He gave her behind a pat as she turned and tossed him a minxy look over her shoulder.
He exhaled, happy he had something to lean against, because damned if she didn’t make his knees weak.
He was kind of wishing he could be alone with her now.
But also knew that this was a night destined to be unforgettable in their family’s history.
And that they were never really going to be alone together again, anyway.
Funny how things suddenly became very clear. Even though Leigh Devlin had been pretty understanding, ultimately, and the undersheriff position wasn’t off the table for Eli, something about watching her walk away at the airport had prompted him to research what it would take to start his own private security firm. It would be a juicy tactical challenge requiring all of his law enforcement training and skills as a leader, with perhaps a little adjunct training. At some point Glory was going to need a bodyguard. He was that guy. And what mattered, he’d realized in a heartbeat a few short hours ago, was that his family remain together, and all other choices would hinge on that. It would be the one defining law of his life from now on.
Tonight was in fact a culmination of that moment when she’d left for Los Angeles to meet with Congdon and his Stellium staff about a year ago.
In that first meeting, the efficient, seen-everything people at Stellium Records didn’t so much as hike a brow when Glory told them she’d never professionally, let alonedigitally, recorded anything.
“All I have are these.” And she produced the shoebox full of cassette tapes she’d recorded in her bedroom.
Wyatt Congdon had stared at that box, frowning. And then the frown tipped up into an enigmatic, private little smile that sent surreptitious nervously excited looks ricocheting among his staff.
He’d made them sit with him at a huge conference table and listen to all of those tapes—original songs, covers, fragments of songs interrupted by Glory yelling at John-Mark to get out of her room, random noodling, dogs barking in the background—which took about fifteen hours, all told.
And then a sort of slow-dawning glow spread over his face. It was like watching spring taking over the land. Only maybe slightly more wicked.
His underlings knew that look. They hadn’t seen it in what felt like too long. If they’d had to call it something, it might have beeneurekaormoney.
He was about to do the thing that made him magnificent. See the magic in the seemingly mundane.
Stellium chose ten of Glory’s taped songs, digitally remastered them with a light and skillful hand so that every breath, bird chirp, and door squeak was included (but no yelling at her brother), sneaked them out online asGlory Greenleaf: Live from My Bedroom. The cover artwork just a photo of an old cassette tape labeled with Glory’s handwriting.
And like a match to tinder, reviews, word of mouth, blogs, Twitter, Facebook made downloads treble by the week. People couldn’t get enough of the soulful, hushed intimacy of those stripped-down songs. Her voice as immediate and erotic as a breath in your ear. More than a few babies were conceived to them, and guys who really wanted to impress a girl claimed they were into Glory Greenleaf.
Stellium had barely done a damn thing, let alone spent a damn thing, compared at least to the usual promotional circus for a new artist. They really just wanted to get a brushfire started. To prep the world for the conflagration that would be Glory Greenleaf’s career.
They hadn’t really anticipatedLive from My Bedroom...charting.
Let alone at numbertwenty-five.
And “Featherbed” charted as a single at thirty-two.
And then they both began to slide a little.
No worries: It would skyrocket right back up there whenGlory Greenleaf: Live at the Misty Catwas released in six months’ time.Live from My Bedroomwas the aperitif.
Live, Wyatt Congdon had decided, was the best way to experience Glory Greenleaf.
As it turned out, thanks to experience hashing out shoestring budgets with her mom over the years, Glory was a calmly ruthless and practical negotiator, and armed with a husband who had a law degree and a charmingly cutthroat new agent named Nafisa Patel, whom she’d found with the help of J.T. McCord, they all had an invigoratingly good time hashing out contract terms that favored her immensely. She wasn’t going to get rich overnight, and she didn’t care. She and Eli had taken this opportunity to craft a plan that would let them have the life they wanted and take care of the people they loved, within reason.
Of course, life had a way of chucking monkey wrenches in.
Life had in fact just chucked the sweetest sort of monkey wrench in.
She was aglow with her secret as she submitted to a quick re-glue of her eyelashes and a refreshing of her lipstick. Then she gave the waiting Monroe Porter, whom she’d insisted on hiring for tonight and whose heart was still with death metal but was a Glory Greenleaf fan, a little high five.
She lifted her guitar gently from its stand, where Giorgio had settled it, perfectly tuned.
A couple hundred people, a compact but fancy soundboard, and a film crew of two had been shoehorned into the Misty Cat Cavern for two nights of sold-out shows, the first time, in fact, the Misty Cat Cavern had pre-sold tickets. All of this was Glory’s idea, seconded by Wyatt, and approved by Glenn and Sherrie, given that it was sort of the fulfillment of a promise and a reward for having faith in, and suffering through, an abysmal waitress.
Glenn, a born emcee, stepped in front of the mic to do the honors.
