Fire (The Creed Legacy #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

HENDRIX

“Do you want me to beg?” I ask the man staring at me from across the desk. “’Cause I will. I’ll get down on my knees right here in the middle of this office and fucking beg.”

He scrubs a hand down his face and exhales tiredly. “Jesus.”

“Come on. I never ask for anything.” His bushy, silvery brow rises in amusement, like, are you fucking kidding me, and I quickly amend my statement. “I mean, I never ask for anything anymore. Grown-up, remember?”

“Hendrix.” The way he says my name is sort of like the long sigh you let out when you finally reach the end of a particular grueling work week.

It’s the same exact pitch and tone I would hear all those years ago when he caught me stealing candy from the pantry before dinner.

Or erasing my chores off the whiteboard, only to put them under my little brother’s name instead.

“Why?” I demand. “Give me one good reason.” I lean forward in the plush leather chair, the familiar smell both comforting and annoying. I’ve been in this office more times than I can count.

Pretty sure my feet couldn’t touch the ground the first time I sat in this chair.

Growing up, this place has always felt like a second home.

It kind of has to be when your last name is plastered on the front of the building.

But I’m not that kid who used to scribble naughty words on the conference room whiteboard anymore.

I’m an adult—one who could sit across from Lance Creed as an equal.

Or, at least, I thought I could.

The man in front of me sighs and runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. His beard is freshly trimmed, and he wears one of his prized vintage concert tees—the ones he collected decades ago while traveling the globe to make a name for himself.

“It’ll look bad,” he argues.

I glance around the spacious office. Awards, accolades, and photos of famous musicians adorn every inch—musicians who owe their fame to the man in front of me. My father, Lance Creed, owner of the Creed Agency.

The myth. The legend. The Crusher of Dreams.

My eyes focus on one face, particularly on his wall of fame, and I grin.

“Didn’t seem to matter with Zander.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.

His gaze narrows as it lands on the same photo of him and Zander at the VMAs. My dad’s arm is stretched over Zander as he clutches that little moon man in his hand. “That was different. He wasn’t family when I signed—”

I smile as he realizes his mistake. I cross my arms over my broad chest. Those familiar blue eyes, almost identical to mine, seem to soften, making him resemble more the man who raised me than the man I work for.

“Come on, Dad. I know that’s not what this is about.

You’ve offered to sign me more than once, and you never gave a shit that I was your son.

” And I know he’s probably thinking the same thing as me.

If I had taken him up on his offer, maybe I wouldn’t have fucked up so royally that I’d need to grovel in my father’s office like a child.

At least he’s kind enough not to mention it.

He frowns. “I did, but you never wanted my help. So why now? What’s changed?”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, unwilling to reveal the real reason. So I shrug and stick with the obvious. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, Dad. How often does a band like this need a hired gun?”

“This band?” He scoffs. “A lot, apparently.”

I chuckle. “Okay, yeah. Manic at Midnight may be a bit of a mess, but they’ve never needed a bass guitarist. This is my chance. This gig was made for me.”

He stares at me for a moment. Then another, until he finally says, “Look, Hendrix, I’m gonna be honest with you.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

The look he gives me indicates that he doesn’t believe me for a second, yet he carries on regardless.

“Manic is a total shitshow.” He levels me with a weary glance. “Has been for a while. I thought they were back on track after that whole thing with Mitch…”

My foot starts bobbing in annoyance. “I don’t need a recap, Dad. They lost their lead guitarist. Then they signed Zander. My best friend became famous. I was there, remember?”

It isn’t exactly something you forget. Your best friend, roommate, and honorary brother is out there living his best life as a session guitarist, hopping from one gig to the next until one day, he gets the gig.

Manic to Midnight, one of the biggest bands on the planet, needed a lead guitarist to fill in for their tour after a major scandal forced them to kick one of their original bandmates to the curb.

Suddenly, he goes from a hired gun to a full-fledged member in a matter of months.

Now, his name and face are plastered fucking everywhere.

