CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (15 page)

* * *

An hour later, Alana’s head throbbed and she wanted to throw something against the wide office window just to hear glass break. Shatter. The attorney had gone over the solo contract page by page. Each infinitesimal detail strung out, then round and round restating the offer for the most realistic routes they might take.

Alana wasn’t fooled for a second by the legal mumbo-jumbo the attorney used. Instead of an emotional meltdown in front of Danielle and Jon, Alana had bided her time, nodding to each point articulated. To avoid a head-on-collision, she wrote copious notes, and forced herself to keep her gaze from lingering on Jon. The few times their eyes met, she stared back at him, and kept her expression devoid of emotion.

The meeting concluded with her refusal to commit to any particular offer. All she repeated was, “
I’ll think about it
.” For the last thirty minutes, she basically had to defend herself to everyone in the room. No one seemed to understand that going solo wasn’t going to happen.

“Let’s give them some time to discuss,” Jon said and stood up, motioning to Danielle.

“This is a tremendous amount to consider. Take your time,” Danielle said, gathering her papers.

The conference room door closed behind them, and Alana’s temper erupted. She turned toward the other band members. “I can’t believe you all. Did aliens arrive in Nashville and brain-swap with you guys?”

This time, Christy put her hand on Alana’s forearm. “We know that you’ve been offered a humongous deal that you basically turned down.”

“I won’t leave Orion, and I never thought you’d all leave me. Alone.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“No one has made any decisions,” Hank said. “There’s something to consider. Alana, if you think this offer won’t repeat itself, that’s crap. That’s a scare tactic. You’ll get more offers, and things have a strange way of being dealt. But no one can deny the truth of the moment. Right this second, we’re in the driver’s seat. Tomorrow, it might be a venue or a recording studio, willing to squeeze us out because a much larger and more powerful company wants something. That something is you. We’re all being offered something, whether we stay together or not. Tomorrow, that offer might be considerably less as far as Orion is concerned. Retribution sucks. In reality…it happens. The Lansing label will get what it wants.”

“What, you think Jon will be less than gracious if we turn down the pop contract?”

“One way or another. I don’t think he’s the only one making decisions around here,” Carl said quietly. “Alana, why not take a day and think about all that you’ve been told? No one jumps in with both feet, blindly.”

They went back and forth, Alana standing on one side of the table while the other band members kept up a single-sided barrage of cohesive arguments. Only when she proposed to hear both pros and cons for staying together did the conversation change. For only a few minutes, though; then the band returned to pushing the solo contract.

At one point Alana pounded the top of the table as she struggled to control her temper. She’d barely kept herself from crawling across the table and demanding to know how her friends could calmly consider breaking up the band.

A knock interrupted their heated debate. The door opened to admit Jon. “Timeout,” he announced, coming through the door. “Alana, Stella is on her way.”

The band members went silent as all eyes in the room swung in her direction. This was the first time Jon had said her name in public. Her name rolling off his tongue struck her very center. Had to be her imagination. He referred to the others on a first-name basis. She let her features settle, pressing her fingers against the table, and looked upward.

Their gazes met. It was as if they physically connected. Not since standing in his office had she really looked at him, and the effect was a thunderclap in her chest. “Thank you. I’m ready.”

He nodded and walked to the head of the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, Alana has an appointment and so do you. I just received a request for the band from the engineers at the Ryman. They’d like to get sound checks this morning. Why not table this until later? Say, dinner? We could meet and unwind, discuss the issues over some good food.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Billy muttered. He stood next to Christy, and Alana realized he’d worn a poker face the entire morning. She prayed the reason was the meeting and had nothing to do with what was going on with Christy. Yesterday, she admitted surprise in seeing them kissy-face it for the cameras, but then they were geniuses in knowing what to do to capture the public’s attention.

“Christy is coming with me. You said,” Alana faced Jon and stopped when he held up his palm.

“Dwayne will collect her and bring her back here. Not to worry.” His voice softened, and the shadow of a smirk gave way to a captivating smile that drew her to him.

