Fused (Lost in Oblivion #4.5) (6 page)

“
Y
ou haven’t put
through the preliminary paperwork to sign Ms. McIntire yet, Lila. Is there a problem?”

Only Donovan Lewis would expect preliminary paperwork sent through for a new artist within a week of the show where she’d made her debut. This, however, was a special case. As predicted, YouTube clips of the concert in question had multiplied like pregnancies after a snowstorm. Molly was already a burgeoning sensation, and her boss wanted her locked down quick on the label.

Donovan didn’t accept excuses, so she didn’t bother offering any. “No. I just haven’t made it happen yet.”

But I will. Somehow.

Severe sexual temptation and emotional heartbreak as reasons for the delay would earn her a raised eyebrow at best. At worst, he’d remind her she’d agreed to put all of that aside.

Her job was what mattered. The only thing that mattered, other than her parents and Michael, who was camped out on her couch playing X-box. He’d spent Friday night in the guest bedroom, then they’d hung out a bit on Saturday after the Nick debacle to try to make up for lost time. He’d stayed over Saturday night as well, just as he had in the old days back when they’d bonded through movie and video game weekends. Now it was early Sunday afternoon, and she’d asked him to stick around until after she spoke to her boss. He’d agreed.

She’d hoped she could forestall this extremely rash move. So much for that. Rash moves were basically her standard operating procedure these days. Might as well roll with it.

“She laid out some pretty significant terms,” she added when Donovan merely waited for her to continue. “She drives a hard bargain.”

“Whatever she asked for, make it happen. Did I fail to make it clear how much I want to secure Molly on our roster?”

Inwardly, Lila sighed. And maybe seethed a little. Normally she didn’t mind Donovan’s high-handed tactics. He got things done, and they were both similarly focused on the business at hand. But she was growing pretty damn resentful of being told what to do and micromanaged in every facet of her life. First with her husband, then with the career she’d given her life to. Now she had Nick getting in her face and scrambling her hormones.

You own me just as much.

She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t, because if she allowed herself to, she would end up spilling everything about those photos. She’d ask about the redhead, and tell him that they’d have to cool it until her divorce was final. Not really cool it, of course, because she didn’t think she could last another week without feeling his hands on her—

“Lila?”

She inhaled. Work. Right. She had a purpose to fulfill, and it wasn’t to dwell on her sudden need to make up for a lifetime of sexual deprivation.

“She wants to front a band. If I can’t present one to her that meets her standards pronto, she’s going to walk, and Tolino was circling pretty hard after the show.”

“Make it happen,” Donovan said again. “Do you need me to scout for you?”

“No, of course not. I said I could do it, and I will.” Without glancing away from Donovan’s icy blue eyes on her laptop screen, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Michael had stopped playing his ski racing game. She’d bought the console and games for him months ago, hoping he might stay over for a night or two like he had in the old days.

The circumstances sucked, but at least they’d gotten to talk this weekend around the landmines of drama. Last night, they’d dropped into bed after sharing some fun family stories and laughing late into the evening.

Separate beds, thank you very much, Crandall
.

They’d cleared the air about the pictures, and Michael had promised to ensure his friend destroyed the data. He’d also vowed to be a little wiser in picking his associates in the future.

But she had another favor to ask him, and it wouldn’t keep much longer. She’d put it off until the last possible moment. Once Donovan disconnected from their Skype call, all pretense of a happy reunion would be off the table.

“I’ve heard rumors that Luc Moreau from The Grunge might be replaced. You could try putting some feelers out in that direction.”

“What?” Lila stopped plotting world domination—or at least her corner of it—long enough to concentrate on Donovan. “What kind of band replaces their lead singer?”

Whereas the members of Oblivion would fight to the death to hold onto theirs. Loyalty was forged in the narrowest spaces.

“One that wants to succeed and unites to kick him out.” Donovan tapped his steepled fingers together. “Luc’s become a problem. He’s getting too much media attention for all the wrong reasons. He’s a hothead. Hotheads always get their comeuppance eventually.”

