JAGGED: A Rockstar Romance Page 4

  Instead I said. "So you're from the famous Silver music family?"

  "Youngest daughter of," she sighed. "My dad is..."

  "I know who your dad is," I told her. "We've actually met a couple times. Nice bloke."

  "He's cool," she said in a small voice. "A little hyper-involved if you ask me."

  "Seems like the kind of guy who'd be hyper-involved in everything though, yeah?"

  Her other lip curled upward and now she was smiling for real. "Yeah," she said. "He's pretty intense."

  I've done a lot of drinking and partying in my day, but I've somehow managed not to kill off the few remaining brain cells that told me she was pretty sick of talking about her dad. So I just nodded. "Cool," I said. "What do you drink?"

  "You're a persistent one, aren't you?"

  "Musicians," I teased. "We're not too bright."

  "Don't I know it," she deadpanned. "Fine, if you're buying."

  "Isn't the label rep supposed to be paying for the talent?"

  She turned and leveled me with her gaze. "Who said you had any talent?"

  I laughed out loud. "Christ, let me get a drink into you, take some that edge off." We stood in front of the bar and I signaled for the massive bartender who did a full on double take when he saw me. "Whatever the lady is having," I told him.

  "Johnnie Walker," she said, and then wrinkled her nose at me. "Blue this time."

  I let out a low whistle. "The wee lass likes her Scottish whiskies?"

  She gave a smug grin and thanked the bartender. She sipped with obvious relish, closing her eyes and rolling it around in her mouth in a way that made me feel almost jealous. Of a drink.

  "Next time let me order for you," I told her. "There's loads better whiskies out there than this one."

  "Oh I know," she said, sipping demurely. "My father has a cellar full of Macallans."

  I raised an eyebrow. "The 1926?"

  She lifted her chin. "He and I actually drank one together for my twenty-first birthday."

  "Holy shite girl, how was it? Tell me everything."

  Her eyes grew softer. "It tasted like...like history. Like old things and traditions."

  I blinked at her. "Hell," I said. "Maybe I ought to have you write the lyrics for Wrecked from now on. That was poetry."

  She smiled prettily, taking another deep sip of her Scotch, but then her eyes grew laser sharp. "But you can't be Wrecked anymore," she reminded me. "Not the way things are now."

  "Aye, I know," I grimaced.

  "And you can't be Twat Yacht either."

  "Why the fuck not?" I laughed. "It's a perfectly wonderful name."

  She rolled her eyes. "Not if you want a career."

  "You're probably right about that. Shame, really."

  "What are your plans with that?" she asked, sipping her Scotch and watching me closely. "Speaking of your career."

  I drummed my fingers on the bar. "Truth be told? No fucking clue. Maybe we'll play more here and there. Get our sea legs."

  "But you need a new lead singer," she blurted. Then her eyes went wide and she clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh shit, sorry, I didn't mean..."

  "To tell the truth?" I laughed. "No, don't worry, I agree with you." I noticed her drink was getting low and signaled the bartender again. "Another round for the smart lady right here with the working eardrums."

  The bartender looked confused but poured her another round anyway. "Cheers," she said, raising her glass. "Wait, what do they say in Scotland?"

  "Dunno," I confessed. "My mum is Scottish, but my parents moved us to Newcastle when I was ten years old. So I got the brogue but none of the culture. The Geordies I ran with around Newcastle either say cheers or just get right to drinking without the fanfare."

  "Then let's do that," she said, lifting her glass to her lips. I watched her mouth close against the rim, her pink lips puckering ever so slightly, then the shadow across her lithe neck as she swallowed. Even in the low light of the back of the bar, she was so fucking pretty she took my breath away. She fell silent, her eyes far away, and for some reason her silence didn't bother me. Usually I'd be pacing, filling the silence with manic stories to make her laugh, but for some reason it seems okay to just be with CeCe.

  I was just working up the nerve to ask her more about her life when she set her drink down with loud thwack. "Ah shit," she suddenly moaned, leaning forward. I held out my hands to catch her on reflex and my fingers brushed electrically across her arm.

