“So, it wasn’t your night.” Sienna interlaced her fingers in Zane’s and looked up at him. “They can’t all be. Notevery singleyear, babe. But it doesn’t mean you’re not still the best of the best.”
“Thanks.” Zane turned to stare out the window of the limousine that was whisking them from the Shrine Auditorium to the palatial home of Larry and Greta White in Beverly Hills. The Whites were hosting the Grammy after-party, and attendance was not optional. As the president ofFull Moon Records, Larry was the only person with more power than Zane. Earlier, when Sienna and Zane had just finished walking the red carpet, smiling for photos and chatting with reporters about what a terrific night it would be, the Whites found them in the lobby. Greta, a tiny woman with hair big and blond enough to rival Dolly Parton, gave them each a kiss on their cheeks, then told them she’d be crushed if they didn’t come by later. Zane, who was about to decline, caught Larry’s eye and knew the correct answer was yes.
The band’s latest album,Absolute Certainty, had underperformed, which meant Zane had been avoiding Larry for months now. But of course, he would have to face him eventually. It might as well be tonight, when he already felt like a loser.
Sienna rubbed her thumb over the back of Zane’s hand. “They had to give best album to John, after what happened.” She was referring to John Lennon’s last album,Double Fantasy, which had won the night.
“We didn’t lose because he died. We weren’t even nominated,” he answered, hating how unbearably whiny he sounded. Suddenly claustrophobic, he loosened his bow tie and flicked open the top button of his crisp white shirt. “Sorry I’m being a brat. I’m just… disappointed. You know how much work goes into each album, and this last one… sucked.”
“Zane, it’s an incredible album. For some stupid reason, it got overlooked, which is a crime because I see how youbleedfor your music.”
“Yeah, well, so do a lot of artists.”
“Absolute Certaintyis ahead of its time, and one day it’ll get the recognition it deserves.” Unraveling her fingers fromhis, Sienna slid her hand up his thigh. “I think I have an idea that’ll make you feel better.”
Zane, who, until this moment, was definitely not in the mood, smiled at his gorgeous wife. “Oh, yeah?”
She nodded at him, then glanced at the privacy screen. It was up, which meant they were good to go. Sex in the back of a limo. Fast and frantic. That had been one of their ‘things’ before Ivy came along. He gave her a hard kiss on the lips, then pulled her onto his lap, feeling the softness of her long mink coat against his hands. She started to take it off, but he stopped her. “Leave it on. It’ll hide us from the driver if he opens the screen.” He kissed her again, then, while she tugged on his shiny black leather belt, he murmured, “Besides, it feels nice.”
She straddled his lap in her short dress made of some flimsy material that Zane couldn’t name but certainly liked to see on her. Her diamond necklace glinted against her ivory skin, the sight of it turning him on.Hebought that for her. The fur too. Zane McCreight from Spokane, Washington. Son of an appliance salesman. Rock god. It was his talent that put them in the back of that long, black car on their way to party with the world’s most famous people. He was one of them now too. One of the lucky ones. ‘No’ was a word Zane rarely heard anymore, because people wanted to please him. They ached to know him. And they would do almost anything to be part of his world. Including his beautiful wife, who was now sliding her lacy panties out of the way so he could find his way inside her. Which he did immediately. They kissed and grinned at each other—the sort of grin that asked ‘what if we get caught?,’ which was an even bigger turn-on for him than the diamonds.
And Sienna had been right. He already felt much, much better.
Unfortunately, the feeling wouldn’t last.
Woodwind Manor, the home of the Whites, was as pretentious as they come. It was a recent build, but Greta wanted something timeless, so they went with a Greek revival-style with a gabled front and eight towering two-story white stone columns standing proudly like royal guards. The mansion was hidden from the road by a tall stone fence that surrounded the three-acre property. Only after the gates slid open and the car was halfway up the long, winding driveway, would you see the house itself, lit to resemble the Parthenon at night.
The party had started, guests spilling out onto the portico, drinks in hand. Zane sighed. “I’ll go find Larry, then let’s go home, okay?”
“For round two?”
He gave her a half-grin and a quick kiss, even though his stomach was twisting itself in knots. “Absolutely.”
They worked their way through the partygoers out front, giving air kisses and hugs as they went. By the time they were inside, Zane was sick of all the phonies telling him he was robbed. Greta rushed over to welcome them, and told Zane that Larry was in his den. She looped her arm through Sienna’s, yanking her in the direction of her freshly redone formal dining room that she wasdyingto show her. Zane already knew Sienna, who was a paragon of good taste, would hate what was sure to be a garish room. She’d delight in telling him about it on the way home, and they’d have a laugh at his boss’s expense.
Zane stopped when he saw a wide-eyed caterer carrying a tray with lines of coke on it. He picked up a straw and did two quick lines, then gave her a wink as thanks. He strolleddown the wide marble-floored hall, sniffing and sneering as he passed by a curved alcove holding life-sized marble statues of Greta and Larry.
The door to the office was open and Larry was perched on the corner of his enormous walnut desk with a young brunette standing much closer to him than she would if his wife were there. Zane cleared his throat, and she dropped her hand, which had been on Larry’s well-fed abdomen.
Larry gestured toward the exit. “Let’s continue this conversation later.”
She floated past Zane, giving him a look that said she wouldn’t object to chatting with him next.
“Close the door,” Larry told him.
Zane complied, wishing that the other guys were with him. Well, Dean at least. He was the one who normally handled Larry (and all things Zane didn’t want to deal with). But that wasn’t an option tonight. It was just the two of them—two big swinging dicks about to face off.
Larry poured them each a scotch, keeping his back to Zane. “Wasn’t your night.”
“They can’t all be.” Zane wandered over to the French doors that led to the garden, stuffing his hands in his front pockets.
It was a subtle thing—making his boss come to him to serve him the drink. But it clearly wasn’t lost on Larry, who let the scotch splash down the side of the glass while handing it to Zane. He took a sip, then found himself distracted by the sounds of thumping music and laughter. The thick wooden door caught most of the noise before it was further absorbed by the plush hunter green carpet. It was an occupational hazard—an inability to block out noise. Or maybe he got that from his father.
Larry cleared his throat. “Listen, it happens to everyone at some point. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“It almost sounds like we’re talking about me having trouble performing in bed, Larry, and I assure you, that is not an issue.”
Larry rewarded him with a courtesy laugh. “Well, like withthat other problem, apparently worrying about poor sales makes it worse.”