She gave her boss a thin smile. She was no dummy. Donovan was also jabbing at Nick. She’d heard him called that by people who didn’t understand him once too often recently. Not that he wasn’t one. Oh, there was no doubt there. The way he’d stampeded into her apartment after finding Michael at the door proved the charge. She just wasn’t about to tolerate hearing it.

“Depends on the reason they’re running hot, don’t you think?” she asked, her face betraying nothing. She knew her mask was effective, because she’d been wearing it for years.

“There’s always a reason for bad behavior. Rarely an excuse.” Donovan shuffled papers on his desk. He kept an office in London, as he traveled there regularly and still had many friends and contacts from his days in the music scene. “I can get you the contact numbers for The Grunge, if that’s an avenue you’d like to pursue.”

“I saw their show at the Starlight. They’re extremely talented. I’m just not certain they’re the best fit for Molly’s voice.” Nor was she sure her plan B would be any better, but rocks and hard places didn’t leave a lot of room for negotiating.

She slid her gaze to Michael, who was listening to her end of the conversation and pretending not to. He’d asked an awful lot of questions about Ripper Records this weekend.

They were both doing their share of scoping. If their common interest would end up being mutually beneficial remained to be seen.

“I recognize that tone, Lila. You have a band in mind. One that I know?”

“Nothing definite yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do a bit more reconnaissance. Have a successful call with Mr. Carson tomorrow. If you need me to join, just let me know.”

As always when it came to Blake Carson, Donovan’s jaw locked. There was a story there, though she doubted she’d ever get to hear what it was. Donovan made a combination lock look like child’s play. The safe of his secrets was locked down tight.

He nodded. “I should be able to handle it, but thank you.”

“Safe trip back,” she said with a smile.

All the while she chanted to herself:
Stay away longer. Stay away longer.

As much as she liked Donovan and enjoyed working with him under normal circumstances, at the moment she would appreciate the freedom to just do her thing.

Right now, her thing included sliding away from the dining room table to eye her stepson, who’d begun skiing down a twisty hill fast enough to mow down a line of trees. He was practically horizontal on the couch, his long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him. Today he wore a Halo T-shirt and his wrist was loaded with an array of bracelets. Black cord, chunky silver, braided leather. His hair was spiked high on top, making him look just like a rock star. All he needed was a little eyeliner and a smirk and the girls would line up around the block.

Whether or not she was ready to see the boy she’d helped bring up collecting panties as trophies was another point altogether, but first things first.

“Mike, can you turn off the game for a few?”

He moved far too quickly for someone who’d purportedly been relaxed. A moment later, the TV and game console were both off and he was pulling out a chair at the table. “What’s up?”

“You heard me talking to Donovan Lewis. My boss at Ripper Records,” she said as he nodded.

“Yeah. Dad’s mentioned him a few times. Says he pisses music.”

Lila lifted a brow. “You mean music’s in his blood?”

“No. Dad says pisses, because he likes to mark every bush he passes.”

“Sounds like Martin,” Lila said drily. “Anyway, we have a new artist we want to sign. You’re familiar with Oblivion.”

“Your boy toy’s band? Yeah.”

She only let that one go because she saw the twist of his lips. He was teasing her, and she’d allow the taunt from him when she wouldn’t from anyone else. “Molly is Jazz Edwards’ little sister. Jazz is Oblivion’s drummer.”

“Oh yeah. Hot as hell little thing. She looks like she’d be a wild—” He caught Lila’s stare and cleared his throat. “Right. I know who Jazz is.”

Figures Michael had a crush on Jazz too. Who didn’t? She’d been Nick’s lover as well. If Jazz hadn’t been in love with Gray practically since birth, Lila probably wouldn’t have even been in Nick’s sights.

And wasn’t that a pointless and depressing thought.

“Molly will only sign with Ripper if we get her a gig. She wants to be part of a band, and apparently she thinks it’s our job to find one on the verge of stardom and bring it to her doorstep, signed, sealed and delivered.”

“She’s worth it.” His confidence surprised and shook her a little, if she was honest.

Michael had grown up in the lap of the music business. His father had helped start Prime Music, one of the largest labels in the biz. He’d ended up selling his stake years later for mondo bucks and moved on to work in development at yet another label, behind the scenes where he had little contact with artists.

