Love Song Read online

  Vince nodded. “Bobby. You look good. Waves seem to be treating you well.”

  “You should come out with me sometime. It’s a rush. Better than sex.”

  Presley’s angry glare moved to Bobby.

  Vince laughed. “I left the adrenaline rushes behind in my early forties.”

  I cringed at the mention of Vince’s age. Whatever Presley was doing with him was gross, regardless of our mom.

  “So, what are you doing here with Jett? You’re not trying to poach from Grimm’s talent pool, are you?” Vince’s congeniality disappeared as quickly as my mother’s bra at a Mötley Crüe concert.

  Bobby’s smile was serene, but his eyes iced over. “This has nothing to do with Satan’s Sisters. Grimm neglected to sign that band, and he signed only two of its artists. Jett’s a free agent.”

  “Technically yes,” Vince said. “But ethically? Come on, Bobby, you don’t poach from someone’s family.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Why don’t you explain that to UCLA? I’m sure they’d take ethics in lieu of this semester’s tuition.”

  Vince’s face fell. “Jett, I meant to explain—”

  “No need,” I said, my tone as icy as Bobby’s eyes. “I’m your stepdaughter.” My eyes pointedly went to Presley, who met them with a steely reserve. “You’re divorcing our mom. You owe me nothing.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can poach our talent,” he said to Bobby, like I wasn’t even there.

  Sitting in that booth, I felt small. So I pushed my way out and straightened my back, standing at my full five-foot, ten-inch height. That meant I was eye to eye with Vince. The one goddamn advantage my deadbeat dad gave me. “Satan’s Sisters is not signed to any label, remember? You and Grimm may own a piece of Presley and Nik, but you do not own Satan’s Sisters. And you do not own me.”

  “Jett,” Presley started, her hands perched on her hips. “After everything Vince has done for us—”

  “You mean Vince has done for you,” I cut her off. “You’re the one Vince and Grimm are grooming for a solo career. They didn’t sign our band. I owe Grimm Records nothing.”

  Presley’s face turned red, and she balled her hands into fists. Then she pushed them into my shoulders and gave me a shove. Not hard, because Presley wasn’t a fighter. She was always more concerned about breaking a nail, so the shove was more about her making a point. But it caught me off guard, so I stumbled backward. My heel landed hard on someone’s foot behind me.

  “Ow!” I recognized that growl. I swung my head back as Rafe pulled his foot out from under mine. He gripped my shoulders, keeping me from stumbling. “What the hell is going on here?”

  The band was still playing, but the audience was no longer watching them. All eyes were on us. A cell phone flash went off, blinding me. And that was when I felt fingers grab my hair and yank. Presley was pulling my hair like we were both five years old! I pushed my own hands into my mess of curls and tried to pry her fingers loose. She only latched on tighter and pulled hard, and Rafe lost his grip on my shoulders. I lurched forward, and Presley shrieked before her backside landed on the beer-sticky wood floor. With her fingers still twisted in my hair, she pulled me down on top of her.

  “Let go of me,” I yelled, scrambling to my knees. She swore at me when I pressed both of them into her chest. But my hair remained in her death grip. I heard Vince and Bobby arguing over the guitar riffs until the song the band was playing ground to a halt. Rafe’s arms were once again around me as he finally succeeded in prying the two of us apart.

  Rafe lifted me off the floor while Vince helped Presley to her feet. A lone voice in the crowd yelled, “Rogue Nation rules!” and the room erupted in applause.

  Johnny Frieze pounded out a rhythm on his drum kit, and the lead singer grabbed the microphone. “Rafe Davis! Want to come up here and shred something for us?”

  Rafe kept his arms around me as the crowd went berserk. Presley cowered behind Vince and glared at me.

  “Come on, man,” the singer prodded. “You’re a legend!”

  “Okay, Marty, but only if the lady here can join us,” Rafe called up to the stage. I squirmed, but Rafe’s arms held tight.

  The singer made a show of shielding his eyes from the blinding stage lights. “If that’s who I think it is, the roof is about to blow off The Dragon Lair!”

  “Yup, Jett Benson is in the house,” Rafe yelled, and he pushed me toward the small stage while the crowd erupted again.

