Stealing Gold (The Logan Series Book 4) (2 page)

*****

“What
the hell are you doing?” Lester grabbed Stacy the moment she walked off stage,
and dragged her into a private corner. “For Christ’s sake, Stacy, this was an
opportunity for you to talk yourself up, not to mention your
ex
.” He
spat out the last word through thin lips. He grabbed her hand. “And you’re
wearing his ring—I thought you got rid of it. You should have been getting an
award this evening, not handing one out. You had an opportunity on stage
tonight to let your fans know you’re going back into the studio to record songs
they actually want to buy.” His lip curled.

She
tugged her hand away and crossed her arms. Had he always been so controlling? “I’ve
never spoken about my inspiration for
His Heart
. I wanted to acknowledge
him.”

“No
one cares. The song was a misstep better forgotten. And acknowledging Logan? Well,
that’s crap, and you know it. The guy was a cheating bastard.” Anger turned
Lester’s face red. “He did nothing for your career. Nothing but try to control
you.”

The
irony of Lester’s words almost made her crack.
Almost
. “I’m an adult,
Lester. I make my own decisions.”

Lester
puffed out a breath. “Sure.” His expression told a different story. “Okay.” He
patted her arm. “You’re tired. You need to take a break.” His teeth clenched
together in a smile so tight Stacy feared they might shatter. “Why don’t you relax
in your dressing room for a while? I’ve organized a car to take you back to
your hotel.”

“Hey,
Stacy!” Cole Tempest, the winner of the Best Male Artist Award strode toward them,
a grin on his handsome face. He enveloped her in a warm hug. “It’s so good to
see you.” He held her at arm’s length, and scanned her head to toe. You look
fantastic as always. Can I give you a lift to the after party?”

She
never went to after parties. Lester said there were too many opportunities for
bad press at them.

Lester
shook his head. “She has to catch a flight back to Nashville early tomorrow…”

“Hey,
it’s not every day that my ex-backing singer wins best Best Male Artist, I’d
love to go with you.” Stacy smiled at Cole. “I’ll just grab my stuff.”

She
left her fuming manager behind, and a few minutes later joined Cole and a
couple of members of his entourage in a stretch limo. He handed her a glass of
champagne. “Lester seemed uptight. I’m glad you decided to kick back and party
with me tonight.”

Cole
had been her backing singer for three years before he decided to step out from
behind her shadow and take the spotlight. Working together day and night and
spending long hours on the road together they’d become closer than
family—closer than she was to her own family anyway. She held her glass aloft. “Here’s
to you—and your well-deserved success. Your album is fantastic.”

Cole
slung an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, babe. How did the tour go?”

“It
was hard work, especially without you to drink with after the shows.” She
sipped.

“And
I’m guessing Lester has you booked into the studio to record another album
straight away.”

“Yeah,
well Lester and I are coming to blows on that one. I’ve been working on some
new material.” She glanced at Cole.

His
eyebrows rose. “Writing it yourself?”

“I
managed to persuade Star Records to allow me to record one of my own songs on
my last album.
His Heart
.”

“You
wrote that one?” Cole nodded approvingly. “That’s the best song on the entire
album; you should have released it as a single.”

“I
wanted to, believe me. But the record label wasn’t convinced. I had to
practically throw a fit to get the song on the album.”

Cole
was an artist she respected—one with real music savvy. The fact that he rated
the song was invaluable feedback.

“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 strict 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.