Chapter 2 Joanie #2
The men were warming up on the training pitches outside.
I couldn’t take my eyes from Kieran Earnshaw weaving skillfully between defenders and flicking the ball toward the goal.
I’d never dream of talking to a manager with the audacity he had.
Then again, he looked the type who wouldn’t even flinch on a roller coaster.
Of course there would be no consequences for walking out of that meeting.
Players with Kieran’s track record did whatever they wanted.
That was the difference between us and them.
The men got away with every kind of bad behavior: partying, womanizing, disrespect, poor sportsmanship.
As long as they kept scoring goals, management kissed the ground they walked on.
How could Claire expect me to do this commercial with Kieran Earnshaw, of all people?
There had to be a way out. Whatever it took.
A sharp knock sounded. Claire frowned. She wouldn’t welcome an interruption. The door swung open and Dad stepped inside. My heart sank. I loved my dad dearly but he was the last person I wanted to see at work.
Claire lifted an unimpressed brow. “Mortimer? What can I do for you?”
Dad beamed and adjusted the leopard-print silk scarf that circled his tattooed neck.
A velvet midnight-blue blazer wrapped around his lithe frame, and his trademark skinny leather jeans clung so tight it looked like they’d been sprayed on.
Dad had been a rock icon back in the day.
Shame he’d spent the eighties so addled on booze and drugs he could hardly recall a minute of them.
“Nothing, just popping in to see my Joanie Jett before I head home.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. How many times did I have to tell him not to call me that at work? There was no reason for him to be at the club. The board of directors met every month, but Dad was always lurking around, embarrassing me at every opportunity.
I tried to keep my voice polite, despite my agitation. “What do you want, Dad? I’m in a meeting with my manager.”
Dad smoothed a hand over his hair. It was thick and lustrous after the hair transplant. He’d been making a special effort ever since the band had announced the reunion tour.
He perched on the edge of the desk. “What are you having a meeting about?”
Claire rested back in her chair. The team was pretty tolerant of my dad, but Claire had a short fuse. We had approximately five seconds before she blew a gasket.
I got up and escorted Dad to the door. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “We’ll talk when I get home.”
Dad shrugged me off and inclined his head toward Claire. “Are you talking about the commercial?”
Claire flashed a tight smile. Gabe had probably drilled her to be nice to Dad. Mortimer Fox owned a stake in the club. It wasn’t as if Claire could kick him out.
Dad smiled amiably and drifted back toward the desk.
“It’s going to be great. Joanie’s been so bored this past couple of months.
It’s been tough with the injury.” Dad’s eyes flickered with that determined glint they got when he was meddling in things that didn’t concern him.
“I’m worried about you, that’s all. We all are. ”
I felt the weight of Claire’s stare burning into me. She’d probably expected me to quit after the injury. That’s what people would assume of Mortimer Fox’s daughter—a fragile nepo-baby ready to crumble at the first hurdle.
I sat back down and held my hands up. “I’m fine. No one needs to worry about me.”
Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and adopted a soft, cajoling voice. “I know how much you love being part of a team.” He gave me a squeeze. “You just need a positive attitude. Keep a smile on your face and the world will smile back. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
I took a deep breath to soothe my irritation.
Hard to stay positive when the future was so uncertain.
It had taken everything I had to get through those first codeine-fogged weeks after the second surgery.
I’d had to learn to walk again after the graft.
That was a black hole I never wanted to know again.
Every time Dad caught me looking upset, he’d tell me to smile.
It wasn’t enough that I was in pain, I also had to look happy about it, or risk Dad clucking around me like a mother hen.
He was only trying to help, but sometimes this man was too much.
I gritted my teeth. Bickering with my dad in front of my no-nonsense manager was not a good look. Claire sighed and dropped the paperwork back on the desk. She’d miscalculated Dad if she thought he would care whether she pretended to be busy.
“Actually, we have a problem with the commercial. Kieran Earnshaw is refusing to do it. The sponsor won’t budge. They want him or no one,” Claire said.
