Fractured Beat (Meltdown Book 1) (3 page)

“Has he been through detox yet?” Typically we weren’t called in until Phase Two of the rehab process. Phase Two was when the client was fully detoxed and no longer in denial about their addiction.

“Nope, I’m going in cold turkey,” she replied. No wonder she was tense. During my training I helped her detox a woman who was addicted to amphetamines. It was one of the scariest things I’d ever been through, and I’d been through a lot.

“I’m sorry, CiCi, and the answer is yes,” I told her.

“The answer?”

“You were going to ask me to assist, right?”

“Ummm, not exactly. As you know I’ve been trying to break into a broader market for quite some time now. Working with someone like Jeff is exactly what I’ve been hoping for, only I have a slight problem. Two hours after I signed the contract I received a call from an old acquaintance. I treated his cousin a while back and it appears he’s in a bit of a jam. He asked specifically for me but since I’m already obligated, I told him you might be willing to help out. If I hadn’t already signed with Jeff I would jump at the chance, Mal. We’re talking big time money and seriously high profile.” I didn’t know what to say. On the one hand I felt ready and on the other I was scared to death. As if sensing my hesitation, she said, “You’re past ready for this and you know it.”

“What exactly are we talking about, here?”

“He didn’t go into specifics but apparently they want five months and you’ll be traveling.”

I turned up my nose. “Are we talking about a traveling salesman?” I’d heard stories and none of them were good.

“Not exactly.” I could tell by her tone she was hiding something.

“What aren’t you telling me, CiCilia?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she innocently replied.

I wasn’t buying her fake innocent act for one second. “How about this, either you come clean now or you call your friend back right this second and tell him no.” I wasn’t pulling any punches. This was my career and CiCi knew how seriously I took it.

“Fine, but promise you’ll hear me out before turning it down, okay?”

“Talk,” I commanded.

“Have you ever heard the name Blane Hamilton?”

“No.”

“Blane Hamilton, the son of Kirkland Hamilton?”

“I have no idea who that is,” I told her.

“Good Lord, girl, I swear you live under a rock. Kirkland Hamilton is one of the wealthiest men in Texas. His son, Blane, owns the record label Happenstance.” I’d definitely heard of Happenstance. “Blane is also Meltdown’s manager,” she finished.

“As in Meltdown the band?” I squeaked.

“The one and only.”

“You never told me you were friends with Meltdown’s manager.”

“I wouldn’t call us friends. I met him twice, once to sign the contract and once to get paid. That was it until today.”

“Did he relapse?” I asked. CiCi took it hard when her clients relapsed. My heart went out to her.

“No, Blane called to hire me for the remainder of Meltdown’s US tour, and since I can’t do it…” her voice trailed off.

“No way,” I whispered. “Wait, why? Oh God, don’t tell me. It wasn’t the flu, was it?” I’d read in the news that Meltdown had to cancel their Houston concert a few weeks back because their lead singer, Grant Hardy, had the flu.

“I honestly don’t know. For risk management purposes Blane refuses to give any details until contracts are signed.”

There was no way in hell I could rehab Grant Hardy. He was famous, and gorgeous, and famous and his voice… “They need someone with experience, CiCilia, someone like you or Selma.” Selma was a short, pixie haired Argentinian spitfire who worked with us. She’d been with CiCi from the beginning and would be perfect for the job.

“I am already under contract and so is Selma. Blane’s desperate, Mal. I wouldn’t have volunteered you if I didn’t think you were ready.”

“What do you mean you volunteered me?” I screeched.

“Girl, you had five months to rehab Mr. Eckleston and you did it in three. Even I couldn’t have accomplished that in so little time. This will be challenging but nothing like what you just went through,” she assured me. Her praise meant the world and she was right, Mr. Eckleston was a challenge. Truth be known, he was a nasty, evil little man and an even nastier alcoholic, but he desperately wanted to see his granddaughter get married. CiCi had no clue I used every trick up my sleeve to get him sober, including blackmail. I didn’t plan on telling her, either, until I’d made it well past my first year. She let out an exasperated sigh. “If you really don’t think you’re ready I can get Elaine to do it.” Elaine also worked with us. She was as old as dirt, had a dud of a personality and clients really disliked working with her. Elaine and I butted heads – partially because she was hateful, but mostly because she was an unprofessional bitch of a woman.

“Don’t you dare,” I told her.