  "You okay?" I asked, vaguely worried.

  "I'm fine," she sighed. "I'm just getting drunker than I realized."

  Disappointment flooded my chest, but I shook it off. "Then let's go find your friend," I told her, gently lifting her to her feet and trying not to enjoy the way she sort of sagged against me. "What was her name again? May?"

  CeCe laughed. "Poor August. She gets those jokes constantly." She looked up at me with an impish gleam in her eyes. "Mostly from me."

  "Atta girl," I said, guiding her across the nearly empty floor. I was aiming towards the back and the green rooms, but I had to confess that I was walking much more slowly and with much more care than CeCe probably needed. I was enjoying the feel of her in my arms way too much to rush this. "That's a good lass, you're fine. Just over here now."

  I nodded to the security guard and then reluctantly pushed open the door, only to be greeted by the sounds of shouting on the other side.

  "Oh shit, that's August," CeCe mumbled as we rounded the corner. The sounds of a loud and angry argument quieted when we appeared.

  August's tear-filled eyes landed on me, and then onto the slumped and staggering CeCe. "Is she drunk?" she demanded.

  "Just a wee bit," I confessed, shooting a glance at the bewildered looking guitarist from the opening band, whose name I had already forgotten, who had been the focus of August's piercing rage.

  "Then let's go," she snarled, stomping over to collect her petite friend. I reluctantly let go of CeCe's arm, my fingers sliding across her smooth skin. "Thank you," August said to me. "And fuck you," she shouted over her shoulder in one parting blow to the greasy looking guitarist. Then she slammed open the backstage door, dragging CeCe out of my life, leaving me standing there wondering if I'd ever see her again.

  Chapter Seven

  Celia

  "So you started working with dad?" Adelaide asked, leaning back and sipping her Bellini on the wrought iron chair on the sidewalk.

  I took a deep breath. My head was still not right after last night and my hearing still hadn't fully recovered. But my standing brunch date with my sister was something sacred to the two of us.

  No matter how irritating she could be.

  "I'm not working with him," I corrected.

  "You know," Adelaide went on, ignoring me like she always did. "As your big sister, I'm like legally obligated to give you advice."

  I tried not to roll my eyes. Growing up, Adelaide had barely acknowledged our shared blood, much less her status as a potential role model. Older by nearly five years, she'd been on a different plane of existence from me from almost the day I was born. Adelaide was a tall and willowy while I was petite and curvy. Her white-blonde hair was naturally stick straight while I battled to keep my brown locks under control with an entire bathroom drawer full of products and heating tools. She'd floated above me, out of reach, for so long that I was still trying to get used to this new insistence on closeness. She'd started arranging these brunch dates almost the minute she got back from last year's honeymoon in Bali, like she suddenly remembered I existed now that the hard work of landing a rich husband was done.

  We had nothing in common, but I still loved her fiercely and a small, jealous part of me still yearned to be just like her, so I leaned forward a little more eagerly than I wanted to, waiting to hear what she had to say.

  "About you working with Dad."

  "Again," I repeated. "I'm not actually working with him. I haven't even seen him yet."

  "Oh you should totally pop by th
e head offices," she said with a wave of her hand. "Let the rest of the people working there see your face. See who you are."

  I winced and looked down at my crepe. As much as I yearned for it, my sister's advice was never actually worth taking, at least when it came to my career. She never had a problem taking whatever love in the form of gifts my father doled out. She loved being known as Ricky Silver's daughter, even going so far as to hyphenate her name when she married Trace Highsmith last year. Their ceremony was so over-the-top I cringed every time I saw the spread in the gossip magazines. "But I want you to know I think you're doing the right thing," Adelaide pressed on. "Slumming it at Crux? For no reason...?"

  "There was a reason!" I protested, leaning forward. My voice was loud enough to hurt my still tender head. Several expensively blown out heads swiveled my way. We were out to brunch at Adelaide's favorite place, sitting on the sidewalk so we could be seen eating together, maybe a passing paparazzi would pick up the photograph.

