Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

JESSE

“ E vert’s in the studio and he needs to speak to you right away.”

I sighed and glanced up from my laptop, nodding at my assistant, Seema. “I’ll be down in five.”

Or maybe, not at all.

The last thing I needed was a run-in with Evert Jackson. He was a talented photographer, now on contract with our label, but he was also a bossy pain in the ass. I admired his creative drive but wrangling rockstars on a photo shoot was his problem, not mine. And he could handle it. He didn’t need my help. Besides, I had a shit-ton of work to get done. I had several Wayward Lane interviews to schedule, sponsor contracts to review, and press junkets to organize. Being a part of the planning team for the band’s upcoming world tour was the biggest project of my career. Managing bands was no easy feat but the work was my passion. Well, my second one.

“And there’s something else,” Seema stated and then paused, pursing her lips together.

“Yes?”

“Evert’s taking pictures of Hardwick head office staff for the tour junket. Averell arranged it with him. As a thank you and acknowledgement of everyone’s hard work.”

Averell Jones was the head of Hardwick Music’s marketing team. Cool guy. He was from the UK, smart, ambitious, if a little full of himself. But who wasn’t in this business? If you weren’t confident, you didn’t get anywhere.

“Okay, that’s great,” I replied.

“You’re scheduled in for today,” Seema continued.

Ah, no wonder she was hesitant to say anything. My assistant knew my aversion to having my picture taken.

I shook my head. “Nope. I told Evert at that press party in LA last year that was it. No more photo ops. I’m done.”

Truthfully, I didn’t mind the pictures. It was the articles that followed that always grated on my nerves. The press loved to rehash my past, on repeat. Every story started with ‘Former Ruthless Kane band member turned manager—’ Then there were the obligatory photos of me in my glory days. Not only me, but my bandmates; Landry, Waylan, and Seth. Without fail, there was always one of me and Landry, our arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world.

He didn’t. I did.

And looking at those photos was painful. I didn’t need a reminder of my old life. Not anymore. I’d left my rockstar persona behind fifteen years ago, along with my heartbreak. It was done. At least, that’s what I always told myself. I guess the fact that the pictures still bothered me meant the past wasn’t fully healed. Whatever. I didn’t have time to ruminate about it. Done was done.

But Evert wanting to take my photo left me unsettled. I was a manager now, not a musician. And no one—fans or press—needed to see my thirty-eight-year-old face.

“And don’t forget that Averell wants to see you in the boardroom at noon,” she added.

I nodded. “It’s in my calendar. Thanks, Seema.”

Seema wandered off and while I tried to focus on the task at hand, I couldn’t. Maybe it was stress catching up to me. Preparing for an eight-month world tour was gruelling, and I was working sixteen-hour days, seven days a week. The last thing I needed was a photo shoot. Getting made up and posing for some stupid picture that no one would be interested in viewing.

Irritated, I slammed my laptop shut and got up. One thing I knew for sure, I was going to nip this photograph issue right now. I grabbed my phone and headed for the door.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever and when I got out on the tenth floor, it was already buzzing with people.

When I entered the studio, the boys of Wayward Lane—Brodie, Holloway, Faise, and Ronin—were already dressed up, or rather, barely dressed, along with the guys from Killmine, another popular band the label represented. Killmine had rocketed to the top of the charts this year, and all the band members—Nate, Otis, Xander, and Heath—were great to work with. Well, except for the occasional drunken PR nightmare, but hey, that wasn’t unusual. Killmine had a soulful sound that played off nicely against Wayward’s more rambunctious rock. I oversaw both bands given they were co-headlining the world tour. Crazy didn’t even begin to describe my life at this point.

Glancing around the room, I noticed Bailey, Evert’s assistant, talking to the guys and changing lighting angles as the photographer himself barked out instructions. I stood in the shadows and waited, watched, as Evert turned a group of eight unruly guys into a scene that was hot as hell. I mean, you couldn’t go wrong with half-naked, oiled-up guys in tight leather pants, right? Evert knew our business; ratchet up the sex appeal and the fans will follow.

