve done enough.”

That hurt. “Baby, whatever you need, no matter how small, call me. It doesn’t matter what time, Alana, call me.” He sucked in a ragged breath. The idea of leaving her here tore into him, turning his world upside-down. For her, he maintained control. Barely. “I understand you need some distance. But I’m not giving up on us. Ever.”

* * *

It was nighttime when he arrived home to a well-lit house, as though a family were inside waiting for him. The
snick
of the front door hardware echoed along the walls of a home occupied only by him and his old nanny.
Fucking brilliant life, Lansing
.

Jon traipsed into the foyer, picking up the special delivery parcel from his father, then setting it back down. It had been years since he’d communicated with his family, but he had done so because of Alana. Now, he couldn’t deal with opening the box tonight. Mrs. Hughes hovered at the arched doorway leading into the living room, chattering about the news she’d heard concerning Alana’s concert at the Ryman.

“There’re the usual tickets set aside for you,” he responded solemnly.

“Splendid. I’ve always wanted to see a show. I’ll get your dinner served. How many place settings?” Her chipper inquiry intensified his desire to have Alana here, in his home, next to him.

“I’m exhausted,” he muttered on his way to the bar.

“Oh, my, you must have had a horrendous day. You haven’t sounded this down in the mouth since…well, never mind.”

“Pretty dismal. I’m going to have a drink and then a bath.”

“Should I wait on dinner? I’d thought Miss St. James might want to eat light before the big day.”

“Sorry. Just one tonight.”

Mrs. Hughes twisted her hands, but she held back from asking the obvious with a quiet, “I see.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a rain check for dinner. I apologize for the late notice.”

“Understandable, with your schedule. But no more meals missed. Soup and a biscuit?”

“I’m dead on my feet.”

“Very well.” Her expression softened, as it always had done. “I’ve no issue putting things away for another day. Didn’t start the grill. But Jonathan, I hope you don’t put off until tomorrow what you could do tonight. Tired or not.”

“I’ll try.” He poured a liberal portion of aged Scotch into a tumbler. His whole body and mind were on autopilot, destined to power-down in short order if he had a say. Fortunately, he wasn’t in the same terrible spot as when, years ago, a woman had occupied his heart and mind, and then had suddenly disappeared. Christ, he’d not wanted to think about Natalie tonight, on top of everything else.

Jon took a long pull from his tumbler, pushing aside soul-searing thoughts that haunted him. He forced himself to think in his usual linear form, strategically, devoid of emotion when considering any loose ends that needed tending for Orion’s concert tomorrow night.