Chapter 12 Jane
Jane
We weren’t expecting things to go public.
Now that everyone knows our masters are up for grabs—thanks to Ryan Tate, naturally—anything could happen.
Our strategy was to keep the fight quiet, and now, I don’t know how this will change things.
After dinner, Keeley confided in me that she thinks something doesn’t add up, with Label suddenly being willing to negotiate, and I agree.
Either Landon Banks is desperate for capital, or he’s playing a game here.
Wade has been keeping us updated, but at this point, the future of the band really is unknown.
All we know is there are multiple parties who have expressed interest since the article a couple weeks ago, and it’s turning into a drawn-out bidding war, tied up in lawyers and red tape.
And then last week, Landon said he’s going on vacation, and he’ll review the bids with “a fresh mind” once he returns from a month in Fiji.
Whatever that means.
It’s why going on the retreat is starting to feel so important—making more art is the one thing we can control in this whole situation. On the flight to Montana, I’ve used extra miles to tuck myself into a first-class seat with a warm blanket and a soft pillow.
Usually, I bring a new romance novel on a flight, but instead, I’ve spent today staring at the same page of Emma for more than an hour.
I’ve read Austen dozens of times, and not just because I was named after Jane Bennet and my sister was named after Elinor Dashwood—the one thing I don’t resent my parents for.
I hoped a reread of my favorite would give me some comfort.
But I just don’t have the focus for anything.
My anxiety is on high alert. I’m terrified we’ll lose the control of our music that felt just within reach.
I’m hoping this retreat is magical, and somehow helps me feel better about the future.
After all my blustering about not having time for a new album, making more music is all I can think about these days. If we can just have something of our own, then I’ll be able to believe the band will survive, even if we lose the auction.
I just want to know how Ryan Tate found out. Did Landon Banks leak the news on purpose, so more people might participate? There’s no way to know.
But for now, I just keep staring at the ink on page three of my book.
I manage to get through a chapter when the flight attendant announces it’s time to prepare for landing at Bozeman-Yellowstone. I stare out the window and watch as the plane descends, the landscape getting closer and closer, like a camera zooming in.
It makes me feel small and grateful to live in the world.
We come to a bouncing landing. As soon as we’ve slowed to taxiing, I sigh, taking a sip from my water bottle before slipping it into my backpack.
I don’t mind flying alone. Originally, we’d all planned to arrive together, but the timing didn’t work out. Keeley is coming from a quick visit out to see her parents in Seattle, and Riker, Valerie, and Caleb had to grab a later flight.
So because we’re landing at similar times, it’ll just be me and Keeley splitting a ride on the way to the resort. We haven’t been alone since that last night in her apartment, when I thought we were about to, well…nothing happened, right? Besides, our entire focus should be on the band right now.
Once we’ve stopped at the gate, I step out of my seat, swing my backpack over my shoulders, and grab my carry-on from the overhead compartment. I always try to pack light, but fall in Montana is a lot different than fall in Los Angeles. I had to bring lots of layers to stave off the cold.
As we deplane, I mentally plan my rush to the bathroom to freshen my makeup, fix my doubtlessly flattened hair, and make myself presentable before I see Keeley.
But all of those plans go out the window when I see her casually leaning against the wall by my gate, her blond hair swooping across her smiling eyes as she runs a hand through it.
My mouth goes dry. Keeley has gone for casual, in a gray sweatsuit that hangs perfectly on her long, lithe frame. The pants are slung low on her hips, exposing the tiniest strip of taut bare skin that makes me wonder how soft it might feel.
I hurry over to her, clearing my throat.
“Hey, I hope you didn’t have to wait long,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, I landed about twenty minutes ago. Thought you might want this.” She hands me an iced coffee in a to-go cup, and I reach for it with my free hand. “It’s not going to be as good as you’re used to, but I avoided the big chain.”
I take it from her gratefully, pulling a big sip from the straw. After a three-hour flight, my body craves the shock of caffeine to my system, and I don’t care where it’s from. Involuntarily, I let out a moan of pleasure.
Keeley brings her hand to her neck. “Good to see you too, Mercer.”
I laugh, my cheeks warming. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“Happy to be of service,” she says. I still, our eyes locking in this crowded, stuffy airport.