  “What are you doing?” I asked over the noise.

  “Get your ass on that stage, girl,” he said. “We’re playing your song.”

  Was he talking about “Derelict”? Oh, hell no. Nope. No way.

  “It’s not ready yet,” I protested.

  “So what?” he said. “It’s still better than anything they’ve played tonight.” I shook my head. But he continued to coax. “Come on, babe. We got this.”

  A hand reached down to help me up onto the stage. Rafe, following close behind, cradled my ass and gave me a boost.

  “Hey,” I snapped, turning around. He gave me one of his Cheshire cat gap-toothed grins. My eyes narrowed, but I forgave him.

  Someone handed Rafe a guitar, and someone pressed a guitar in mine. I pulled the strap over my head and glanced down at Presley, who remained by Vince’s side. She looked even angrier, if that was possible.

  “Hey,” Rafe said into the microphone, which caused the crowd to go nuts. He smiled and plucked out a few chords, silencing the crowd. He turned toward Johnny and gave him a quick bow then did the same to Marty. “Thanks for inviting us up here during your set, man.”

  Marty steepled his hands and gave Rafe his own I’m-not-worthy bow back. Applause broke out again. Presley continued to sulk.

  “Frieze, man, can you hit us with a slow beat?” Rafe beatboxed out a rhythm, and Johnny tapped out the meter on his bass drum. Once Rafe came in with the guitar riff, Johnny’s confidence grew, and he added in the snare.

  Rafe nodded at me, and I took a breath and shook my head. Rafe nodded to the mic in return.

  “I think my lady needs a little encouragement,” he growled into the mic. Whistles came from the crowd. I stood thunderstruck on the stage—his comment had filled my body with warmth even as my mind rejected it. Don’t take it that way, the wrong way. He didn’t mean it. Not like that. Not for me.

  “You ready, babe?” Rafe asked.

  I looked out to the audience, and a sea of expectant eyes met mine. Gathering my courage, I stepped up to the microphone. Marty adjusted it for me with a smile, then angled to the side and followed Johnny’s drumbeat with his tambourine.

  I closed my eyes so my ears could focus on Rafe’s nimble guitar work. When I opened my mouth, my lyrics flowed out. When I got through the first verse, Rafe’s gentle voice joined mine in the chorus, and I finally felt brave enough to open my eyes.

  It was pure magic.

  The mass of bodies in the room were all swaying with the music. The audience was with us. My spirit soared beside my vocals. I glanced over at Rafe, who beamed at me as his nimble fingers brought us to the bridge. Johnny’s power percussion kicked in, and the three of us took the song home. When Rafe ground out the last notes, the crowd screamed their appreciation.

  Only then did I glance over at Vince and Presley, who were still standing by Bobby’s table. Bobby was beaming. Vince and Presley looked shell-shocked.

  Rafe lost his borrowed guitar and helped me off the stage while Marty thanked us for the tune. Rafe kept a protective arm around me as we made our way through the crowd, some of them reaching out to touch our sweaty skin.

  By the time we made it back to the table, Bobby was on his feet clapping. “Magnificent, absolutely magnificent. Rafe, I almost want to buy out your contract. You play well together.”

  Rafe nodded his appreciation for the compliment.

  “You can’t afford to buy out that contract,” Vince snapped, his composure gone for a moment. But I recognized his expr
ession. It was the same one he had come home with when he blew a negotiation.

  Bobby raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’d never snatch one of your boys out from under you. But that song was almost more newsworthy than the catfight! Nicely done.” He turned to my sister, who was spitting nails. “Presley, my dear, I hope you have a song ready to leak, capitalize on this. It’ll make TMZ tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  That small promise seemed to temper Presley’s anger, turning her scowl into a sulk.

  “Do we?” she asked, her eyes sliding to Vince. Based on his face, I’d say they didn’t.

  Bobby caught that too and chuckled. “It’s all just grist for the mill. Right, Vince?”

  Vince gave him a curt nod before steering Presley through the crowd and out of the club. Bobby watched me staring after them.

  “He’s pissed,” I said.

  “Of course he is,” Bobby said with a laugh. “Grimm will hand him his ass when your EP comes out.”

