“If everyone would take a seat.”
That was some guy in a suit from the tour company calling the meeting to order. Jay found himself sitting opposite Evie as Mum and Errol hashed out the minor details of the final contract with various agents and lawyers chiming in. This would all be a formality. The deal cut over twelve months ago. Errol could ask for as many new concessions as he wanted, Mum would employ all her charm and subtle cunning to make sure he felt like he was winning.
In truth, Errol was toast. He might’ve walked Mum through the basics of the industry before she ever considered becoming a manager, but now she was acknowledged as one of the best in the business. Abel would get over hi
mself and Isaac and Oscar would toe the line. They had too much to lose. Evie though. Evie was doing everything possible not to look at him even as Jay made it his religion to catalogue her features.
She’d changed; in ten years you’d expect it. And she hadn’t. Same dirty blonde hair, mixing dark and honey colors, but she’d added red to the underside. Same slender form, but she’d layered on muscle; a yoga-fit body. Same love of black clothing. It was more expensive this time around. She’d pierced her daith. He was betting on a tattoo and was that a nipple cuff?
“Jay.”
He flinched at Mum’s touch. Or maybe at being caught out staring at Evie’s perfect, tiny boobs.
“You’re fine with this?” Mum slid a piece of paper in front of him. It said, stop staring at Evie.
So, yeah, he got caught out. “I’m fine with it.” He’d hear about that later. Don’t do anything stupid.
Meanwhile, Evie was truly fine. An intoxicating blend of tough and fragile. Like leather and silk, barbed wire and gossamer web. Nothing straightforward about that. She was both raw and refined, guarded and free. Complex.
Unforgettable.
Without looking up, she wrapped her hand around her water glass and he saw the ink between her last three fingers. Squiggles. No, wait. Musical notes. A flash and then gone.
She was still the wild thing he’d fallen for. Still made his heart headbang in his chest.
But she was also his personal Bermuda Triangle. A mystery he’d never solve. He knew where she was on his mental health map and that place was marked dangerous, keep away, and yet she was sucking him in all over again.
He was supposed to be angry with her, or if not angry, unaffected. It was hard to feel that way watching her focus on her phone screen, her hair falling forward, partially obscuring her face, making him want to vault the table and gather it into his hand to get it out of her way. To lift her head so he could put his cheek to hers, run his nose along her hairline, find out if she still smelled like caramel and turn her mouth up for a kiss he knew he’d feel all the way to his cock.
Shit. He felt the idea of it there already.
Need to back this up hard, dickhead. There wasn’t going to be a repeat performance of the Jay and Evie show, because that would be doing something stupid.
He needed to do a better job than pretending to listen to what was being said because Abel opened his mouth for the first time.
“Our fans will want to see Jay on stage with us. A guest appearance to play the PoP hits together,” he said.
“That is a good idea,” Mum replied. Jay waited for the but. It would be a thing of beauty. “There are a couple of reason why we might want to reconsider that,” she said. “The first is simply Jay’s time on stage. He needs to be fresh for his set and he won’t be if he plays with you first. Secondly, frankly, Abel, you don’t want him on stage crowding your time to star.”
There it was, practical wisdom wrapped in the shiny paper of you don’t know what’s good for you and tied up with a ribbon of we’re not doing that.
Abel frowned. Isaac radiated death threats. Oscar sucked oxygen from the room; Jay swore he saw the lights dim. Errol said something reasonable about needing to accommodate fan expectations and Evie looked up with eyes of fire and ice.
“It would be better if we did joint promo before the first show, so we create a buzz and cash in on last-minute ticket sales,” she said.
One of the marketing suits agreed with that and there was excited cross talk about it. Evie was focused on Mum, not sparing Jay a glance. Despite his height, he wasn’t tall enough to reach her with a foot under the wide table. Couldn’t make an innocent, accidental nudge happen, even by slumping in his seat. Couldn’t think of any other not obvious way to get her attention either, having tried picking up his water glass and throat clearing.
Was it jet lag making him into a pathetic worm? Had to be, he wasn’t all that sure what day it was.
In the middle of the ideas brainstorming, Evie said, “PoP should play a gig at the Grumpy Fiddler.”
One of Jay’s lungs stopped working.
“That rotten old pub,” said Errol, cocking a shocked look at Evie.
Abel groaned. Isaac got verbal. “Why would we do that?” he said.
Oscar shook his head in way that probably caused a tsunami somewhere.