Stealing Gold (The Logan Series Book 4) Read online

“I guess it’s different for you,” Cole said. “You have an established career and a huge following. They’re probably reticent to mess with a winning formula.”

  He was right, but she was sick of being a product. Sick of being packaged. “I can’t keep recording material I don’t feel.”

  Cole looked into her eyes. “Sometimes you have to take a chance. Walk your own path.”

  Was she brave enough to stick to her guns and risk everything? Lester seemed so sure that her fans wouldn’t love her new songs, but if they were good enough to sell, they were good enough for her to record. She breathed in deep.

  “They’ll have to listen to me or I’ll walk.” She swallowed the last mouthful of her champagne. “If I lose my job can I come be one of your backing singers?”

  Cole laughed. “Of course. I’d have you in a shot.”

  “I’ve roughly recorded half an album. When it’s ready, would you listen to it and give me your honest opinion?” Nerves shredded her stomach. No one had heard the songs she’d laid down on her portable recording setup, and it had been so long since she’d had to prove herself in the business she felt like a virgin on a first date. When she’d come to the award ceremony it had been to fulfill an obligation. She’d been so tired after the tour she hadn’t even thought that it might present an opportunity.

  But Cole was the only man—the only person—she would trust to give her objective, true feedback on the new material.

  “Email it to me, I can’t wait to hear it.” Cole pulled her close and hugged her. “You’re a fantastic musician. If Lester and your record label can’t see that and don’t want to join you on your journey down a new musical direction, they’re fools.”

  *****

  Sean wasn’t one for histrionics—in all the years he and Adam had been friends, he’d barely broken a sweat in fraught situations—but Mitta’s gyrations had dented his composure. Big time.

  They’d spent an hour on Skype, and still hadn’t brainstormed a solution.

  “There must be another singer who could do it.”

  Sean sighed. “It can’t just be anyone. Mitta had everything we needed. Sweet, pre-teen friendly, a good voice…” He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. “I placated Plaxair saying we had another prospect we were holding in reserve.” His mouth curved in a sheepish grin. “Baffle them with bullshit, huh?”

  “How long do we have to produce a replacement?”

  “Ten hours—maybe twelve.” Even through the monitor, the gleam in his eyes was apparent. “Stacy was looking good.”

  Sean was one of the only people outside his family who knew of his short-lived marriage.

  Oh no. Adam shook his head. “Don’t even think about…”

  “She’d be bloody perfect.” Sean held up a hand to stop Adam interrupting. “I know you two have your issues, but the two executives from Plaxair I Skyped with earlier both suggested her as an alternative. If we could sign her our problems would be over.”

  Adam woke early the following morning. Even though he was exhausted, he’d slept fitfully, unable to relax into a deep sleep because thoughts of Stacy plagued him.

  He’d told Amy he wasn’t interested. But curiosity had him on edge. And the fact that both Sean and Plaxair were enamored of Stacy as a potential Mitta replacement complicated the situation. If nothing else, he wanted to have five minutes with her. Five minutes where he could tell her exactly what he thought of her. He rubbed the back of his head and swore aloud. But if he did that he’d be revealing a lot more than he wanted. She’d learn—if she were in any doubt—just how much he’d loved her. Just how much she’d hurt him.

  If he had five minutes with her, he should act indifferent. Otherwise, he’d be like a puppy rolling over to reveal his vulnerable underside.

  He poured himself a cup of black coffee and shoved a couple of waffles into the toaster.

  His cell phone rang.

  “Yeah.”

  “Barney Meisner at Plaxtair has jumped the gun and contacted Star Records, Stacy’s label,” Sean said. “Apparently they had a board meeting and decided they want Stacy for the part, and Barney was told to make it happen. He was bitching that they had to give Star Records a lot of concessions, including a cut of the profits of the soundtrack, but it looks like it’s a go. Prepare yourself.”

  Adam’s hands curled into fists. Working with Stacy. Being with Stacy, day after day. Having to breathe the same air, make small talk. His teeth gritted.

  “Does she know I’m involved?”

  “From what I understand, Stacy hasn’t even been informed about the deal yet; Barney said he’d cleared it with the head of Star Records and Stacy’s manager. I guess she doesn’t have much say in her career.”

  Some things never changed, then.

  Chapter Two

  There was a hammering in her head. Stacy shoved her head under the pillow and compressed the soft feathers around her temples.

  The hammering continued.

  Her mouth tasted sour, as if something had crawled in there and died. With a groan, she tossed away the pillow, and stepped out of bed.

  “Stacy!”

  She stumbled to the door and opened it.

  “I’ve ordered breakfast.” Lester strode into her hotel suite as if he owned it. “I have news.” His white hair stood up straight on top, as though he’d been spiking his hands through it. He was flushed, eyes wide and unable to stand still.

  This better be good news.

  “I should get dressed.”

  “Just grab a robe.”

  Before she had a chance to close the door, a young, uniformed guy pushing a catering trolley was there. “Your breakfast, Miss Gold.” His gaze flickered to her half-exposed cleavage and he flushed red right to his hairline.

  “Could you deal with this, Lester?” She gifted the flustered waiter a smile, and retreated to her bedroom.