  I glanced at Rafe, who flashed me a smile. “Bobby Gee’s on the money, as usual.”

  It was clear that Rafe admired Bobby. It was also clear that the feeling was mutual.

  “But what about you?” I asked. “Vince will hand you your ass when Grimm is done with him.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “Shit, Jett, I didn’t breach my contract.”

  “But you set Bobby and me up,” I said. “And now Vince knows.”

  “Rafe has always had a fantastic ear for talent, but his loyalty to Grimm and Vince is irksome,” Bobby said, clapping his hands together, finding delight in our weird family strife.

  “Look, Vince and Grimm want me to show up and play, that’s it. Dion’s their money shot, just like Presley,” Rafe said. “I’ve brought them a bunch of musicians over the years—people I thought had the chops to be big—but they let them go. So I started taking the promising artists to Bobby.”

  “Vince doesn’t understand that rock bands age out. Anthem was an anomaly,” Bobby said. “It was only recently that he had to focus on his label within the Grimm empire, only because it took twenty years of multiplatinum albums before Anthem lost market share. The life span for bands is about five. Vince was lucky. The rest, not so much.”

  “Anthem will never have to do a reunion tour of county fairs,” Rafe added. “So he assumes the same for Rogue Nation. I hate to say it, but I don’t believe that. And I sure as shit have no interest in doing the fairground greatest-hits old-timer tour when I’m Vince’s age.”

  “You’ve got the talent,” I argued, but a pang of worry for Nikki’s future gnawed at me. I didn’t know much about the business side of music, but his assessment sounded painfully right.

  “Talent don’t matter, babe,” Rafe said, crossing his arms. “Fandom is a fickle thing, and it’s hard to cross generations and stay relevant over twenty years the way Anthem managed to.”

  “Rafe always has a job with me in A&R talent scouting, his own table when he’s ready,” Bobby said, clapping his hand on Rafe’s muscular shoulder. “The man has the keenest ear for talent I’ve ever witnessed. And I’ve been in this business a long damn time.” The band onstage was wrapping up their set, and that caught Bobby’s attention. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to confirm our drummer for our studio session. See you later.” Bobby disappeared through the crowd.

  “But—” I started after him, but Rafe grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Rafe! Let go. He’s my ride!”

  “Shit, lady, you think I’d just leave you here? We are going to the same damn destination.”

  I tripped after him, weaving around the mass of bodies that were no longer concentrated in front of the stage.

  “Aren’t you worried about Vince?” I asked while we waited in the bottleneck.

  “Vince wasn’t worried about me when he didn’t listen to my suggestions,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Look, Jett, it’s business. It just happens we’re in business with family, but it’s still business.”

  I pulled out my phone and looked at it, no text alerts animating its black screen. I wanted to believe it was just business, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head of Vince’s arm wrapped around Presley. Or her jealous anger that I was out with Bobby. It was her playacting with Vince that had landed me in this situation to begin with—Mom wouldn’t have gone DEFCON one on my ass if Presley hadn’t been playing at this shit with Vince. Then there’d have been no reason for me to go to Bobby’s label for some fast cash.

  “She’ll get over it,” Rafe whispered in my ear. He snaked his arm around my waist and propelled me through the exit. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  17

  I sank into the deep tub, bubbles nearly spilling over the sides, and groaned. My knees and back were bruised up and sore from the tussle with Presley. I wasn’t used to taking part in barroom brawls.

  There was a soft knock on the door, and Rafe opened it a crack. “You decent?”

  “Kind of,” I said, satisfied that the bubbles were covering me up enough. “You can come in.”

  He slipped into the bathroom with two glasses and a bottle of wine, settling onto the hard tile step that led to his decadent tub. Sounds of John Coltrane’s sensual sax spilled into the bathroom. He poured the wine and handed a glass to me.

  “You feel okay?” he asked.

  I rubbed where Presley pulled at my hair. “I’ll live,” I said. Truth was, I was exhausted, mentally and physically. And I was facing down one of my greatest fears tomorrow: fashion.

  “What’s in your head?” Rafe asked.

  “Nothing and everything,” I said, closing my eyes and groaning as my cell phone buzzed a text message at me. “I can’t even deal with whoever that is.”

