“You won’t.” Drew grinned.
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like that smile.”
“Nobody does,” Zane muttered. “He does it on purpose.”
“Spill.” I eyed Drew. “What did you do?”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Please let that be pizza,” I muttered.
“Highly doubt that, bro.” Zane slapped me twice on the back. “What Drew wants, he gets, and he wants you to play. Your songs are the reason their last album sold over five million in pre-sales. So just…go with it. Or try.”
That was the problem.
I’d been trying.
And I still felt like I was going crazy.
I wasn’t sleeping at night.
I couldn’t check social media without seeing my name or the incident trending. And I refused to watch the news.
Too much hatred.
Too much sadness.
Too many shots of my shell-shocked face and bandaged leg.
A woman in her early twenties walked into the room and hugged Drew. She had on a black pencil skirt and a tuxedo jacket that looked as if it belonged in an expensive store. One that I refused to shop at because spending more than fifty dollars for a T-shirt was wasteful.
The soft click of her patent leather heels made it feel like I was getting walked toward the plank, and then her eyes locked with mine.
She had jet-black hair that went past her chin, icy blue eyes, and full, red lips that begged for a man to suck.
I almost asked if they got me an escort.
As if that would cheer me up.
Hell, I was losing it. Even the idea of sex with a hot girl made me want to run headfirst into the ocean.
“Braden…” Drew cleared his throat, that creepy damn smile still in place. “Meet Piper Rayne.”
I hesitated for a minute and then held out my hand.
One arched eyebrow lifted before she shook.
I ignored the weird pulse between our palms and simultaneously wondered how Drew would feel if I just bolted out the window.
Our hands dropped.
I cleared my throat. “Do you, uh, work for the band?”
“Management,” she said in an almost robotic tone. “Okay, gentlemen, I think I’ll take things from here. We’ll see you in a few weeks.”
It was then that I noticed her suitcases—plural—at the door to my rented beach house.
“Wait.” I grabbed Zane, only to have him give me a panicked look that said you’re on your own.
“Drew!” I clenched my teeth. “What the hell, man?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, and she’s the best. You have twenty-one days to get him ready to tour.”
“We’ll be fine,” she said smoothly.
“Look, lady, no offense.” I held up my hands. “But I don’t know you, and you sure as hell aren’t staying in my house with your giant Louis Vuitton luggage and condescending attitude and—”
“Contract,” Drew interrupted. “It states in your contract we’re allowed to intervene, and you must exhaust all options before you pull out of the tour.”
“Oh yeah?” I sneered, suddenly angry. “And what’s she? A shrink?”
“Don’t be silly.” She smirked. “I’m your new life coach.”
I had just enough time to glare at Drew’s and Zane’s disappearing forms before the door closed with a resounding click.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“If you do,” she informed me with a grin, “you’re in breach of contract. Put up with me, and the band won’t be forced to sue you. Now where shall I put my bags?”
Rage filled me and affected my vision. “Pick a room.”
“Why don’t you pick one for me? Oh, and sorry, they’re a bit heavy. I’m not a light packer. I’ll just go search for some wine. It was a long flight.”
And just like that, Piper Rayne, life coach and pain in the ass, invaded my kitchen.
And my life.
Chapter Two
Piper
He looked older than I assumed. I mean, I was nearly twenty-seven, and I knew he was twenty-four, so in my mind, I assumed he’d be this scrawny, just-graduated, college-looking dweeb with a guitar pick stuck between his teeth, a solid subscription to Proactiv, and exactly five hairs on his upper lip that he claimed was his ‘stash.
Not the case.
I took a sip of wine—the guy at least had good taste—and glanced around the large room. I had a balcony that overlooked the ocean, a closet to die for, and even though the room was stark white and a bit bare, I immediately loved it. I wasn’t one for lots of knickknacks. I liked solid colors, a good streamline, and Braden’s beach house had that in spades.
Braden… Just saying his name in my head reminded me of that firm handshake and the way his red hair fell over his perfectly sculpted face as his lips pressed together in a full line. Why did guys always get the strong jawlines and full lips? I shook my head and took a calming breath. My suitcases were in front of the bed. I knew before I left LA that I’d need to put on a bit of armor since I was working with a younger singer. I just didn’t expect…him.
I opened the first suitcase and saw that my black clothes were all still neatly folded.
Black was easy.
It matched at all times.
Was extremely slimming.
Hid stains.
And always looked on point when I was traveling.
Then again, I’d been living out of a suitcase for longer than usual considering the blow-up with my ex-boyfriend. I gritted my teeth then tried to focus on the positive.
New client who just needed to get over some stage fright.
Piece of cake.
I let out a snort just thinking about the poor rock star in the living room with his ginger hair, dimpled smile, many tattoos, ripped, gray T-shirt and distressed jeans.
Did he own any clothing that didn’t have holes in it?
Yeah, he was the exact opposite of order and organization.
When my boss called and said that he was tossing me into more celebrity-filled waters, I automatically went into work mode. I wrongly assumed that it would be some actress who needed direction or had a meltdown on set. Maybe an actor struggling through a life crisis, or someone who’d just had enough of the lifestyle and needed a good, solid life plan outside of being told what to do every single second of every single day.
I’d never once in my life dealt with anyone from the music industry. The firm I worked with was private, discreet, and catered to wealthier clients who, after realizing every goal they set out to accomplish, often became depressed with their lives and needed to find direction. A purpose outside of what used to be their passion. And nothing on Earth was more gratifying than witnessing that moment.
It was like a sunset that took your breath away.
The first snow.
Birth.
It was like someone shouting “hallelujah” in the middle of church.
People always talked about the moments in their lives, the ah-ha ones. And lucky for me, I was almost always the one who helped facilitate that with my clients.
It was what I did.
Normally, I loved that part of my job.
Which again brought me back to the present.
How the heck was I supposed to help a singer who’d, if the media was to be believed, had a meltdown on stage after someone used his concert as a way to make a personal statement by way of violence? It didn’t help that loud noises triggered him now, and concerts were notoriously loud.