Alana held back in front of the others. Gazing down at the table, she began collecting the papers, and placing them in her file. “Right. I was checking.”

Christy laughed. “We all appreciate your concern, Lanie. Me most. I never seem to know where I’m supposed to be. It’s all so freaking confusing. Don’t think the guys are as blasé as they appear. They want this storm of success to work out, too.” She could hear the concern in Christy’s voice. The unspoken,
It’s okay to feel like crap and don’t worry, it’ll work out
.

“A whirlwind. See you in a few.” Alana picked up the file and grinned over at her friend with what felt like a soft grimace.

“Alana, we’ll need a sound check with you as well,” Billy reached around Christy, poking her in the arm. “Don’t think you can start slacking.”

“Are you suggesting I haven’t been pulling my weight? Admit it.”

“You’re a prima donna. Just like every vocalist I’ve ever known. That’s why I have to keep such tight reins on this one.” He curled his tattooed forearm around Christy’s shoulder.

“Oh please. As if.” Alana rolled her eyes, enjoying the feel of this banter over what had transpired previously. The give and take she’d known for the last three years soothed her frayed nerves. “I’m not the one who sleeps until the afternoon.”

“Hey. I earn my keep the old-fashioned way, princess.”

“Oh really,” Christy chimed in, “Shooting pool, poker, and darts.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jon, or rather his dour expression. A combined glare and frown. Her body tightened at the angle of his brow.

Chapter Twelve

Jon approached the group, careful to keep his distance from Alana. “Alana, come with me. I’ll take you to the studio where a technician has set things up. Stella would like to record this session.” His thoughts twisted and tumbled at the unfamiliar cajoling tone of Alana’s voice, and the teasing touches between her and Billy lit a green fire in his gut.

This time, he’d be damned if he would act like a two-step tosser, giving into carnal urges with this woman on the fly. He’d let himself run wild and it was time to wise up. During the meeting, his entire concentration had been shredded. All that occupied him was the taste of her mouth and the softness of her skin, the sounds she made as she climaxed.

He’d sat at the front of the room, interjecting advice, and all along his dick was hard as the solid wood table. Her soft, non-committal responses got to McPherson, all right. This had to be the first time a client being offered the world on a silver platter had politely declined. For what? Loyalty to her band mates. Most agreed that whatever was best for Alana was fine. What the hell type of band was this? Soon they’d all be singing
Kumbaya
and roasting marshmallows.

This woman had too much power over him, and seeing her stand there with the other guitarist had him seeing red. He’d already spoken with Armstrong about changing his name to something more…routine. “William, you’d better take the other band mates and push off.”

Alana looked over at him. “William?”

“Yeah. Just an idea we’re tossing around.”

“Toss it right out the window,
Billy,
” she laughed.

“No getting off-track. You’ve got to keep up. Listen to the man.” The guitarist warmly smiled down at Alana. He squeezed her shoulder, and the three of them hugged. Right in front of him. Bollocks. The idea of forcibly removing William “Billy” Armstrong’s fingers from Alana shot through him. His temples thudded.

Christy patted Alana’s waist, and it was then hell threatened to spew from his mouth. The guitarist ran his knuckles along Alana’s jaw. Fuck.
Did these people understand, get a move on?
The urge to maul Alana was climbing to the level of compulsion. Dangerously so. Threading his fingers through his hair, he knew he had to do something. He sucked it up, including and especially the desire to haul Alana out of the room and up to his office.

Outside, the sky had gone from clear to overcast, and a gust of wind sheared the branches. Brown leaves lifted in the draft, and then a light drizzle started. “It’s beginning to storm,” Jon said. “If you intend on getting to the Ryman relatively dry, best make a run for it now.”

“Great. The one day I actually do my hair,” Christy said. “I hate touching my guitar when I’m wet. The darn thing shocks the heck out of me.”

“Tell the stage techs. There’s no excuse for poorly maintained equipment. You won’t be doing all this without a road crew from now on. I’ll make certain you’ve a proper guitar waiting while yours get serviced.”

“Geez Louise, thanks, J.P.,” Christy laughed, and hugged Alana. “See. This is what being in the big league is about.”

