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Copyright © 2015 by Dawn Ryder
Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Blake Morrow
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
A Sneak Peek at Rock Steady
About the Author
Back Cover
Chapter 1
“Katie…sweetie…”
Kate Napier raised her head, shifting her focus from the strips of leather she had pushed under the industrial sewing machine she was using. Her partner only called her sweetie when he was nervous about something.
One look at Percy Lynwood confirmed it. All six foot four of him hovered in the doorway between the machine shop and the cutting room of their design studio. He was pulling on the measuring tape draped around his neck, looking at her with pleading eyes. She looked past him to find that their staff members had suspiciously disappeared into the prep room at the back of the building.
“This is part of the Stanton order, Percy,” she warned him. “He wants it for Sturgis in two weeks.”
Percy wrung his hands, looking like a gigantic teddy bear with his naturally curly hair framing his forehead. He shifted from side to side before taking a stiff breath and stepping onto the concrete floor of the machine shop.
“I know, sweetie…”
Kate flattened her hands on the edge of the sewing machine table and narrowed her eyes. Percy grimaced and lifted his hands to keep her from arguing further.
“I’ll put Paula on it,” he said in a rush. “Giles just called with an emergency.”
She took the opportunity to stand up and stretch her lower back, arching all the way until her neck popped.
“Leather is my department. No offense to Paula, but she doesn’t fit ass like I do,” Kate said.
“Definitely not,” Percy agreed. “But this is an emergency on an epic scale,” he finished with a flurry of his hands.
Kate lowered her chin and locked gazes with Percy. His tone was downright miserable. “Okay, so what is stressing you out so bad?”
“It’s the Toxsin account.”
Kate lifted her hand and pointed to the wall behind Percy. Her personal operating rules were on a corkboard. Number one: no cuts to the front of the line.
“I know about your rules, Kate, but this is urgent!” Percy was back to wringing his hands. “Toxsin is going on stage in four hours, and there is some sort of problem with the lead singer’s leather pants.”
“As in Syon Braden?” Kate asked.
Percy nodded. “The Marquis.” He supplied the stage name of the man currently topping preeminent entertainer lists around the globe with a breathless sigh.
She moved around the large industrial sewing machine and jabbed her finger again at the corkboard on the wall that had her name on it. “Rule number two: I don’t do rock stars. Besides, are you really telling me that you don’t want to get your hands on the Marquis?”
Percy cracked a saucy grin through his worried expression. “You know I do, and I think even Steve will forgive me for it as long as I share every last succulent detail. That Syon is an animal.” Percy made a soft sound that was a cross between a moan and a growl.
“Glad we got that squared away.” Kate turned and headed for the leather pants destined for the biker paradise known as Sturgis. The end-of-summer rally held in Sturgis, South Dakota, drew bikers from all over the world. Making leatherwear for attendees was her bread and butter. “Have a blast with the Marquis.”
“But, Kate,” Percy whimpered again. “Showtime is seven, and they are playing the Staples Center downtown.”
“Ahhh…” Kate turned to look at the large clock on the wall next to her corkboard. Every staff member had a corkboard. Schedules were posted there, along with any rule anyone felt they couldn’t live with being violated. The boards kept the peace pretty well, but the clock read three sharp.
“With afternoon traffic, which will be even worse than usual with Toxsin playing, I’ll never make it down there in time. They’ve been sold out for months,” Percy explained.
“So why did Giles call us? It’s his account, his premiere account. Why isn’t he flying out to defend his turf?” Percy’s costume college buddy had jumped through flaming hoops to score the account with Toxsin.
Percy spread his hands in a pleading gesture. “Because he’s in New York, and it’s an emergency. They need something fixed immediately. He wouldn’t trust just anyone to deal with them. That’s why he called us.”
“Giles called you, not us.” Kate propped her hand on her hip. “I’m still a little sketchy on why you need me for this, Percy. I don’t drive any faster than you do.”
“They’re sending a helicopter from the Staples Center. That’s how desperate they are.” Percy looked miserable again. “You know I can’t stand heights.”
Kate’s stomach knotted. Percy could get woozy on the third story of their building if he got too close to a window. He’d turn green just looking at a helicopter.
Shit.
“Wear a blindfold and think about what you’ll get for your courage,” she said.
Percy gave a sigh, which was pitiful until she coupled it with his overall size. He had the body of a linebacker and the heart of a 1950s suburban housewife. A mouse sighting would send him screaming. When it came to his marriage with his husband, Steve, Percy was the wife all the way.
“I tried the blindfold in Alaska, but I still threw up all over Steve before we finished the helicopter tour of the glacier. And it was his birthday present too. I tried so hard.” He shook his head sadly.
The knot in her stomach was tightening with the help of guilt. She did love Percy, but rock stars drove her insane. She chewed on her lower lip as her partner looked at her pleadingly. Yup, hungry, starving baby bear.
“Take a bucket,” she suggested.
“I’ll arrive as weak as an infant and light-headed. Definitely not professional.” He pointed at the three phrases posted above everyone’s corkboards. They were the operating foundation of their business, Timeless Custom Creations:
Always push the creative boundaries.
Always wow the customer.
Always be professional.
“Shit,” she cussed as the word professional cut through her personal phobias. “Just…craptastic!”