Of course, as so often happens, the guys couldn’t stand still for long. And Brodie, Wayward’s lead singer, could never resist launching a snarky comment.

“Hey Ev!” Brodie called out. “You like the group thing, eh? You sure you want the pants to stay on?”

That, of course, got the rest of them going, and then it was one dirty joke after another. Until Evert lowered his camera and shook his head.

“Brodie, if you don’t settle down, I’m going to add Van to the mix and let Nate sit on his lap.”

The mention of Brodie’s husband shut him up right quick. It was well known that Brodie was possessive of Van. I bit back a laugh at the lead singer’s surprised expression.

Finally, the guys quieted again and got back to posing as instructed. But, yeah, the scene was provocative. Any hotter in here and my glasses would fog up.

My eyes should’ve stayed focused on the guys, but I found the man behind the camera much more interesting to stare at. With long, dirty blond hair in his signature braid, and loads of tattoos, Evert fit right in with the bands he photographed. But it was the way he moved—graceful, with intention—that had me looking twice. Every time he raised his camera, or moved to stand close to his subject, his bracelets rattled, the chain on his belt loop too. And when Evert was in the zone, bringing his vision to life, he was as sensual as the images he captured.

Jesus, listen to yourself. You need a night off.

Suddenly, Evert leaned back and looked over his shoulder, staring right at me. I flinched and should’ve turned away, but I couldn’t. I stood there, frozen, like a deer in the headlights, or, a manager in the spotlight. Until Evert turned back to the set.

“Let’s get this done, boys,” Evert announced as he started clicking away. “I have a rare beauty to capture next.”

“Who’s prettier than us?” Ronin asked.

“Jesse, of course,” Evert replied.

Christ.

I stepped forward and when the guys spotted me, they started clapping. I, in turn, sauntered closer to the set, and gave them all a rude gesture they could clearly see.

“Don’t move,” Evert warned without looking at me. “You’re fucking up my concentration.”

“Sorry,” I muttered as I stopped short.

One thing I knew for sure; you never interfered with an artist’s muse.

“Bailey, please dim the overhead,” Evert called out. “And then take Jesse to hair and makeup.”

“No,” I replied.

“No?” Evert stopped and turned around again. His green eyes were bright with annoyance. Then it hit me— he wasn’t wearing his usual wire-rimmed glasses. “I think you meant to say ‘yes’. Everyone at head office is getting their photo taken. No exceptions.”

“I don’t know why?—”

“Stop talking, cari?o, and do as your told.”

“Bossy motherfucker,” I grumbled.

“You like it,” he returned, and my gaze caught on his confident smirk.

More specifically, on his lip ring. It made me wonder if he had other piercings and fuck, I did not need to go there.

“Admit it.”

“Nope,” I scoffed, ignoring the rapid beat of my pulse and the fact that I was starting to sweat. Must be the damn lights in here. “And in case you’ve forgot, I’m the one in charge.”

“Not in this studio,” Evert bit out and stepped closer.

My shirt was sticking to my skin.

“Either you go with Bailey now or I’m gonna put you in leather pants and slather your chest in oil.”

Evert’s comment resulted in claps and hollers from the guys, their laughter echoing loudly on the set. They were having way too good a time at my expense. My cheeks reddened but thankfully, I stepped back into the shadows. I bit my lower lip and willed myself to stay calm. Until I remembered that Evert was joining the world tour. Jesus, I had eight months of this to look forward to? Fuck me.

Bailey walked over and gave me knowing grin. “Come on, before Evert makes good on his promise.”

“Yeah, right,” I replied as I followed her.

I left leather pants and walking around half-naked along with my stage persona years ago. And I was not going back.

“He’s not kidding. He’d do it,” Bailey teased.

“I’d like to see him try.”

A vision of Evert stripping down my trousers and oiling up my body flashed through my mind. It was all too easy to imagine his skillful hands running over my skin and damn, I needed to shut that shit down. What the hell was wrong with me?

Instead of digging myself a deeper hole, I let Bailey guide me to the dressing room. The sooner this photo shoot was done, the better.

Then I could forget all about charismatic photographers, and feelings that were best left alone.