Chapter 3
Aspen
Eating alone is sad.
In the short time I’d spent with Joz Raynor, I’d come to realize something: this man was used to getting his own way. Not by aggressively shoving his agenda down my throat, but by leading me into a dead end using crooked smiles, outrageous flirting, and more charm than was good for my health.
Negotiations were tricky things at the best of times, but to let a man like him think I was so desperate to sign him to my label that I’d give him whatever he wanted without question was a huge mistake—one I was not about to make.
I might only be twenty-eight, but I’d spent my whole life surrounded by smart, assertive men, and I’d more than held my own.
Assessing him, I tapped my finger against my bottom lip. His gaze dropped, pupils dilating. I almost laughed. At their core, men were such simple creatures, led astray by their dicks while their brains fought for control.
His reasoning to include a record contract for Presley in his short list of demands intrigued me, though. There was no denying the young man’s talent, raw as it was, but what could be in it for Joz? If I asked, he wouldn’t tell me, but I’d find out what his agenda was sooner or later.
“Five years, three albums. Yes to creative control, and as for Presley, I’ll meet with him as I said I would. But no promises. You know as well as I do that this industry is about more than talent. It’s about salability, about personality, about attitude.”
His lips lifted on one side. “Three years with an option for two more. If I sign on for an extra two years, I’ll commit to the third album. A record deal for Presley is non-negotiable.”
Irritated, I narrowed my eyes. “Is there something I should know about your relationship to him?”
Joz laughed a low, throaty laugh. The kind that had probably served him well with his legion of female fans. He was undoubtedly handsome in a rugged kind of way, but he also had danger running through him like a stick of rock.
“I don’t have a relationship with him. Before today, we’d never met. Nothing lurking in the shadows, Ms. Kingcaid.”
He winked. Winked. Good God, I’d have to watch this one like a hawk.
“Hmm.” I tapped my lips again, and he predictably followed the movement. “I’m not buying what you’re selling, Mr. Raynor.”
He raised his hands, an innocent play. “I swear. Everything I told you is true. I saw him online, and this is the first chance I’ve had to watch him in person. Is there a law that says I can’t give a talented lad a leg up?”
“In our industry people don’t do things for others without something being in it for them.”
He rolled his tongue along his cheek. “If you truly believe that, then I’m sorry for you.”
Something about his statement irked me. “My assessment is evidence based.”
He leaned down, and it was only then I realized how much taller than me he was. A good foot, plus a couple more inches. His presence overwhelmed me, and I had to force myself to stand my ground, to not step back.
“You have my terms, Aspen. I’ll see you soon.”
After producing a baseball cap from his jacket, he jammed it on his head, pulling the peak low.
He slid a pair of dark shades over his eyes and, with a fleeting grin, he rounded me.
In seconds, he’d disappeared into the crowds.
I half expected to hear a fan screech his name, but he’d clearly mastered blending in.
A black cab synonymous with London streets pulled up curbside, and two giggling girls spilled out.
I hurried over, diving in the back before anyone else could pinch it from underneath my nose.
I gave the driver my office address, dashed in to pick up my overnight bag, then directed him to the Kingcaid Hotel in Kensington—one of three hotels my family owned in London, and my favorite.
Thirty minutes later, I entered the hotel lobby and beelined directly for the bank of elevators. My cousin Asher ran our hotel chain, and every single hotel had an owner’s suite that was kept free should any of us visit.
I touched my skeleton keycard to the outer door, and it opened into the foyer.
Immediately, voices from the living room drifted toward me.
I frowned. At the last board meeting a week ago, I didn’t recall anyone saying they planned to travel to London.
Then again, my trip here had been last minute, too, so it was entirely possible I’d been beaten to the punch.
My cousin Penn and his wife Gia glanced over their shoulders as I entered the living room and dropped my overnight bag at my feet.
Gia squealed and got up, and before I could say hi, she barreled into me with the enthusiasm she was known and loved for.
Out of all of my cousins’ partners, I was closest to Gia.
Mainly because she and Penn lived in New York, too, which meant I got to see more of them than I did the others.
“What are you doing here?” Gia asked once she’d finished almost strangling me.
“What are you doing here?” I grinned, jabbing my finger at Penn. “You didn’t say you were planning to be in London.”