It’s like the innuendo has made me short-circuit, because my tired, sad mind can only think of all of the ways we could service each other.
Keeley laughs, hopefully coming to her own conclusion about her words and not reading my reaction. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” I thrust the coffee back at her, suddenly desperate for just a moment to collect myself. “Do you mind holding this for a minute?”
“Of course,” she says, blinking.
“Thank you.” I leave my bag with her but keep my backpack on my shoulders as I hurry to the restroom. Inside, I forego all plans to primp with the exception of splashing cold water on my face and swiping on some lip balm.
Not because I’m thinking about lips or anything, just because it makes me feel a semblance of polish. We just have to get through the couple of hours alone before the band gets here, and then we’ll have buffers for the next four days.
Buffers are good.
When I’ve exhausted the amount of acceptable time I can spend in an airport bathroom, I head over to meet Keeley again. She hasn’t left her spot by the gate, and instead of her face being buried in her phone the way it usually is, she’s staring out the windows at the planes landing and departing.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
“Of course,” Keeley says. We pick up her guitar at baggage claim, then head out of the airport together.
“Should we order a rideshare?” Keeley asks, pulling out her phone. We really should have planned this part sooner, but I just assumed we’d figure out rides when we got here.
“Sounds good,” I say.
“Holy fuck, that’s expensive,” Keeley says, tilting her phone at me. I blanch at the cost.
“That’s just to get us to the resort?” I ask.
She nods. “It’s like an hour away.”
“Wow.”
“Maybe we should just…rent a car,” she says. “It might be cheaper in the long run, if we want to go anywhere.”
I shrug. “Sure, that’s not a problem. Should we wait for everyone else to land before heading to the resort?”
Keeley frowns. “You want to hang out here for three hours?”
That’s the last thing I want to do. “No, you’re right. Let’s go see what rentals are available.”
“I’m on it. Do you want to call the resort and see if we can do an early check-in?”
I nod and head away from the crowded area to make the call while Keeley waits in line. It doesn’t take long to reach them and confirm we can check in early, so I spend a few minutes downing the rest of my coffee, then recycle the cup and head over to check in with Keeley on her progress.
Over by the counter, she’s beaming at me like she’s just gotten something she really wants, and it’s hard to look away.
“What is it?” I ask.
Keeley swings the key fob around her finger, and the unmistakable glint of the lion crest hits the light.
I laugh, shaking my head. “You didn’t.”
She raises her hands. “I had to, okay? The guy recognized me—which never happens to me, by the way—and asked if I wanted a free upgrade to a luxury car. It’s a Porsche, Jane. I like fast cars.”
I roll my eyes. “You have no self-control.”
“Hey, I would never own one, but we’re on retreat and I’m anxious about the masters, okay? Shiny cars make me feel better.”
I laugh, shaking my head as she leads the way out of the airport. “You are ridiculous.”
“At least this way, we couldn’t all fit anyways, so there’s no use waiting for the others. Can you imagine Riker squeezing into the back seat?”
I laugh. “No, not at all. I could sit back there, though!”
“I’ll just text Riker and suggest he gets another car. This way, if we want to head back into the city to go out to eat or anything, we won’t be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
She has a point. As soon as we get through the glass doors, I shiver at the wind whipping through the air. I’m wearing a cardigan over jeans, but that isn’t enough to keep out the Montana chill.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” Keeley says. “I have a North Face packed up in my carry-on, but it’s buried.
“I’ve got a jacket too,” I say, already regretting using it to line the bottom of my suitcase. “Should we make a run for it?”
Keeley nods, and before I can register what’s happening, she grabs my free hand with hers and bolts for the rental lot.
My carry-on rolls and bounces reluctantly along the asphalt, and I’m nearly out of breath trying to keep up with her long strides.
By the time we get to the car lot, we’re both breathless and grinning despite the cold air.
Her cheeks are flushed pink.
It doesn’t take long to find the Porsche—it’s the only fancy car out in the lot. Keeley opens up the trunk and puts my suitcase inside, followed by hers. Then she unlocks the car, and I hurry over to the passenger seat, shivering.
Inside, Keeley starts the car. The engine purrs to life, and we both scramble to switch on the heated seats. Even for a rental, the Porsche is luxurious, and I momentarily ponder ordering one of the electric ones before deciding I’m perfectly fine with my Prius.