Chapter 1
Aspen
Ready to land the big fish? You bet I am.
Big cities had a vibe,an energy that seeped from every crevice and burrowed into the best parts of me. I was at my happiest in the midst of the throng being carried along by a sea of people all in a rush to be somewhere. It was thrilling, exhilarating,vibrant. The scents and sounds nourished me, giving me a shot of adrenaline that lasted for hours. There was only one thing in the world that fed my soul more than big city energy.
Music.
I could not imagine a life without music. The day my father put me in charge of Kingcaids’ music label was burned into my memories. I’d basically auditioned for that role since I was eight years old, and while I may be the youngest CEO in the business, I had a secret weapon these other music executives didn’t.
Love.
They were in this business for the money. I chose to be in it because I couldn’t live without music and musicians. That was not to say I didn’t have targets to hit and goals to meet, but thosethings were a byproduct of my love. They camebecauseI adored what I did.
As I pushed through the doors of my London office, my smile grew wide enough to split my face open. When rock god Joz Raynor’s manager called me two weeks ago and arranged a meeting in London, I’d thought it was a joke. For more than a year I’d knocked on doors, made a million phone calls, sent hundreds of emails, and Joz’s team had ignored every single one. I had no idea what changed their minds, but I also had no plans to question why. My father always said never look a gift horse in the mouth, and my father was a smart man.
Signing Joz Raynor to my music label would make other major artists sit up and take notice. We were no match for the Sonys, the Universals, or the Warners, but I firmly believed all I needed was to persuade one of those megastars to sign, and others would follow.
“Hi, Carmel.” I smiled at my receptionist, who had taken extra care with her attire today. I called it the Joz Raynor effect. Most of the women in the building would have pulled out their fanciest clothes and applied makeup when most days they wore jeans, a shirt, and did little more than tie their hair up to keep it out of the way. Every single one couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of the reclusive Raynor, and even better if he noticed how much effort they’d put in for his benefit.
I could hardly blame them. When the man wasn’t playing to thousands at some of the world’s biggest stadiums, he was a ghost. I should know. He’d been on the same cruise ship as me, and I hadn’t seen him once. Not for the want of trying, but that man managed to avoid bumping into me the entire time we were at sea.
“Hi, Aspen. Ready to land the big fish?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I swept through the reception area and strode into the elevator. Melody, my assistant at our Londonoffices, greeted me with a cup of coffee and a stack of messages. I flicked through them. Nothing urgent. “Are we all set?”
“Sure are. I’ve got Conference Room A ready for you. We’re good to go.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” I yawned—jet lag already catching up with me. I’d planned to fly to London the day before yesterday, but something had come up in New York and I’d had to delay my flight, landing only this morning. Thank God for private jets. I’d hate to rely on commercial to get me to an unmissable meeting on time. These days, delays seemed to be the norm, and I hadn’t waited a year for this opportunity to have something outside of my control fuck it up for me.
My stomach swooped as I pushed open the door to the conference room, but nerves were good. Nerves focused the mind. I set down my coffee cup and took a seat at the head of the table. Two twenty-five. They should arrive any minute now. Although musicians often had their own timings no one else was privy to. I fully expected him to turn up late.
Oh, they were late all right. Twenty minutes, and still no sign of Raynor or his manager. I took up pacing as though that alone had the power to force my errant rock star to show up.
At two fifty, I’d had enough. Grabbing my phone, I scrolled until I reached Mike Jones’s number and hit dial. Voicemail. Great.
“Hi, Mike. It’s Aspen Kingcaid here. Call me back.” I avoided calling him an unprofessional asshole. For all I knew something could’ve happened, and I’d hate to bethatperson. Then again, if they were going to be late the least Mike could’ve done was call me and let me know.
The conference room door received the brunt of my annoyance as I yanked it open and slammed it behind me. I headed for my office, ignoring Melody’s grimace as I passed by her, and flopped into the chair behind my desk. As a woman, Ihad to fight for every success in this male-dominated arena. As ayoungwoman, only in my twenties, that fight became a constant battle to prove myself worthy, and Mike Jones and his fucking egotistical star had sent a clear message that they didn’t value me or my time.
Well, you know what? Screw them. Screw them to hell and back. I refused to sit around here with my lady balls in a sling, hoping for misogynistic jerks to toss me a crumb.
I pushed up from my chair and grabbed my purse. “Melody, I’m going out.”
She shot to her feet. “What if they arrive after you’ve gone?”
It was bad business to cut off my nose just to gain a moral victory, but I was all out of fucks to give. An entire year of my life wasted on some douche who probably got his kicks from punching down.
“Tell them they’re too late.”
By the time I broke through the doors and emerged into the humid July air, my anger had reached DefCon 10. Howdarethey haul me all the way from New York for a meeting Raynor’s manager insisted had to take place in London, only for them not to show up?
I was on the cusp of calling one of my brothers and asking them what they’d do in my situation, but at the last minute, I shelved the idea. It wasn’t that I was above asking for advice, but reaching out when I had a river of rage coursing through my veins was a terrible idea. All too often, women had to deal with the “too emotional to lead” bullshit—not that my brothers would ever think such a thing—and I’d worked hard to present the image of a cool head under pressure, and I’d succeeded. I refused to blow that carefully cultivated image for Joz Raynor. He wasn’t worth it.
The scent of spiced lamb, grilled onions, and garlic wafted through the open door of a kebab shop. My empty stomachrebelled at the smell, and I covered my nose and mouth and hurried past. I really should have eaten something, considering I only managed a small yogurt on the plane, but I was too on edge for my meeting to keep anything down. Now I was too enraged to eat.
A loud crack of thunder sounded overhead, followed by forked lightning that looked as though it wanted to split the sky in half. Seconds later, the first blob of rain landed on my cheek. In less than a minute, the temperature dropped several degrees, and I shivered in my thin summer dress as I rifled through my purse. No umbrella. Damn. The rain was heavier now, pelting me as I frantically searched for shelter.