  God I hated places like this. Give me a dive bar, where the wood floor smelled of six decades worth of spilled beer, and a raucous live band full of dreams and not much musicianship clamored in my ears. That's the place I felt most at home. Not here in this rarefied little Park Avenue bubble.

  "I still can't believe you got fired though," Adelaide giggled. "Didn't your boss know who you are?"

  I froze, and set down my fork slowly before wiping my face with the napkin. "No," I said slowly.

  Her face froze in a mask of confusion. She raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow, and I had no choice but to explain.

  "I use Grandmother's last name," I explained. "When I applied for the internship?" I bit my lip, feeling a small twinge of disloyalty. I hadn't reveled my secret life to anyone but August up until last night. For some reason, I'd told Ewan Boyd from Wrecked — or rather, Twat Yacht — my secret before my own sister. And for some even stranger reason, that didn't seem like an odd thing at all. I allowed myself a private grin into my drink as I remembered the way his dimple carved into his left cheek. The warmth of his brogue had wrapped around me like a blanket, making me feel safe enough to spill the awkwardness of my dual life. I still felt that heat almost a day later.

  "So wait," Adelaide said, leaning forward. "Your boss didn't know you were Ricky Silver's daughter?"

  I shook my head. "No. To him I was CeCe Gilbert."

  Her eyes widened. "Nobody knew?" she said.

  I was starting to get irate. "I know it's hard to believe," I said testily. "But I kind of want to live my life on my own terms. See what I'm capable of, without anyone's help."

  Adelaide nodded. "But you want to work in music," she said in a lilting little singsong.

  I sighed heavily. "Yes."

  She shook her head, grinning, and knowing she had me in her trap. "But you don't want to work in the family business."

  "No," I said emphatically. "I don't."

  She sat back, triumphant. "CeCe. Music is the family business. There is no escaping who you are."

  My shoulders slumped. "That's the problem," I whined. "Just once, I wanted to be anonymous, to be judged on my own merits, and not those of my family."

  Adelaide was listening carefully, but I could tell she didn't understand at all. How could she? "As painful and awkward as it was being Roger's intern," I elaborated. "At least he had no idea who I was and also seemed not too worried about learning."

  "That has to be why he fired you, since he thought you were expendable," Adelaide sniffed.

  "No Dell, that's my whole point. I am expendable. At least as far as he was concerned. A musician demanded someone's head on a platter and I was convenient enough to be offered up in sacrifice."

  "A musician, huh? Sounds like the guy was an asshole, who was he?"

  "Ewan Boyd," I told her, feeling my cheeks flame for some reason. "And he's actually not an asshole. I ran into him last night and he apologized."

  "For getting you fired? He'd better."

  "He insisted on buying me a drink," I went on, unable to keep from smiling at the memory.

  Adelaide noticed my dreamy expression with the laser-like focus of a big sister. "Oh my god, C, do you have a thing for the talent?" She leaned forward breathlessly. "I would have thought you'd figured this out by now, but that is absolutely the last thing you want to do in this business."

  I narrowed my eyes at her, confused. "Wait, isn't that what you did with Trace?"

  She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Trace and I met at a gala. We've never worked together."

  "You have your own production company," I pointed out.

  She shook her head. "You're missing the point. The point is, that we didn't start out working together. That's like, the kiss of death. Think about Mom."

  I set my fork down. "Don't worry about me, Dell," I reassured her. "I'm probably never even going to see him again. His band is in shambles. They don't have any label representation now, hell I don't think they even have a manager any more. They're floundering around playing bar gigs." I paused for a second, remembering. "Which is a damn shame too."

  "They're good?"

  "Fucking amazing. Honestly." I looked down and saw that my hand was shaking ever so slightly with excitement and slipped it under my thighs to sit on it. "They've got that kind of sonic wall thing going on, like Phil Spector but with hard rock."

  "Sounds awful," my folkie sister sniffed.