“Last minute decision,” Penn said. “A business associate offered tickets to a West End musical Gia’s been dying to see for ages. And you?”
I sighed, trudging over to the couch and flopping down next to him. Gia sat on Penn’s other side. “Got a call from Joz Raynor’s manager that he’d agreed to meet.”
Penn arched a brow. “That’s good, right? You’ve been after signing him for ages.”
“Except he didn’t show up at my offices.”
“What a fucker,” Gia blurted in her inimitable style.
“Instead, he called me and demanded I meet him at a bar.” I quickly updated them on my rather strange and unplanned day.
“I’m surprised he could walk after the undoubted knee to the nuts you gave him for trying to strongarm you.” Gia flashed a grin. “He doesn’t know our Aspen, that’s for sure.”
I chuckled. “Believe me, it was tempting to see him roll around on the floor clutching his bits, but I refrained.”
“You’re a better woman than me. What a jerk.”
“So, what are you going to do about the Presley situation?” Penn asked.
I scrubbed my face. Jet lag was catching up with me. “I don’t know. The kid has talent, buckets of it, but I don’t like having my arm twisted. And it’s something I’d want to run by the board anyway.”
“I get the arm twist thing, but don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, either. Unearthing a talented unknown could be a gold mine if handled correctly.”
“Yeah, I know.” Yawning, I stretched my arms overhead. “I’m going to take a nap. You guys don’t mind if I crash here, right?”
“Not at all.” Penn flashed his wife an impish smile. “Better dust off the gag. We know how noisy you are.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Please.”
Gia punched his arm, and she wasn’t gentle about it. “You’re a dick.”
Pushing to my feet, I yawned again. “If I don’t catch you before you leave, enjoy the show.”
After retrieving my bag, I set it at the foot of the bed, kicked off my shoes, and stripped down to my underwear. Within minutes of snuggling underneath the covers, I’d passed out.
My phone ringing woke me. I rubbed my eyes and checked the time on the digital clock beside the bed. I’d slept for two hours but was still exhausted. Reaching for my phone, I pressed it to my ear.
“This is Aspen.”
“This is Joz.”
I sat up, dizzy for a second. What does he want? “What can I do for you, Mr. Raynor?”
“It’s Joz. You hungry?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Are. You. Hungry?”
On cue, my stomach grumbled, reminding me I still hadn’t eaten since the yogurt on the plane that morning, and it was now six-thirty in the evening.
“I’m jetlagged and irritated at being woken from my nap.”
“Grumpy when woken. Got it.”
“What do you want, Joz?”
“I thought you might like to have dinner with me.”
“What on earth gave you that impression?”
“We can talk through the finer contractual details.”
“What finer details? You’ve left no room for negotiation, and I’m not in the mood to be played.”
“I’m not playing.”
“I think playing is your default mode.”
That throaty laugh came at me, and God fucking help me and my neglected libido, but my stomach did that swoopy thing again. I should’ve brought a vibrator with me to take the edge off, because Joz Raynor was not the man to scratch my itch. He was a business deal. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Come on, Aspen. You’ve got to eat.”
“That’s what room service is for.”
“Eating alone is sad.”
“Is it, though? For you, maybe, but I’m sure your little black book is bursting with names who’ll drop whatever it is they’re doing for a chance to spend some time with you. I’m more than happy to eat alone.”
The line fell silent for a few seconds.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. Still connected. “Hello?”
“Have dinner with me. Please, Aspen.” The tone of his voice gave me pause. He sounded… not exactly desperate, but lonely.
Rubbing my lips together, I shook my head, already regretting the decision I was about to make. “Okay, but if I catch you ogling my breasts, I will have your dinner poisoned. I’m at the Kingcaid Hotel in Kensington. Meet me at the onsite restaurant in thirty minutes.”
I caught the beginnings of another laugh before I hung up. The man was a dreadful flirt and entirely too used to getting his own way. I called down to the restaurant, and despite being fully booked, they somehow squeezed me in. Perks of being a Kingcaid, I guessed.
Flinging the covers to one side, I climbed out of bed.
A quick shower and a change of clothes later, and I arrived at the restaurant five minutes late.
The ma?tre d’ informed me that Joz was already here—information that, I admit, I was surprised to hear.
