I wish Toni were here. He wanted to come tonight, but he and Logan have been working around the clock trying to finish a quote for some big wig potential client who’s doing his best to demand the world for a pittance. When I left, the two of them were on their third conference call of the day, and Toni was talking Logan out of adding an ‘arsehole tax’ to the quoted price. With any luck, they’ll have finished up for the night by the time I get back to Toni’s place. Then I can offer to help him relax—by taking a long, hard ride on his dick. Fuck knows, I need something to take the edge off.
Lately, every performance makes it harder to tuck my rock star self away and return to the dull, monotony of everyday life. The part of me I’ve kept so carefully restricted to the stage is creeping, ever so stealthily, back into my days and nights. At first it only happened with Toni. At the engagement party, when we’ve gone clubbing. Times when the circle of his attention provided a safe space for my wilder side to slip its leash and come out to play. But now, I feel it prowling inside me constantly. Stretching and prodding, plotting its escape.
The way I walk is changing. The way I talk, think, move. My creativity is returning in impulsive bursts of inspiration, and I’m rediscovering all the places where rhythm and melody lay trapped within my skin and bones. The worst of it, is how desperate I am for more. More music flowing through me. More applause to lift me up. I want to create more, perform more, give more. I want more of everything—including the man who inspired this deep-seated rebellion.
This is the me I used to be. Before Zac found me. Before he tried to twist me to fit his preferred design. This is the me who was open and vulnerable and connected. It’s also the me who was easily manipulated. It’s the me who willingly put myself on the path to exploitation.
That’s why I have to resist this gradual giving in and letting go. Because I know how dangerous wanting more can be. I trust Toni, but I’m not careless enough to trust myself.
I’m twitchy as hell by the time we finish loading our gear into the van. Horny and cranky and ready to tear off my own skin. Heading back inside, I change into a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt. This place is too small for a designated dressing room, so showering will have to wait until I get back to Toni’s apartment. I use the bathroom basin to splash cold water on my face and neck, hoping to dampen the heat in my veins. The T pendant swings from my neck as I lean heavily on the counter. I need to get back to Toni. He’ll know how to calm me down, give me focus, and then I’ll feel more like myself again—or less like myself. One of those.
With a heavy sigh, I swing my bag over my shoulder and make my way back out to the car park. The nights are cold now winter has settled in, and I pull my jacket tighter. Over by the van, the guys are talking to a fourth person. He seems familiar. The same height as Johnny, but less broad. His ginger hair is sticking out in odd—
Oh, crap. A fresh surge of adrenaline hits me, and my heart begins to race. It’s the music manager who approached me at the festival. The one I sent packing. What is he doing here?
Johnny is the first to notice me. He storms my way, eyes flashing. “Why didn’t you tell us Calum approached you at the festival?”
Right. That’s the name. Calum fucking Ellis. “Why would I? We’re not looking for a manager.”
“We’ve never been approached by one either,” he snaps. “You should have told us.”
My fingers tighten on the handle of my bag as I nod. “Fine. I should have told you. But what difference does it make? This guy can’t do anything for us we can’t do for ourselves.”
“I beg to differ,” Calum calls out, lifting a hand in the air. “I can make your lives a hell of a lot less complicated. Take care of the business side of things so you can focus on what you do best—making music.”
“Oh, that’s what we should do, is it?” My hackles rise as I stride over to him. “Make music and leave the rest up to you? While you take a nice fat percentage of our money and make promises you won’t keep? No, thank you.”
His gaze narrows. “You’ve had a manager in the past I take it? Not a competent one.”
“Actually, he’s one of the best in the business,” I correct him with a grim smile. “You should know, you worked with him in Sydney. If he’s so incompetent, why is he still there while you’re here trawling for clients in a pub car park.” I edge a touch closer, so the others won’t overhear. “If he couldn’t make a star out of me, what makes you think you can?”
He studies me for a long moment, and then he swears a blue streak beneath a long, drawn-out sigh. “You’re one of Zac’s boys, aren’t you?”
I flinch backwards, my hand rising to my tether. “Not anymore.”
“Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. I only came to—” He falters, glances at Johnny. “I wanted to see the show.”
Johnny clears his throat, runs an agitated hand through his dark hair, but doesn’t speak.
Gavin steps towards me. “Calum wandered back here to introduce himself. In case we ever change our minds about working with him.”
I glare at Calum. “We’re not changing our minds.”
He nods but reaches into his pocket to produce a couple of business cards anyway. “Feel free to throw them out if you want.” When I refuse to accept his card, he shrugs and hands one to Oz, then another to Gavin. When his turn comes, Johnny glances at me before looking down at Calum’s outstretched hand. He takes the card.
My throat closes up tight and I turn away.
Calum’s gaze returns to me, direct and open. “Zac Powell may have a stellar track record,” he says, mildly, “but the man is poison. He can’t leave that company because no one else will touch him. I left to get away from him, and the people who tolerate his brand of bullshit. That’s why he’s stuck there, and I get to be here, in a car park, with you.” He pauses. “I have no interest in messing with your head. I only want to work with you.” He backs up a step, nods to the rest of the band. “Think about it. It’s all I ask.”
With a last glance in Johnny’s direction, he walks away. Johnny watches him leave, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles move.
After Calum is gone, the four of us gravitate towards each other until we’re standing in a circle, close enough to speak without being overheard by any random who happens to enter the dimly lit car park.
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy with what’s to come.
“I’m sorry for not telling you about meeting Calum at the festival,” I begin. “I had no right to make decisions on behalf of the band.” They nod their acceptance of my apology. Good. At least we can move on from that. “Now what?”
“Now we need to get our arses on the same page.” Johnny’s voice is harsh with frustration as his gaze lifts to mine. “Zac Powell. As intheZachariah Powell? He was your manger in Sydney?”