“We’re not there yet,” Alana responded coolly, shifting her attention to the window. “Looks like the sky is about to open up. You’d better scat.”

A text chirp alert sounded. Jon walked over to the doorway, cellphone in hand. “The car is waiting for you two. The others went on. Took the car you came in and said they’d meet you there.”

“Let’s run,” Christy said. “Thanks, J.P. For everything.”

“We’ll be in touch about tonight’s dinner,” he responded. “Take care.”

He turned back to Alana. “Time for you to come with me.”

“Promise, no more talk of contracts.”

“I’ve no intention of doing what I promised to save for later.” He mentally girded himself to keep his word on the subject of Alana on all levels. He held the cellphone, typing a text to Baxter to confirm their contacts were prepared to dish on Orion regardless of which direction they’d go. Luckily, Baxter’s guilt was making it easy to get him to run interference, even if it meant dealing with the press. Baxter sent a text back that yesterday, word had been shared about the Ryman show with a request for full press coverage. As they walked, Jon felt the heat of Alana’s body rippling over his skin.

Strolling down the hallway, he moved to one side. Sooner or later someone would pop out and that kept him from pulling her aside and querying her tight against the wall, using his mouth and body to get some answers on why she and the guitarist and Christy seemed overly friendly.

A door opened behind them, assuring him he’d been right. If this is what she wanted…a career in this industry, then hell, he’d not be the one to lose control. Perhaps if she could see things more objectively too, running her career as a business would make sense. Great advice. Maybe he should be the first to follow it. As it was, this love-fest Orion had going on only hampered Alana’s sense of survival. Sure, he could be the prick and add a few more zeros, and basically the group would let her go.

He held the door open. “Keith will take you through what’s needed. Similar to a screen test, but for voice analysis. You’ll do superbly. Have fun with it.”

“You’re not staying? Seen enough?” she asked. Suddenly, the wall she’d erected faltered, revealing the softer version he’d experienced and craved.

Nothing doing. He wouldn’t fall prey to her feminine trickery. He stiffened his resolve to keep his distance. “Clarissa will take over. Unless that’s become an issue as well?”

“I never said it was. I like her and think we see eye-to-eye on many points.”

“I’ve had a talk with her. Now it’s your turn. If she’s delivered one of my requirements to you, I suggest you follow it. For all our goods. And if you need to change a directive, I gave you a phone. Use it.” Something passed over her features. What was it…confusion? Sure, the morning meeting had hit her hard, but she had to be shaken from her fairyland existence. She bit her lip, and he knew he had to get away from her.

“I’ll ask her about tonight, since you’re obviously too busy to be bothered. See you around,” she snapped, and then whirled toward the studio door.

This was precisely what goaded him into action. The sight of fire in her eyes, her fresh mouth, and her body that fit perfectly against him. More so when they were both coming undone.

He watched her walk toward the inner door, try the door knob and open it. Without looking back she went inside. Clenching his jaw, he swung around and nearly drove his body into Stella. “Pardon,” he said.

“Jonathan. Dear Lord. Things must be hopping from the look on your face.”

“A bit. Your protégé is inside.”

“Don’t be droll. That girl is no one’s protégé. I listened to the audio recordings. I’m going to try something new. For the last ten years, I’ve settled into a routine of how to train and it’s been too long since I’ve felt this excited.”

They all absorbed something from Alana. What quality did she hold that enchanted a varied lot of people? He should count himself lucky that her charming personality, which had captivated many, had a way of switch-hitting with him. More like sucker-punching him into awareness that she possessed a side everyone else seemed oblivious to—blind, really. He, on the other hand, hungered to throttle her just as often as he desired her under him.
Bitch
…then
babe
played upon his lips.

“Any ideas on why she’s holding back?” he asked, off-handedly.

“I’ve a theory,” she said. “Better classified as a hunch. You ever talk with her?”

“Some.” He waited as Stella rummaged through her purse. She extracted a pair of glasses and a hand-recorder. “Never became accustomed to technology.”