  When she returned, the door was closed.

  She poured two cups of coffee, took one and sat down.

  “I had a call last night from an executive at Plaxtair Studios.” Lester bristled with enough energy and excitement to power a small city. “They want you for a movie!”

  A movie? She’d never even taken acting lessons. “I’m not an actress. I don’t know the first thing about acting.” She swallowed a mouthful of coffee, and eyed the pot, wondering if she were still asleep and this was some weird, tequila-fueled dream.

  “You don’t need to.” Lester’s smile was shark wide. “They want your voice. To voice a character in a cartoon…” He shook his head. “No, they call them animated features now. They are partnering with a small Irish film studio to produce an animated feature about a singing squirrel.”

  Stacy pinched her inner elbow. Ouch. Not dreaming.

  “I think I need more coffee.” She drained her cup, and poured a fresh one. A singing squirrel. If she’d ever dreamed about voicing an animated character, it would have been a Princess or a superhero, not a goddamned rodent with a fluffy tail.

  What else had he said? Ireland?

  Ireland. Her mind drifted. She twisted the ring that was still on her finger. They’d always planned to take a trip back to the land of Adam’s birth—his big Irish family had been cheated out of a wedding and he’d teased that they’d have to hold a rerun to quench his mother’s often-voiced bitter disappointment.

  To go to Ireland under these circumstances was a pale substitute.

  “Are you listening?”

  She glanced at Lester. “Shoot.”

  Lester talked like a man shot full of coke, words rushing from his mouth in a rapid, breathless stream. “They called me, and then they called Clint Bailey. Then Clint called me to thrash out the details. They’ve made it very attractive for Star Records to allow you to work with them on this project, and have offered a very lucrative contract with an upfront bonus if you can start straight away. Apparently Mitta Jewel was chosen for the part, but after her performance last night, she was dumped. The contract has a str
ict morality clause. Stripping on stage was a deal breaker.”

  He clapped his hands together. “The tour is over. I know you were planning to take some time to relax, but where better to relax than Ireland?”

  He was acting as though this deal was already done. And she was pretty sure it was, but being told, rather than being asked, wasn’t making her feel like a woman in charge of her destiny. “How long do I have to consider it?”

  That wiped the smile off Lester’s face. “What do you mean, consider it? This deal—this is the deal of a lifetime, Stace.”

  She lifted the silver lid off the salver on the tray. Her stomach roiled at the rising scent of fried eggs. Shoving it back on, she selected a piece of dry toast instead. “I haven’t even been home yet.” She longed for her neglected Nashville house; hotel living had lost its appeal months ago. “When’s our flight?”

  Lester’s lips compressed. “There’s a problem.” He avoided her eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you yesterday because you’d only just finished touring, but a pipe sprung a leak in your house and I have a team of workmen redecorating. I’ve rented you a nearby apartment for a couple of weeks until you can return home. The bulk of your possessions have been put into storage.”

  “Oh my god.” The thought of strangers in her home made her feel sick. “I better go and check that out.”

  Lester shook his head. “It’s all in hand. They’re just repainting, no new paint colors or anything. Don’t worry yourself with that. We need to nail down this Plaxtair deal. They’re printing out a contract right now in their offices downtown. We have an appointment this afternoon to sign before we fly to Nashville.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I’m beginning to feel pushed around like a chess piece.” The hours spent partying last night had been fun at the time, but she was now regretting them. “I had plans, Lester. I’ve been working so hard, not only on the tour, but also on writing my new songs.” She indulged the urge to glare. “Being told yesterday that you weren’t even sharing them with Clint hurt.”

  “Look. You want something, and we want something. Let’s talk.”

  When had we become a collective term for Lester and Clint rather than Lester and her?

  “I want you to present my songs to Clint. When this movie is done, I want to return to Nashville and record them. I’ll play the squirrel, and in return, you guys let me grow as an artist.” She clenched her teeth and held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  For a long moment, Lester was silent. Then he stood, and extended his hand to shake hers. “Deal.”

  A car picked them up at the hotel a couple of hours later. Stacy’s bodyguard, Apollo, accompanied them. Stacy signed a couple of autographs for fans lurking in the lobby on the way out, and Lester settled the bill. The receptionist handed him an envelope. He ripped it open, and after reading the contents, glanced around the lobby as though looking for someone.

  “Everything okay?”

  He was sweating. Agitated, but trying to hide it.

  “Fine.” He shoved the note into his pocket. “Just, uh, something I have to finalize before I leave town. If it runs over, it might just be you and Apollo returning to Nashville, I’ll take a later flight.”

  He was acting weird. She touched his arm, but he flinched away, so she let her arm drop to her side. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Positive. Let’s go.” The plastered on smile might fool some, but it didn’t fool her. Lester had been like a father to her for a decade—she knew when he was lying.

  The drive to Plaxtair’s offices didn’t take long, and they were ushered immediately into Barry Meisner’s office.

  He strode from behind his large smoked glass desk, and enveloped both of Stacy’s hands in his. “I’m so glad you have agreed to work with us. You’re going to love it. Our partners in this venture, Boxfield, are a small animation production company, but they’re very talented. Bibi’s Big Adventure is going to be huge.” He led her to his desk and pulled out a chair. Lester sat next to her while Apollo stood with his back against the wall.