  Rafe picked it up. “Damn, but you better. Nik is at The Dragon Lair looking for your ass.”

  “Shit,” I said, my eyes popping open. He turned the phone toward me. I saw Nik’s emoji-filled text, the angry devil repeating at various intervals.

  I leaned over the edge and dried my hands on the towel that waited beside the tub. Then I took my phone and texted back an apology, telling her that I was back at Rafe’s place.

  I paused, chewing on my lower lip. Then I went for it. Do U know wassup w/ Pres and Vince? I added.

  Rafe grabbed the phone out of my hand before I could hit send and read my message. “It’s none of our damn business,” he said, erasing it.

  “Easy for you to say.” I picked up my wine and took a gulp. “You weren’t kicked out of your house and UCLA.”

  He tilted his head and watched me, his body swaying slightly to Coltrane’s sound. “You’re right. It is easy for me to say. But whatever may or may not be going on with them doesn’t justify your mother’s reaction.”

  “She’s hurt,” I said. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  A smile tugged his lips up. “If I thought my daughter was banging my ex?”

  I groaned and slipped back into the tub, making sure the bubbles were still buoyant enough to keep my modesty. I glared at my silent phone. “And now Nik’s pissed at me too. At this rate, both of them will refuse to go into the studio with me anyway. Bye-bye, Satan’s Sisters. So fuck it. Right?”

  Rafe laughed. “Nik will get over it.”

  “I guess,” I said, sullen.

  “It’s none of our business,” Rafe said. “Vince and Presley. Not our business.”

  I snorted. “It sent my life into a death spiral. I think that makes it my business.”

  Rafe sipped his wine. “Pamela’s own booze- and pill-filled existence is not healthy for anyone to be around. Especially not Vince.”

  I stared at my wine and pushed down my knee-jerk response to protect my mother. “Party girl Pamela was always an addict,” I said. “Vince had to know that going in.”

  “Vince saw a hot woman with a great set of tits and kids of her own,” Rafe said. “Vince had three boys who he thought needed a mom. He married her for us.”

  My laugh was bitter. “How the hell could he look
at Pamela and see mother of the year? She shoved us into hotel closets so that she could party. At least Devlin had the good sense to take us out of that environment.”

  “Dev’s a good man,” Rafe said, smiling at the thought of the old roadie who saw us all through our teens. “Maybe Vince thought we all needed each other.”

  I raised my glass in a toast. “One great big dysfunctional Beverly Hills family. We should have our own fucking reality show.”

  “No shit,” Rafe said with a snort. “Ozzy and Sharon ain’t got nothing on us.”

  The intercom buzzed.

  “You expecting anyone?” Rafe asked.

  I shook my head. Rafe rolled his eyes, but he got to his feet.

  “Coming, Jeeves!” he shouted as he jogged out of the bathroom.

  With a sigh, I pulled myself out of the now-tepid water and wrapped the fluffy towel around me. I left the bathroom, trailing soap bubbles behind me, and got to the living room just in time to hear Rafe say “Send them up” to the doorman.

  “It’s Nik and Dion,” he said, his eyes following me as I headed to my duffle on the floor.

  “Great,” I muttered. “Why chew me out over texts when she can do it in person?”

  I plonked my wineglass on the coffee table and reached inside my bag to pull out an oversized T-shirt.

  “You and Presley had a catfight in the middle of The Dragon Lair. Then you blew the roof off the joint with that song. I don’t think you’re supposed to hang around after shit like that.”

  I yanked the shirt over my head, towel still wrapped around me. Rafe’s eyes didn’t leave me. “In the world according to Nikki, I should have. They dragged their asses through LA traffic, blah blah blah.”

  “She has a point about the LA traffic,” Rafe said. “Chill out, babe. Nik will be cool.”

  “Nik will so not be cool,” I said, raising my glass of wine. “She’s going to rip into me about Presley. You watch.”

  “Come on, Jett, she knows Presley can be a first-rate bitch.”

  “Yeah, but she’s determined that Satan’s Sisters won’t bust up,” I said. “Nik’s on a mission. And when Nik’s on a mission, you better watch your ass.”