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Is it Phase One?” I wasn’t ready for detox yet.

“Phase Two, but you and I both know how challenging Phase Two can be,” she warned. She was not wrong. Phase Two could be tough but it was nothing compared to Phase One.

After mulling it over for a second, I admitted what was holding me back. “This is more than a challenge. Other than loving his music, I know nothing about Grant Hardy or the world he lives in. What if I screw up? At this stage one misstep could sink my career.”

“First of all we don’t know if it’s Grant you’ll be working with. Second, as I’ve said time and again, no matter the person one thing remains the same: an addict is an addict. As for your job, you have nothing to worry about.”

“You’re right. I of all people know this but still…”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous, too. Jeff Jansen will be the most important client I’ve ever had. Plus, you know how much I dislike Phase One.”

Before I could think up another reason not to do it, I went with my gut and said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it?” she repeated. The excitement in her voice made me smile.

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Yessssss,” she hissed. “Okay, I have to run and pack. I’m out of here this afternoon. Blane is calling you within the hour with details. Make sure you check in with me regularly. You’re a natural, Mallory. It’s time you own it, woman.”

Thirty minutes later I was pouring my second cup of coffee when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number but knew it was him.
Blane Hamilton, manager to a famous band
. A serious case of the nerves set in and I thought about sending it to voicemail. On ring four I picked up, “Hello?”

“Miss Scott? You do go by the last name Scott now, correct?”

Surprised by his question, I answered, “Uhhhh, yes.”

“My name is Blane Hamilton. I hope you don’t mind me calling you on a weekend. I got your name from Dr. Woods earlier this morning. Has she spoken with you, yet? I’m really hoping you can help me out.”

“Yes, we spoke this morning. I –”

“We’re kind of on a tight schedule,” he cut in. “Have you heard of the band Meltdown?”

Who in the world hasn’t heard of Meltdown?
They were only one of the hottest new rock bands out. Even I, who preferred older music, paused to listen to Meltdown whenever they came on the radio. Grunge was the first genre of music to resonate with me in the early nineties. Later, when my training picked up, Pearl Jam and Nirvana helped fire me up before competition. Grant Hardy’s voice fell somewhere between Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain for me.

“No offense Mr. Hamilton but I think the whole world has heard of Meltdown,” I nervously responded.

“Yes, well, as their manager I take care of all business and PR related items. I assume you’ve seen the news and tabloids by now?”

“Uh, yes, the news, that is. I try to avoid the tabloids if at all possible.”

“Yes, I imagine you do.” His sharp tone stung and I sucked in a surprised breath. Apparently Mr. Hamilton had done his homework. “I’m sorry, Miss Scott. I didn’t mean to offend. As you can see, the situation has put me on edge, and I apologize. On behalf of Meltdown and the Happenstance management team, I would like to hire you to finish out the rest of the US tour with us. We have approximately five months remaining.”

Before telling him yes I pushed for more information. “Dr. Woods told me very little about the situation this morning. I was hoping you would be able to fill in some blanks.”

“Until you sign a contract, which includes a solid non-disclosure agreement, I can’t give you any details. All I can say is that we have to finish this tour and, in order to do so, we need your services.” His close-mouthed response impressed me. If only my manager had shown me the same respect all those years ago.

“Can you at least tell me what type of…”

“No, I can’t,” he cut me off. “Look, either you’re in or out. Either way I need to know before we hang up.” At first I was simply assessing Mr. Hamilton, but this time I didn’t question it. The man was rude.

“Let me be straight with you, Mr. Hamilton. I’m not comfortable going into this blind.”

“And I sincerely apologize for that, but to minimize liabilities I cannot and will not divulge any information without first having a signed contract. Surely you of all people understand my need for the utmost discretion,” he firmly stated. Clearly the man was not going to budge. This meant it was up to me to either accept his offer or walk away. I was tempted to walk but knew CiCi would kill me if I did.

“When do you need me?” I hesitantly asked.

He let out a big sigh of relief. “I need you in Houston first thing Tuesday morning. My assistant, Marcy, will call you with flight arrangements and details.”

“Okay, do I –”

“Welcome on board, Miss Scott,” he cut me off mid-question and then hung up.

Seriously rude.

An hour later a much nicer Marcy called to finalize flight plans. She also gave an address where I could ship the bulk of my clothing. On the way to the grocery store I called CiCi and relayed the details of my conversation with Blane, including how rude he was. She played it off as job stress.
Try personality flaw
. On the way home I called my parents in New York. As usual, Mom was excited and Dad was disappointed. I’d stopped trying to please my dad a long time ago but his disappointment still stung.