I fully expected him to turn up late, if only to, once again, show me that he thought he was in charge.
He stood as I approached, his mid-length, brown hair scraped back into a man bun, his beard neatly trimmed.
He wore a smart pair of black jeans and a button down, also in black.
His roguish smile and sparkling blue eyes made my stomach do that flippity-flop thing again.
It didn’t mean anything. I was tired, that’s all.
Add to that my year-long celibacy, and boom, no wonder my libido was emerging from its cocoon in the presence of an attractive, if fucking annoying guy.
Although I was too busy for a relationship, and casual sex had never interested me.
Why the hell was I even thinking about sex? Especially sex with Joz Raynor.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?” I softened my comeback with a small smile.
His smile was far broader and all-together too sexy. I swore the woman sitting on the adjacent table gave a dreamy sigh and received a sharp look from her male companion in response.
“Ouch.”
Smoothing my dress beneath me, I sat down then took the menu from the server, who nodded, then backed away.
“The salmon is good if you like fish.” I briefly glanced up. “Although I’d wager you’re a steak man. Rare.”
“Actually, I’m a pescatarian. Salmon it is.”
He pushed his menu to one side without even looking at it while I swallowed down a lump of shame at stereotyping him. If the roles were reversed, it would have pissed me off.
“I am rare, though.” Another beaming smile forced a roll of my eyes.
“Are you ever serious?”
“When the situation calls for it.”
“Good to know dinner with me isn’t a situation that calls for you to be serious.” I beckoned a server hovering nearby. “One salmon, one sirloin.” I gave Joz my eyes. “Rare.”
He chuckled, toasting me with his glass of water before taking a sip.
“Do you want wine?”
He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
I suppressed my surprise and dismissed the server. Once he’d retreated, Joz expanded.
“I should say I don’t drink anymore.”
“A former problem?”
“Yes.”
“You wouldn’t be the first, and you won’t be the last. It’s a tough business.”
“Yeah.” His eyes glazed over, possibly lost in his memories.
“Which is why I’m intrigued that you tagged on a record deal for Presley to your demands.”
He blinked, the momentary vulnerability vanishing in an instant. “Talent like his deserves to be heard.”
“Agreed, but he’ll still have that talent in two or three years once he’s had the opportunity to mature.”
“I was twenty, just a year younger than him, when I got my big break.”
“And, like you admitted, it came with consequences.” I sat back and rested my hands on the crisp white tablecloth, drumming my fingers as I perused the man sitting across from me.
“You and I both know that people who achieve fame when they’re too young often struggle.
They either go off the rails or they think they’re God.
Presley would do better by earning his stripes on the pub and club circuit.
Hone his skills while there’s no pressure, no press eager to build him up so they can knock him down. ”
“He’ll have something that I, and many others, didn’t.”
“And that is?”
“You.” He propped his elbows on the table and fanned his hands out to the side. “And me.”
I leveled him with a stern look. “Which brings me back to my question earlier today. Why? What’s in it for you?”
“You’re looking for motivations that don’t exist, Aspen. My answer remains the same. I want to help the kid, to give back to an industry that’s given me a career. Offer him the support I never had. Be a mentor if you like. Someone to steer him right.”
“If you were a few years older, I’d guess he might be your son.”
Joz threw back his head and bellowed a laugh. “Wild imagination you have there, Spitfire.”
I didn’t correct him on the nickname. It was growing on me. Not that I’d share those thoughts with Joz. “You could easily have kids out there somewhere that you don’t know about.”
He popped his right shoulder. “Yeah, I could. But Presley isn’t one of them.
For one, he looks nothing like me.” Leaning forward, he mirrored my hand position—a classic negotiation tactic.
“I said this earlier, but it’s worth repeating.
Everything I’ve told you about him is true.
I spotted him online, was blown away by his talent, and wanted to use my contacts and my fame to give him a leg up. ”
I was entirely unconvinced, but whatever his true reasons, he wasn’t going to tell me. Not yet, anyway.
Joz picked up his glass of water again and held it out in front. “A toast.”
I canted my head, leaving my water on the table. “To what? I haven’t agreed to anything.”
That smile came slow, and oozed sex appeal. “No, but we both know you will.”