A whisper in the corner of her ear sent a shiver down her spine. “Ever since we got signed, the rest of the band seems to have become animals.”
She turned around to see Tom McLean standing right behind her. He gave her a lopsided grin, and then pulled her into his arms, his hands locking around her waist as he hugged her.
In the two months since they last met, Tom’s life had taken a 180-degree turn for the better. Fatal Limits had been signed by a small, independent label who were working hard to build up the band’s reputation. Step one of that plan was sending them on a tour of British universities, aiming to develop a strong student following for the band, enabling them to release their album to a pre-existing fan base.
“Look at you, Tom.” Hanna pulled at his hair, noticing how it had been expensively trimmed, his sandy locks still falling slightly onto his forehead, but somehow looking more groomed. “You’ve gone all Chris Martin on me.”
Tom hugged her tighter. His face was touching hers, and he murmured into her ear. “If you compare us to Coldplay in your article, I’ll stuff the magazine down your beautiful neck.”
“If you insist on playing Yellow, I’ll have no other option.”
“If I insist on playing Yellow, you’ll melt at my feet, just like you did last time.”
Hanna pulled back from Tom, turning to look up at him with her brows raised.
“Seriously? You think I was impressed by a Coldplay cover?”
“I don’t think it’s my singing that impresses you. I suspect it’s my body.”
Hanna started laughing and hit him on the arm.
“Mind the guitar arm!”
“Haven’t you got it insured yet?” Hanna put out her hand and rubbed at his bicep, surprised by how hard it was. The boy had clearly been working out.
“I’m working on it. Apparently, Keith Richards insured his arm for $3 million.”
“Well, Keith Richards is an idiot. And probably has a small cock, too.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that I don’t have that problem. Maybe I can show you later?”
“Maybe you can keep it zipped in your pants, or find a willing groupie.” Hanna pushed him away, taking her notepad out. “We’re on the record now, so if you want to continue being a sleaze-ball, feel free.” She winked at him to let him know she was only kidding. His flirting was automatic, he couldn’t help but do it to every girl he spoke with. It was part of his natural charm.
“Okay, Lester Bangs, we can do the sex thing later. What’s your first question?” Tom gave her a slow, easy grin. He looked like he was enjoying himself.
Hanna rolled her eyes, pulling her pen out of her pocket as she turned over the page of her notebook.
“My first question, Tom Mclean, lead singer of the up and coming rock band Fatal Limits, is ‘when did you become such a dick?’”
Four
December 4th 2000
After everything that had happened last year, Hanna couldn’t believe she had agreed to visit with her father in New York. He’d called her in November, suggesting a change to their usual routine. Neither of them was keen to meet in Val D’Isere for Christmas. Within a couple of hours he arranged for his secretary to book Hanna on a flight to JFK. This whirlwind of activity had taken Hanna by surprise. She was too gobsmacked to think of an excuse. She did allow herself a small smile when she thought about her stepmother’s reaction to the news of her visit.
She was hoping to see some bands play while she was in New York—that thought made the trip seem more bearable. The New York music scene was scorching. She was looking forward to feeling a bit of the heat. Since joining the university magazine in October, Hanna was the paper’s regular rock reporter. In between her writing, she managed to fit in lectures, tutorials, and assignments. It had been a busy few months.
Just like that, Hanna had discovered her first love: music journalism.
Not that she felt like a journalist right then; sitting in the back of the car her father sent to pick her up. She felt like a scared little girl being dragged to see the principal because she’d done something wrong.
“We’re here, Miss Vincent.” The driver’s voice brought Hanna back to the present. He pulled up outside her father’s office near Wall Street. Her forehead wrinkled in surprise. It was a long time since she had been to New York to visit her father, five years at least. Only once had he taken her to see his office.
“My father wants me to be dropped off here?” She could hear the confusion in her own voice. God only knew what the driver thought.
“Yes, I’m to take your luggage back to the townhouse. Give your name at the security desk, and they’ll let him know you’re here.”
Hanna nodded, shuffling over to the door and pulling at the handle. She wasn’t going to wait for the driver to get out and open it.