That was two years ago, and since then, he’s traveled the globe, performed in front of millions, and oh, married the love of his life and had a beautiful baby girl.

I’m fucking ecstatic for the guy, but in that same span of time, all I’ve accomplished is some mediocre session work in the studio.

Oh, and my all-important job as my father’s assistant. Can’t forget that.

To say I’m a little jealous is an understatement.

I’m dying to get my chance in the spotlight, but I’m stubborn.

I’ve refused to let my dad sign me as a client, which is stupid for many reasons.

The biggest one is that he’s a fucking legend in the music world, and being on his roster could do insane things for my career.

Instead, I’ve stubbornly turned down his help and advice, and instead, I work for him, helping other musicians make it big.

Doesn’t make sense to me either.

“Right, well…” He leans back in his chair, looking more tired than usual.

Dark circles frame his eyes. The man owns three businesses, is a devoted husband, and has raised five mostly successful adults.

If this is getting to him, I know it has to be significant.

“After Zander joined, they seemed solid.”

Yeah, until recently.

“But then the pressure got to Evans, and after they finished recording the new album, he abruptly asked for some time off.” I let out a frustrated breath and try not to sound annoyed, but the guy is stalling. “Dad, I know all this. That’s why I’m in your office, begging for his damn job.”

“It’s not that simple.” His gaze meets mine.

I blow out a breath, ready to argue or plead.

Either option works for me, as long as I leave here with his word that he’ll try to get me this gig.

He’s got a direct line to the band’s agent and manager.

He can make it happen. “It is that simple. I’m a bass guitarist,” I remind him before amending my answer. “I’m a damn good bass player.”

“You are, and I know you’re more than qualified for the job.”

“So what’s the problem? And don’t feed me the whole nepotism bullshit, because we all know if you vouched for me, the band wouldn’t think twice.”

I have four siblings, and almost all of us work for him in some capacity, from my oldest brother, who practically runs things around here, to my sister, who pours drinks at the bar. My dad has never given a shit about what people think regarding his kids.

“That’s because I’m not an idiot. Only a fool would brag about their kid, only to get them placed in a job they’re not qualified for.

The five of you may have the benefit of certain privileges others may not, but it doesn’t mean I’m not gonna let you shake through life because of it.

That shit just looks bad. But regardless, it’s not me who has the final say. ”

“Who is it then?” And why am I wasting time here?

“Asher.”

I grin. Asher Knight is the lead singer of Manic to Midnight. He’s Scottish, single, and has been named the sexiest man alive more times than I can count.

“Asher loves me,” I inform my dream-crushing father. “Ever since I showed up to one of Zander’s concerts wearing an official Knight Rider shirt and asked him to sign my chest.”

He rolls his eyes.

“What?” I scoff as light streams in from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, making the silver in his hair stand out even more. “He was more than happy to sign it, and it made a great gift for Mercury. She tried not to, but she squealed like a little girl when I gave it to her.”

“That’s because she is a little girl.”

I shake my head at that, enjoying my father’s agitation just a bit too much. “She might be the baby of the family, but she’s far from little anymore.”

My dad grumbles and mutters under his breath as he fiddles with a pen on his desk. Mercury, the youngest of the Creed kids, just graduated from college and moved into her first apartment right after she started working at the family-owned recording studio. Dad is not handling the change well.

My mom refers to it as empty nest syndrome and has encouraged all of us to distract him with an engagement or even another grandchild.

I think she was joking, but I can’t be sure.

At any rate, she already has one grandkid from my oldest brother, Cash. No marriage or engagements as he is a single father. He shares custody with Taylor’s mom, but that woman hasn’t been welcome in our house for years.

“So basically, what you’re saying is…” I lean back in the old leather chair, feeling a glimmer of hope. “All I have to do is talk to Asher, and I’ve got the job?”

He chuckles. “Your confidence is astounding.”

“Learned from the best,” I say smugly, though his hesitation is making it waver.

“Unfortunately, there is someone else you also need to convince. And he’s going to make you work for it.”

“Who?”

My father just leans back in his chair and grins.