  Barry called in his assistant to witness the signing, and after a minimum of small talk the deal was done. While the assistant put copies for her and Lester into envelopes, Barry grabbed his checkbook and scrawled on a check. He blew on it, waved it in the air to dry the ink, and slid it across the table to Stacy.

  “A signing bonus for you for deciding so quickly. We’ve organized flights to Ireland for you and your bodyguard on Wednesday.”

  “Apollo’s coming too?”

  “There will be no need of Apollo’s services in Ireland, so he’ll just accompany you during the flight. Boxfield will take it from there.” Barry walked them to the door. “The car will take you to the airport now. Once again, Stacy, we’re so happy to be working with you.”

  *****

  It felt wrong to arrive in Nashville and not drive home, but it had been a long six months for both her and Apollo, so she agreed when he said he’d drive her to her new rental.

  “Lester was acting weird,” Apollo’s deep voice rumbled.

  “I thought so too.” She rubbed the back of her neck. Something felt off. Her spidey senses were tingling. “Is everything okay with him? He didn’t look well.”

  “I’ve heard talk he has a heart condition.”

  She stared, surprised. “I don’t know anything about that. Where did you get that from?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I dated his secretary for a while and she let it slip.”

  That note Lester had got at the hotel. No. That couldn’t be it. If Apollo were right, he’d be seeing a doctor in Nashville, not LA.

  “We’re here.” Apollo stopped outside a modern condo. They were met by the Super who handed Stacy a key and accompanied them upstairs. It was strange to see her possessions in an unfamiliar apartment, and Stacy barely paid attention as the Super walked her around, explaining how everything worked.

  When they were alone again, Stacy turned to Apollo. “We both have a lot of things to do before Wednesday. You should go home.”

  Apollo nodded. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Once he’d left, she located a power point and plugged in her laptop and cell phone to charge. One of Lester’s employees had readied the apartment for her arrival. Fresh flowers filled a cut glass vase in the middle of the dining room table, and the fridge was full of food. Months of sleeping during the day, combined with the aftereffects of partying the previous night were catching up with her, so she wandered into the bedroom, stripping off clothes on the way.

  She might not be home, but at least she could sleep in her own bed.

  She pulled back the coverlet she’d bought on a trip to Mexico a couple of years ago, smoothed a hand over the white satin sheets, climbed in and closed her eyes.

  She woke early the following morning, showered, then made breakfast in her new kitchen. The new place wasn’t so bad. By the time she came back from the film job in Ireland her house would be ready and she’d be home again. She propped her bare feet on an adjoining chair, and wondered what the rest of her band was doing. It felt weird to be without them. They’d been living in each others pockets for months and when the tour ended they’d scattered to their homes all over the States. Unlike her, they had family they were desperate to see again, friends, lovers, wives, husbands.

  She’d never been great at socializing, and Lester’s over protective behavior had made things worse. In all the years she’d been his client she’d barely had any free time or vacations. She shoved her plate aside and replaced it with her laptop to check her email.

  A message from the company in charge of her tour made her reach for her cell phone.

  “Stacy Gold calling for Ben Jackson.”

  She was put through immediately.

  “Are you home, Stacy?” Ben cut straight to the point.

  “I’m in Nashville, my house is being renovated…” She was rambling. “What’s going on, Ben? Your email said there�
�s an emergency.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. Can you come to my office?”

  The previous day, the Super had revealed her car was parked in the underground car park under the condo. “Sure.” It beat sitting around feeling sorry for herself. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  *****

  “How long have you been in these offices?” Stacy walked over the silver stars woven into the navy carpet to Ben Jackson’s oversized chrome and glass desk.

  Ben met her halfway. “A couple of years.”

  A couple of years. Had it really been so long since she’d visited Kickin’ Music Tours’ offices? She guessed it had been. The tour came under the umbrella of business. And business was Lester’s remit. “Better late than never.”

  With a smile, Ben led her to a sofa. “Would you like something? Coffee? Tea?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  He made a discreet call to his secretary and ordered some. “You’re one of our most dedicated artists. An eight month tour…” He shook his head from side to side, admiration shining in his eyes. “Damn impressive for a solo artist.”

  The secretary arrived with the coffee, and made her escape.

  Then Ben got to the crux of the matter. “What do you want first, the good news, or the bad news?”

  Ben Jackson had been organizing Stacy Gold’s tours for close to a decade—he should know her well enough by now to realize she always wanted to know the downside. The snags. The unpalatable truths.

  “Bad.” She crossed her legs. “Just give it to me.” A bunch of monkeys on trampolines bounced in her stomach. She’d been on the last leg of her European tour when she received a phone call from Ben last week. Dashing from city to city with barely enough time to register what country she’d landed in, never mind see any sights. Worn out and exhausted, she’d been concerned when he said he need to talk to her, not Lester, about something important.

  She reached for the cup his secretary placed before her. Drank. And acknowledged it would take more than a gallon of coffee to make her feel human after the whirlwind of recent activity.