Oh, thank goodness. This was my way out, and it wasn’t my fault. It was all on Kieran Earnshaw. Judging from the way he’d carried on in that meeting, I’d bet anything he was stubborn enough not to give any ground.
I tried to sound disappointed. “Such a shame. I’m sure it would have been great.”
Claire’s penetrating gaze met mine. I shrunk back into my chair. Too much.
Dad perched on the desk. “I’m sure he’ll come round.”
Unlikely. He’d seemed adamant and he was notorious for his bullishness. This was amazing news.
Dad caught his reflection in the window and smoothed a hand over his hair.
“That commercial is a brilliant idea for Joanie. It’s always good to get out of your comfort zone.
” He pointed a finger at me. His jeweled rings flickered under the bright office lights.
“You know I’ve always said you’re a lot like Phil. ”
Claire’s lips parted slightly, betraying her curiosity. “Phil?”
Oh gosh. Why had she asked?
“Our drummer. Phil hates the limelight. He lets the rest of the band shine.” Dad inspected one of the heavy silver crucifixes dangling around his neck. “Joanie is the drummer of the family. I’m the lead, obviously. Chloe’s on guitar. Elsie’s on keyboard.”
Sometimes Dad was so cringe. “Don’t, Dad,” I grumbled.
“You know what I mean, sweetheart. It’s not a bad thing.
There’s nothing wrong with percussion. Phil is important.
He keeps it all ticking along.” Dad’s lips curved into a mischievous smile.
“We wouldn’t have made it out of that Thailand tour alive without Phil.
All my children have something different to bring to the band. You all complement each other.”
What a compliment. My siblings were fun and exciting, and I was percussion.
It’s not like I’d chosen to be boring. I kept my face level to humor him even though I wanted the ground to swallow me up.
If I could have one superpower, it would be invisibility.
Whenever Dad showed up like this, all I wanted to do was disappear.
“You forgot Ollie,” I said.
“Did I?” Dad smiled blandly. “Sure. Your brother can . . . bring the snacks. The point is, you need to push yourself. You can’t jump from percussion to lead guitar, but maybe smaller steps. This commercial is perfect for that.”
Dad clapped his hands with an elaborate flourish. “Carpe diem. We’ll figure something out. This is your chance to seize the day. Do you know what I realized last year after the incident?”
Not the incident. Dad had choked on a cocktail sausage at an award ceremony, and now we had to hear about his brush with death every other day. He leaned in to Claire. She shifted back slightly in her chair.
“A little cylinder of pork, that’s all it takes.
” His eyes widened with animation, and he touched his finger and thumb together, making a circle.
“I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. You get one life. Live it to the fullest. I want to see you thrive, sweetheart. That’s all I want for you.
I’ve got a good feeling about this. Earnshaw will see sense.
” Dad slid off the desk, winked, and put an arm around me.
“It will all be fine. If I were you, I’d be a good girl and grab this opportunity with both hands. ”
I brushed his arm off and shot him a pleading look. Not here, Dad. Please. Not in front of my manager. I’m twenty-three, not twelve.
Dad headed for the door and paused, turning back to Claire. “I’ll see you at my funeral, right?”
Claire frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“My funeral next month? Everyone’s invited.
Didn’t you get the email? It’s a living funeral.
After the incident, I thought, why wait until you’re a goner to get everyone together to tell you what you mean to them?
Life is too short to wait until you’re dead.
It’ll be a small affair . . . understated .
. . elegant . . . just a few hundred close friends and family. ”
He pressed his lips together thoughtfully.
“We’ll probably have a live performance.
One or two tracks from the new album. A few select music journalists.
” His gaze traveled over Claire’s tracksuit and he wrinkled his nose.
“Smart casual. You’ll be fine. No need to dress up.
I’d love to have as many people from the club as I can.
” He flashed a beaming smile full of white teeth.
“I might only own eight percent of Calverdale, but this club owns one hundred percent of me.”
A polite smile stretched across Claire’s lips, and it was the most patient and restrained I’d ever seen my manager. “Yes, Mortimer. I’d love to come to your funeral. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”