Michelle Mankin - Irresistible Refrain

“I did. She’s one of us,” War answered. “She used to be in the band.”

“Warren.” Mary shushed him with an abrupt hand motion. “Phillip’s Arena is not a high school talent show.” She frowned. “Are you the one paying the nightly rent on this facility? Do you sign the paychecks for this tour?”

His lips flat, brows drawing together, War shook his head.

Oh, now it was beginning to make sense. This dynamo woman must be Mary Timmons the CEO of Black Cat Records.

Mary stepped closer. Even though she had to peer up at him, there was no doubt in my mind that she was totally in charge. “You may think you’re some wild stallion, but the fact is, you’re not. You’re just another horse in my stable. You ever pull a stunt like that again without my prior approval, and I’ll turn you into a gelding. You get where I’m going with this?”

War nodded again. I was surprised he didn’t say yes ma’am. Then those light brown eyes brimming with confidence turned back on me.

Uh-oh. I gulped, fighting the urge to squirm under her perusal.

“That said I want to talk to Lace for a minute.”

War moved toward me protectively.

“Alone,” Mary clarified.

He scooted out of the room like his ass was on fire.

When he was gone, Mary took in a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were actually quite good out there.”

“Thank you,” I acknowledged.

“Why haven’t I heard of you?” Mary muttered more to herself than me.

I shrugged.

She frowned and typed into her phone. I heard the bloop of an outgoing text message. “You could benefit from some voice lessons, though. You’re raw, but clearly talented.” She fixed me with a level stare. “Have you ever thought about a career in the music industry?”

The way the CEO studied me, I had a strong feeling that how I answered was really important. “I have. In fact, it’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing.”

“Solo?” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “No band or boyfriend to back you up. Just you at center stage. Win or lose. Think you could handle that?”

I raised my chin. “Absolutely.”

Mary’s brows rose. She studied me for a moment more. “Alright, then. Beth Tate, one of my execs is flying down tomorrow. I want to sit down and talk with you formally in Orlando.”

I checked the apartment number against the text from War, wondering what was up with all the cloak and dagger shit. I knocked, and the door immediately swung open. An attractive woman with a low cut blouse and a blue tooth device clipped above her ear swiped her finger over an iPad. “Welcome, Mr. Jackson. Zenith productions and Mr. Morris are pleased you could come. Bar’s in the corner. And if there’s anything else you feel that you need or require, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make it happen.”

I nodded, and then scanned the swanky setup. It even eclipsed the meet and greet affairs we’d had so far on the tour. The apartment was spacious and modern with dark hardwood floors, multiple seating areas, and chrome and glass fixtures. The DJ’s mix featured a heavy bass line that permeated the entire space. Guests packed the place, most dressed a helluva lot fancier than I was in my navy button down and jeans. I wandered in, my eyes drifting out to the balcony and the intriguing view of downtown Atlanta.

The more intriguing scenery was inside though.

Wearing the same sexy outfit she’d worn on stage, Lace was perched on the edge of a wide white chaise next to War. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him. He noticed me and waved me over.

The man they were talking to turned and offered his right hand confidently. “Charles Morris. Zenith Productions.”

I tossed War a puzzled look. What was he doing here at a party thrown by another label?

“You’re a hell of a guitar player,” Morris told me with a respectful chin dip. “I’ll tell you upfront what I told War. I want you both, and Zenith will make it worth your while to break from Black Cat.” His eyes went back to War. “I’ll let you fill Mr. Jackson in on the details. I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.” He shook War’s hand, then mine, and kissed Lace’s cheek. “I’ve got other business to attend to, but we’ll talk soon.”

Once Morris had faded back into the crowd, I turned to War. “What the hell kinda game are you playing? You know we’ve got an exclusive contract with Black Cat.”

War’s eyebrows went up. “No deal’s ironclad exclusive. I’m just exploring all my options. There are always buyout clauses and Morris says he’s willing to pay them to get us out. Tempest is a major deal now, Bullet. Rolling Stone may do a feature on us. We have a top ten hit. But Black Cat’s still treating us like we’re second tier. We should be headlining our own tour man. Fuck. We don’t even have a music video yet.”

I considered that for a moment. “What do the other guys think?”

War polished off his drink and handed the tumbler casually to Lace. “Could you get me a refill, babe?”

Lace’s eyes narrowed, but she did as he asked.

“The other guys aren’t included in this deal,” War admitted in a low, confidential tone when she had gone. “This offer is just for you and me.”

“What the fuck?” My heart thumped hard against my ribs. He looked so nonchalant sitting there planning a deal that would leave the rest of the guys in the group behind. This wasn’t taking care of your friends. It made me wonder how well I’d ever really known him.

“Bullet, wake up.” War stood and the toe of his boots touched mine. He swayed. His pupils were pinned. He was wasted again. “This is just business. Zenith’s offering ten times what Black Cat’s paying. You and I write most of the songs anyway. Face it. The other guys are replaceable.”

“Bullshit.” I leaned in, hands balling into fists. “This is bullshit, War. You forgetting Dizzy was the one who came up with the riff on ‘We’re Through.’ That riff makes that song what it is. Not to mention that he’s a solid rhythm guitarist. Sager and King pull their weight, too. They lay the foundation that gives you the freedom to do the improvising you like to do. Tempest works the way it is. The five of us work. You said so yourself just the other day. What the hell’s going on with you?”

War finally had the decency to look uncomfortable. My gaze slid over to Lace who was watching us from the bar her mouth in a worried frown.

“What about her, War? What’s Lace gonna say when she finds out you’re going to stab her brother in the back?” Glaring at him, I dug my hands deep into my pockets and cursed my bad luck that I found no cigarettes. I needed a smoke in a bad way right now.

“She’s getting her own contract with Zenith outta this.” War shrugged. “She’ll come around eventually.”

“You’re fucking deluding yourself if you think that’s gonna happen.”

War straightened to his full height. He was leaner but a half inch taller than me, something we used to joke about. I didn’t feel like joking now. “She’ll understand I did what I had to do.”

“What’s going on?” Lace returned with War’s drink and glanced back and forth between the two of us.

“Nothing, Lacey. Just guy talk, right Bullet?”

I didn’t answer. I stared at War for a long time, feeling completely sucker punched by his actions. My best friend seemed to have suddenly morphed into someone completely different. Or maybe the problem was me. Maybe I had turned a blind eye to the subtle changes in him over the past two years. Fame was a rabid bitch that had bitten War. I wondered how long it would be before he decided I was expendable too.

My gaze tipped to Lace. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but you were really great tonight. You were meant to be up on that stage.”

“Thank you,” she replied looking embarrassed.

“I’d better get going.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s late. I wanna hit the gym early in the morning.”

She dipped her head. Message received.

“I’m heading back to the hotel.” My eyes slid back to War. “I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

We’d only just gotten back to the hotel room after the Morris party and here War was, down on one knee, an open velvet box in his hand. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe that he had just proposed to me.