Nothing. Only he wasn’t Bryan.
My gaze segued to his counterpart at center stage. Bryan’s guitar hung crotch level low. His light eyes were half shielded by heavy lids; his expression sublime, entirely within his element. It was a look I’d seen before in a much more intimate setting.
My cheeks warmed.
The sound of voices drew my attention away. An intense Marcus Anthony was talking to someone I didn’t recognize, a suited executive type. The mid-thirties brunette had a curvy figure and was wearing a stylish Marc Jacobs two button, double placard pocket charcoal grey pinstripe with a really cool pair of t-strap pointy toed pumps with four inch spiked heels. Her brown brows were drawn together. “Is she alright?”
“She’ll be ok. Sam and Trevor are back with her.” Marcus gathered the ends of his shoulder length hair into his fist. “Avery’s a professional.”
The suit put her hand on Marcus’ arm. Suddenly, his entire expression softened. A moment later, I saw why, as Avery Jones sank into his arms. Her eyes were red rimmed. I wondered what all the drama was about, but when she looked over in my direction, I threw my hair over my shoulder dismissively.
I didn’t really care what her problem was. I had more important things to worry about than that haughty bitch. She’d probably just broken a fingernail. Tugging at the jagged material on the end of my sleeves, I checked the rest of my outfit one more time. Strategic flesh colored inserts covered everything important up top. My belt hung just right low around my skin tight jeans. It was all good.
I blinked as a camera flashed next to me. Kimberly had just taken another picture of the guys. I’d wanted to strangle War when he’d introduced me to the Rolling Stone photographer. Like I needed any more pressure knowing that the magazine was covering the very event where I was to make my debut.
“Kimberly, how are you?” A handsome man with steely blue eyes, deep dimple grooves, and grey close cropped hair approached her and held out his hand.
“Charles Morris,” Kimberly replied. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought this was a Black Cat affair.”
“It’s a concert, Kim.” He raised a brow. “As far as I know those are open to the public.”
“Alright Atlanta. Help me welcome former Tempest songstress, Lace Lowell.” War’s voice blared over the venue’s speaker system.
I spun back around.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
My heart was racing from nerves and from the line of coke War and I had done earlier. Shoulders back, I made my way out to him, willing my hands not to tremble. War took them in his own and kissed my cheek before leading me to the piano. I could feel the heavy weight of stares from a packed arena. For a scary moment, I thought I might puke, but luckily it passed.
Taking a calming breath of air, I settled onto the piano bench. As I lifted my head, my eyes met Bryan’s. His gaze was warm and he gave me an encouraging smile. I could do this. I placed my fingers above the keys and began to play the song that I’d written for him. My voice rang out steady and sure. I sounded really good. I relaxed into the song, and by the time I reached the chorus, I could feel that an electrified hush had fallen over the arena.
Wow.
Cool.
War was at my side as soon as I finished. “You nailed it, Lacey,” he said in my ear right before the thunderous applause rained down on us.
My face broke out into a wide smile. War took my hand and led me out to center stage. “Miss Lace Lowell,” he repeated into the mic after the applause died down. “And Tempest.” All six of us took a bow hand in hand, Dizzy on one side of me, War on the other.
“It’s a fucking rush, ain’t it, babe?” War asked after he guided me off stage with his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s amazing,” I agreed, eyes bright from the adrenaline still rippling through my body. Right this moment I felt like nothing was out of my reach.
“Warren Jinkins,” an authoritative voice jarred me from my reverie.
It was the same brunette executive I’d seen earlier with Marcus, only this time she looked extremely vexed. She gestured with her hand. “Come with me.”
“You too, Miss Lowell,” the woman ordered sternly. I looked to War, but he had already moved to follow. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so intimidated.
We followed the exec back through the busy corridor. Shoulders tight she led us to an empty dressing room, and then turned to face us. Her light brown eyes flashed at me. “Who gave you permission to be out on that stage tonight?”
“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.”
20
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.