I got my answer. He was talented all right, but also dirt poor, had no connections in the business, and was lacking the kind of confidence I’d had at his age. I’d bombarded the music producer of one of the top labels for a solid six months until he relented and agreed to an audition.
From that day forward, I never looked back.
But fifteen years in this business had left me jaded. I still loved performing on stage, but the rest of the bullshit that came with this career had begun to wear thin. It was time I started looking to the future. A future that one day wouldn’t include performing. I wasn’t there yet, which was the reason I’d kept my cards close to my chest and told no one about my plans. I reckoned I had maybe five good years in me before I hung up my guitar–in a professional sense, at least.
And that future, I’d decided, would focus on talent spotting.
And Presley Knox was my first, unofficial protégé.
Movement to my left caught my eye, and I tore my focus away from the stage. My gaze collided with a hazel-eyed, plum-haired, seriously pissed off looking woman shaking out a polka-dot umbrella, her damp dress clinging to her body. It took considerable effort to look away, especially with her erect nipples poking through the thin material, but somehow I managed it.
I gestured to the bartender who ambled over. “Brandy,” I yelled over the music. “Make it a large one.”
He nodded and moved away. I raised a hand to Aspen. Her eyes narrowed as she sauntered in my direction, her magnificent hips swaying. Damn. Woman had sex appeal and then some. I pointed to the barstool on my left.
“Saved you a seat.”
She glowered. “Can’t we go somewhere quieter?”
“No.” I picked up the brandy the bartender had brought over and handed it to her. “Here. You look like you could use it.”
“I don’t drink in the daytime.” Knocking it back in one go, she slammed the glass on the bar and let out a satisfied sigh. “But I’ve a feeling I’ll need the fortification.”
I grinned, pointing at her empty glass. The bartender refilled it. She picked it up, but this time, she cradled it in both handsrather than drinking it. Her gaze drifted to the stage, her interest piquing.
“Who’s that?” She jerked her chin.
“The reason I was a no-show.”
“Hmm.” Her lips pursed. “The band is terrible.”
“Agreed.”
“But the lead singer… that voice.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes locked on Presley. “He’s got stage presence, too, although he’s lacking a little confidence.”
“Agreed.”
Chest rising, she huffed. “You could have called.”
“I did call.”
“An hour late.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m easily distracted.” My eyes dropped to her chest.
She followed my gaze, folding her arms over those pert nipples. “Oh, I get it now.” She gave me another supposedly fierce glower, but all it did was draw yet another grin from me and make my dick get all excited. “You’re a teenage boy trapped in a man’s body.”
“Isn’t that true for most guys?”
Those plump lips of hers thinned. “I don’t have time for games, Mr. Raynor.”
“Who says I’m playing games?”
Her nostrils flared as she breathed in deeply. “Let me ask you one question: do you have any intention of signing with my label?”
