Rock Reclaimed (Rock Revenge Trilogy 2)

Shock and irritation wound through me in equal measure. I pasted a smile on my face while my fingers tingled with the urge to squeeze something. A stress ball. I needed one of those to save myself from certain violence.

“I’m so sorry to have disappointed you. Excuse me if I ask why you’re involved? I thought my contact at the record company was Donovan Lewis.”

Though Donovan was a shark, he was probably better than Lila, especially now that I’d tangled with Zoe. But Lila was probably hardwired to hate me anyway, thanks to her husband, Nick, being Simon’s best friend. Add in that Lila’s own best friend was Simon’s wife, Margo, and I didn’t foresee any happy extended-family reunions occurring anytime soon.

Sabrina chuckled and tipped back her head. “Oh, you’re so green, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Donovan Lewis saw you for one reason and one reason only—curiosity. He doesn’t take on clients of his own. That’s what we’re for.” Her laughter at my expense subsided into a small, smug smile. “You lucked out with me, you know. You wouldn’t have been nearly as lucky with some of the other reps.”

“Like Lila.”

“Like Lila,” she agreed. “I’m impressed you know who she is. But then you’ve done your research, haven’t you?”

“The way you keep making assumptions about me is really fucking annoying.” Worst of all, they were right.

“I’m sure it is, since I bet that’s usually your department. But assessing and coming up with an evaluation is my job. And I’m very good at my job.”

“Congratulations.” I stalked over to the dressing table and skirted her to pick up Zoe’s camera. I didn’t know why I needed its weight in my hands. Just as I needed the memory of my stage conversation with Zoe in my head, running on a continuous loop. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

Sabrina’s gaze dropped knowingly to the camera that was now my touchstone. “Dangerous ground there, and I’m a risk-taker by nature. Consider this a friendly warning.”

“Just a pretty camera.” I rubbed my thumb over the sticker on the bottom, smiling slowly. “I like to collect pretty things.”

I didn’t even know why I said it. I didn’t collect much of anything, pretty or otherwise. But I didn’t appreciate her “friendly warning” any more than I liked the rest of this conversation so far.

“Some collections are far too expensive to warrant the pursuit.” She angled her head as she studied my face, her bright pink nail tracing over the thick beads looped at her throat. Those were also pink. Same exact shade. Her attention to detail was frightening.

Especially since she was examining me now like an escaped lion she needed to corral.

“Let me be the judge of that, hmm?” I tucked the camera under my arm and leaned a hip against the dressing table. “I assume there’s a purpose to this visit besides your desire to tell me I sucked onstage and not to touch property of Ripper Records. I wonder though if Zoe knows she’s been pissed on and marked?”

“Your accent and style of speech is so intriguing. The sounds of London with some American idioms mixed in. Have you been studying or have you traveled here extensively?”

“Isn’t that in my file?” I mocked. “Seems like an oversight.”

“You’re obsessed with your file. Makes me wonder if you have something to hide. But no, that couldn’t possibly be true.” She gave me a bland smile. “Your mother was American, I understand.”

The was hit me low in the gut. “She was. As was my father. As is my brother. She also had numerous American boyfriends. You’d be surprised what you pick up.”

“So this is your first trip to the States then?” She didn’t take out a physical notepad, but I could practically see her taking mental notes she could transcribe in the official Ripper paperwork later.

What would she write?

Okay performer. Too cocky. Infatuated with girl who heckled him onstage. Preoccupation with what’s in his pants. Evasive about his past.

Forgettable.

The last was my biggest fear. More than anything else, I was scared to die in obscurity. To have made it this far and for no one to know my name.

Mine. The name I’d built, not the one I’d inherited by an accident of birth.

“I’ve been here before once or twice,” I said noncommittally.

“Yet you retain your British sensibilities. Your accent is thick. Don’t lose it.” She came to stand in front of me and eyed me up and down with a scrutiny I hadn’t experienced since my last med visit some time ago. “In fact, you’ll play it up. Play all of this up.” She gestured at me as if I had one whit of a clue what she meant. “This has to go.” She pulled at the hem of my shirt. “These have to be tighter. A half size at least, but we’ll have them tailored so everything is showcased properly.” She tugged at the pocket of my trousers and moved on while I tried to lift my jaw from the floor. “Your shoes absolutely need to hit the circular file. I think I like the idea of you in boots.”

“Like Puss?”