Cassie tensed as she unlocked the door to her grandfather’s house, half expecting more sheep or something worse. Incredibly aware of Hone behind her, she concentrated on foot placement while her pulse raced. She peeked down the passage. Nothing scary apart from a dust bunny. She put down her bag and the can of paint she carried to plug in the alarm code, suppressing her groan at the protest of bruised muscles. She’d been better.
Once the beeping ceased, she turned to Hone with a grin and more than a hint of relief. “The alarm seems to have done the trick.”
“Good. Where do you want me to paint?”
“Could you paint over the graffiti in the kitchen? I’ve decided to rip out the kitchen units, so don’t worry about them. I want to cover all the graffiti first.” She wandered into the kitchen and wrinkled her nose. “I forgot. The walls need prep before painting.”
“No problem,” Hone said. “You’re paying my wages.”
“I have an idea of how much security guards cost because my manager whines about the expense. Your father gave me a huge reduction.”
“You got the friend discount.”
“Which reminds me. I should check in with Kevin about Saturday night, and I’ll organize the CDs for your parents.”
She rang Kevin. “Hi, Kevin. Is there anything I need to know about the first concert? Who do I report to?”
“I’ll meet you at the Matakana vineyard. The organizer is Charlie Blake. I’ll text you his details, so you can discuss musicians and lighting et cetera.”
“You’re coming to New Zealand? I thought you said the place is a dump and you wouldn’t be seen dead here.” Another contentious subject between them. She loved her birth country and had hated leaving. Kevin, a Los Angeles man, liked big cities and fast action.
A snort escaped her. Probably why their plain vanilla sex hadn’t done it for them and he’d strayed elsewhere.
“You’re my client. I’ll be there Friday.”
Translation: he was worried she wouldn’t resign her contract. She grimaced. Jeez, when had she become so cynical about the music business?
She shoved aside her battle of should she, shouldn’t she resign with Kevin to concentrate on her upcoming concerts. “Can you bring a selection of my CDs for me?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there then. An hour before kick-off okay?”
“That will work,” Kevin said. “What about musicians? Charlie said they’d find someone for you, but you’d need to contact him before the gig.”
“I’ve decided to do an unplugged version of my songs. Just me and my guitar. If I change my mind, I have a few contacts here I can tap as backup.”
“Chosen your songs?”
“Yes, Kevin.” She suppressed her sigh. She didn’t need micromanaging for this show. In her earlier days, she’d leaned on Kevin, but she’d grown lately and wasn’t the same naïve girl. “Don’t worry. I’m organized and will do you proud.”
“These shows are important, Cassie. Don’t make the mistake of taking them lightly. They’re a test to learn if your music translates to other markets. You need to pick your songs carefully.”
“Kevin.” She didn’t try hiding her indignation. “I am always serious about my career because I wouldn’t have one if I didn’t have fans. I won’t screw up.”
There was a pause, and she pictured the silent counting Kevin did when things weren’t going his way, the sweep of his hand through his overlong blond hair. “All right. Give me a call if you need anything. I’ll be in touch. Wait—what are you doing about costumes?”
“Sorted.” She didn’t tell him she had changed up her look, wanting to save herself a lecture.
He paused again, and Cassie fought the urge to giggle. Kevin wasn’t sure what to do with this new version of her. Before they’d split, she’d never argued or made her own decisions. She liked herself much better now even though the changes had come from a place of pain.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I will, Kevin. Thank you.” She disconnected and set her phone aside. While her muscles ached, it was time to get painting. If she ran through her songs at the same time, she’d be doubly productive.
Cassie worked for an hour and decided, during that time, to swap the songs around. Yeah, start with the cover song to get the crowd excited. Not a Beatles’ song though. A Crowded House song—one from a famous New Zealand band—might go down better with the home crowd. She sang the lyrics of the song, silently giving thanks for her exceptional memory when it came to music. Once she learned a piece, it stuck in her mind.
“That sounds good,” Hone said from behind her. “You have a beautiful voice. You want me to play guitar with you? I’m better than Manu.”