  I laughed. "I know. I saw one of their shows last night and they are definitely not your taste. My ears are still ringing." I shifted, freeing my hand to drum my fingers on the table, unable, it seemed to stop wiggling around in my seat like a schoolgirl in church. "They were the best thing I've seen in a while," I confessed. "And they aren't even all the way together yet."

  "Sounds like they could use some artist development," my sister said casually.

  I blinked. "I know."

  "Don't worry," Adelaide said, a canny expression on her face. "If they're that good, I'm sure some enterprising A&R rep will snap them right up, and you won't have to worry about your little crush on the asshole anymore."

  I picked up my fork again and stabbed it into my poached egg, watching the runny yolk bleed out onto my plate. "He's not an asshole," I mumbled, ready to start listing his merits as a person even at the same time I was wondering what in the hell I thought I knew about the guy.

  Of course I'd read the press. The breakup of the band and the drama that surrounded to the two lead singers as they battled it out in court was almost impossible to avoid. But that was all happening around Ewan. And in spite of his proximity to everything, I got the very clear sense that he and the rest of the guys had been wholly shut out of the personal drama surrounding Killian Ness and Jane Doe, whose real name had just been revealed in the court documents. They knew something was wrong, that much was clear, but did not know the extent of it any more than we had at Crux. That is, until Jane came to me last September.

  Just then my cell phone trilled in my satchel bag, interrupting my brooding over my egg. "Sorry," I said as I checked the caller ID, "it's August, do you mind?"

  "Tell her I said hi," my sister said, seemingly relieved for the chance to check her own phone.

  "Hey!" I said into my phone. "Are you seriously actually calling me? Is your texting finger broken?"

  Her only reply was a sharp inhale. "August?" I said worriedly.

  "I know you always hated Noah," she blurted.

  My cheeks flamed. "That's not true."

  "No it is," she said. "But it's fine because you were right all along. He's a deadbeat asshole who never appreciated how fucking awesome I am."

  My heart did a backflip even as I tried to keep my voice level. "I never said..."

  "You didn't have to. You're shit at hiding your emotions. I heard what you were saying loud and clear, even when you didn't say it." She sighed loudly. "I was blinded by his guitar."

  I laughed. "You always were a sucker for a guy and a Gibson."

  "It's a c
urse," she said then trailed off for a moment before continuing. "So! I chopped the deadweight! I'm a free woman and I want to celebrate!"

  I grinned. "Name the place and time," I said, trying not to sound as giddy as I was feeling. Noah was the fucking worst, a psychic leech feeding off her energy and I could almost hear her returning to normal as we talked.

  "I'll text you," she said. "I have a plan, but I need to do some thinking first."

  "Okay Miss Cryptic," I pouted, glancing up at my sister who was wide-eyed and ready to hear the gossip. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." I grinned. "Like you always do."

  "My plan for world domination may well be starting now," August declared. "Get ready."

  "I'm ready," I cried. "Let's do this."

  "Do what?" Adelaide asked once I'd hung up.

  I shrugged. "August got rid of the man-anchor around her neck. Says this is the first step towards her eventual world domination."

  "And you're helping?" my sister asked with an impish grin.

  "Every world emperor needs a feisty sidekick," I said, giving her my most evil smile. I had no idea what August had in mind for tonight and I couldn't wait to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  Ewan

  I slung my guitar case to the ground and stretched my fingers out one by one. "This place is starting to feel like home," I remarked.

  "Nicer than my home," Jules said, turning to take in the battered green plaid sofa, the folding chairs that looked like someone had take a pipe wrench to them and the mirrored wall reflecting our own sallow and exhausted looking faces back to us. "Which, I will be the first to admit, is a sad confession to make."

  "Sad, yes," Niall said, looking up from lovingly retuning his bass. He refused to let any roadies touch it even back when were on the top of our game and seemed wholly content to continue with that now that we were back playing the bars again. "But surprising? No."

  "I told you, I'm shite with money," Jules laughed, spreading his hands like there wasn't a damn thing he was going to do to change that fact either. "Which is why I made you sorry lot come out and play here a second night in a row. I've got a stack of bills up to my neck and one very fidgety accountant."