So complete was his divide from the production end of things that he hadn’t even blinked when Lila had sought his blessing a few years ago to work at Ripper Records. He didn’t care what she did, because it likely wouldn’t matter much. He’d called her bands her “little acts” once, practically patting her head, and she’d smiled through gritted teeth and pretended she didn’t want to fillet him with her steak knife.

“I saw the vids of the show last week, when Kagan lost his shit—again—and Molly stepped in. She’s gorgeous and damn, what a set of pipes. How old is she?”

“Young,” Lila said sharply, making him hide his grin behind his hand. “So keep your prurient fantasies to yourself.”

“Nah, c’mon. You know I’m saving myself for you.”

She rolled her eyes at the old running gag between them. He’d been saying the same thing since he’d had half a chin of straggly hair. “Tell me more about your band.”

“From Molly to my band, huh?” His eyebrow winged up, and for the first time she noticed the little spike through it. Good Lord, he’d turned all grungy rock star on her when she wasn’t looking. A fact only driven home when he looped an arm around the back of his chair and leaned back, revealing the spikes also on his belt.

As his stepmother, she was a little freaked out by the transformation. As a woman on the hunt for new talent, she was on the verge of pouncing.

“Our name is Warning Sign,” he said after a moment when it became obvious she wasn’t going to reply. “We’ve had a few shows around town, but we’re still in a building phase.”

Normally she had a pencil she could flip through her fingers while she listened to the spiel. It unnerved her how uneasy she felt without her prop. Or maybe this interview was cutting just a little too close to home. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, mainly because there’s only the three of us.”

“Worked for Nirvana,” she pointed out, to which he gave a quick, pleased nod.

“Yeah. If we had a Kurt Cobain, we’d be golden. I have the strings, but I’m not a singer.”

Gee, whom had she heard that from before? “You know Nick’s a guitarist too.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You don’t think he’s good?”

“He’s a fucking legend, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the prick.”

She had to laugh. “No, you do not. Who else is in your band?”

“West is on the piano and he writes most of our music with Ryan, who basically can play anything. He plays drums, bass, occasionally rhythm guitar. Shit, he even has a pair of bongos and a harmonica. Whatever you need, he’s your man. Me, I’m lead guitar and I do a lot of our lyrics.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She wanted to take notes. Normally she would be, but she wanted to keep this informal as long as possible—until it wasn’t.

But right now, she’d lighten the mood. “That jerk Jerzee isn’t a member, right?”

“God, no. I told him he was never sitting in with us again. That ended when he tried to shake you and Donovan down for cash.”

She went very still. “What do you mean Donovan too?”

Again, he cleared his throat. “Ah, I didn’t mention that before, did I? Turns out he sent the pictures to you and Donovan. Yours didn’t have a request for money. He just wanted to scare you a little. Donovan’s set contained a note, saying there were more incriminating photos where those came from and he wouldn’t hesitate to sell them to the paps. He tried to act like he had some pictures of your boss too. What kind of photos could he have of Donovan?” Michael shook his head. “Guy makes no sense. He’s been watching a few too many spy thrillers.”

So much for her wondering how Donovan had been so all-knowing. He knew, because he’d gotten a mail delivery of his own. Fabulous.

She officially couldn’t sit there and dwell on any of this a moment longer.

Rising, she flattened her hands on the table. “How do you feel about taking me to meet the band?”

“My band? Now?” He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, don’t do me any favors, okay, L? I don’t deserve them. After that jackass stunt I pulled, and how out of it hand it became, I should be doing something for you.”

“Oh, you’re going to. I have,” she glanced at her slim bangle watch, “until the end of the day today to secure a band for Molly to join. It needs to be killer, and she has to be impressed beyond measure. If she is, I’ll give her and that band a contract. Today.” She pursed her lips. “Is your band worth a contract, Michael?”

His jaw dropped before he jumped to his feet. “You bet your ass it is. Let’s go.”

A little over an hour later, they walked into a converted warehouse on the outskirts of LA.
Converted
was a loose term, because there were exposed beams and wires, along with piles of sheetrock and tools propped against the walls as if the transition was still taking place. The neighborhood was not the best.