Monday, my last night in town, I went to the movies with a few friends. On the drive home I flipped on the radio and Meltdown happened to be playing. Avalanche was possibly my favorite song of theirs and I couldn’t believe that tomorrow I would be meeting the man who sang it. The song started out with a slow, sultry guitar solo. Turning up the volume I reflected upon how strange life could be. Two weeks ago I was happily saying goodbye to a cranky but sober Mr. Eckleston, and tomorrow I was going on tour with one of the hottest bands on the radio.
I’m actually going to meet Grant Hardy
. His hauntingly soulful voice poured through the speakers and I cranked the volume up another notch. The beat of the music thrummed through the steering wheel under my fingertips and I tapped them rhythmically as I sang along. When Grant’s voice soared to an impossibly high note, goose bumps erupted all over my body. Louder and louder he climbed and I was right there with him, shouting the lyrics like a mad woman. As quickly as it began, it was over and I was once again left empty. The music and lyrics were paired to perfection. Life was an avalanche. If you didn’t take control of it, it could take you down and bury you alive.

I knew this all too well.

Fourteen hours later…

“Welcome to Houston,”
Blane Hamilton greeted, as he took the handle of my suitcase and began rolling it towards the door. I hefted my ridiculously heavy carry on over my shoulder and hurried after him.

“I’m surprised you came for me in person,” I called out.

“Yes, well, there are things we need to discuss before meeting up with the band.” His ominous tone gave me pause.

Blane halted at the curb and I finally caught up with him. “Such as?” He waved his hand and a few seconds later a black Suburban with tinted windows pulled up. A giant of a man jumped out of the front seat and jogged around to greet us.

“Mallory Scott, this is Hank Brown. Hank is head of Meltdown’s security team. He will debrief you on security protocol once we get you settled in.”

“Glad to have you on board,” Hank said, and then disappeared to the back of the truck with my suitcase in tow.

Blane opened the car door and waited for me to slide in. I was surprised when he slid in beside me. As if reading my mind, he said, “It will be easier to talk this way.” The driver’s side opened, Hank hopped in and off we went. After a minute or so of driving, Blane turned to me and smiled. “First of all, I want to thank you for taking this job on such short notice. I know I was vague on the phone but the situation called for it.”

While he was talking I had the chance to observe him. Medium brown hair streaked with subtle blonde highlights dramatically swept across a rather large forehead. His big brown eyes and perfect teeth stood out against his very tan skin. Wearing a blue suit, pink dress shirt and flowered tie, Blane Hamilton wasn’t necessarily bad looking but he wasn’t good looking either. As CiCilia would say, he was a little too well put together. I glanced down at his perfectly buffed wing tips and noticed his socks matched his tie. I tried to recall if I’d ever known a man to match his tie with his socks before, which led me to wonder if his underwear matched as well. I bet it did.

Reaching down into his briefcase he pulled out a file. “Before I give you the details, let’s get this out of the way.” He whipped open the file and set it in my lap. “Here is what we are willing to pay you for the five months.” My eyes bugged at the numbers. They were offering me three times what I made with my last client, and that was nothing to sneeze about. He flipped the page. “Once we agree on compensation, I will need you to read over and sign the non-disclosure and privacy forms. You can take your time perusing both but let me highlight the important elements for you. Under no circumstances are you to speak to anyone outside of Meltdown and the management team about what happens while you are in our employment. I’m okay with you talking on a professional basis to your superiors but not gossiping. Let me warn you, if you talk, especially to the press, you will be subject to an immediate and very costly lawsuit, and trust me, we will sue.” I glanced up and his stern expression broke into a bleached white smile. “I’m sure this is no different than the non-disclosures you’ve signed in your past contracts. It’s just protocol.”
Yeah, right
. His cool tone put me on edge for some reason. After a slight pause, I flipped back to page one and signed at the bottom. Once I signed the other three forms, I closed the file and handed him back his pen. Then I waited. Without hesitation he pulled a second file from his briefcase and handed it to me. I could tell by the writing at the top that it was a toxicology report. The name in the upper right hand corner jumped out at me.
Grant Erwin Hardy.
Once I got over his middle name being Erwin, I began to peruse the report. What I found was shocking.