G
ary Idolâthat had to be some kind of stage nameâlived on the outskirts of Heart Lake on a partially cleared lot that housed a modular home, a carport complete with a Jeep and a rusty, old Mustang up on blocks, a spotty lawn that was more dirt than grass, and two sort of German shepherds. It had rained off and on all afternoon. Erin took in the wet soil and the muddy, excited dogs and hoped she'd make it to the house with her clothes intact.
She saw Dan's truck parked next to a couple of other cars in front of the house and swore. Didn't he have anything else to do?
She pulled her car in back of his truck and got out. The dogs rushed her, barking and wagging their tails. She managed to just prevent one from jumping on her, but it did succeed in sliding a muddy paw down her jeans. Maybe Gary Idol couldn't afford dog obedience school.
“Fender! Martin! Down!” called a voice from the porch.
The two dogs wheeled around and raced back to their owner, a guy in jeans and a sweatshirt with shaggy, dark hair. “Sorry,” he said as Erin approached. “They got no manners.”
“No problem,” she lied. If it meant getting a band for Slugfest she'd let one of the animals take a chunk out of her butt.
“I'm Gary,” said the guy. “Come on in. We're just getting set up.”
She followed him and one of the dogs inside, into a small living room covered with ugly brown carpet. Or maybe the room just looked small due to the fact that it was crammed with enough musical equipment to fill a shop. Two cute, blond-haired guys sat on a leather couch, fiddling with guitars; the one with a cigarette dangling from his mouth smiled and nodded at her. The coffee table in front of them looked like a garage sale special and was littered with beer bottles, cigarette packs, and an ashtray. The room smelled like dog and secondhand smoke. Yuck. She could just imagine what she'd smell like when she left here.
A fourth band member stood with his back to her, tuning his bass. Wait a minute. She knew that back. He turned around and smiled at her.
“Since when do you play the bass?” she demanded.
“Since I was seventeen,” said Dan.
“I never saw you,” she accused.
“I was a closet player.”
“He's damned good,” said Gary. “Great at vocals, too.”
Erin fell onto the leather footstool. The dog came to her, laid its head on her lap, and looked up at her. And then put a muddy paw on her other pant leg. Lovely.
“Martin, damn it,” said Gary. He walked to the door and yanked it open. “Get your muddy dog butt outside right now.” The dog tucked its tail between its legs and walked out the door and Gary said, “Sorry. He's still a puppy.”
Erin forced herself to keep smiling and nodded.
Gary climbed onto his drum stool cowboy style and picked up his drumsticks, giving one a twirl. “Okay, you know Dan. And this is Jake and Larry. Jake sings lead and plays rhythm guitar. Larry plays lead.”
Whatever all that meant. “What kind of songs do you play?” Erin asked. As if it mattered. At this point they could play nursery rhymes and she'd hire them.
“Oh, we're kind of a variety band. We play eighties, classic rock, some country, a little R and B, Santana, Marc Anthony.”
“No rap,” said Dan. “No hip-hop. We're too white.”
“Wanna hear something?” asked Gary. Without waiting for an answer, he counted them off and the band jumped into playing “Message in a Bottle.” Suddenly it sounded like the Police were right there in the room.
“You guys are great,” she said when they'd finished.
“Want to hear something slow?” Gary offered.
She didn't need to hear anything more. They'd be perfect. But before she could say as much they launched into a Bryan Adams song. And then Dan started singing.
This time the choice was “When You Love Someone.” He sang about loving someone so much he'd do anything, and the words crawled inside her ear and began waltzing around in her mind. He sang on, about sacrificing, risking it all and not thinking twice, and the words slipped down and twisted around her heart. This was like trying not to listen to the Lorelei. She stared at her knees and wondered when Dan Rockwell had become a host body for a rock star. And was it hot in here?
They finished the song and she jumped up from the footstool and fumbled the contract out of her purse. “You guys are great. You can play Friday and Saturday night and for the Sunday afternoon show, too. If you'll just sign this contract.”
“Cool,” Gary said, and happily scribbled his name. “You better make sure you get that Saturday and Sunday off, Rockwell.”
“I will,” Dan said easily.
“Dan says you need a band for your wedding,” Gary said to Erin.
“Oh, well, we haven'tâ”
“We'll play it for you for free,” Gary offered.
â
quite decided
. “Oh, I couldn't.”
“Hey, the Slugfest will be great exposure for us. It's the least we could do. Right, guys?” They all said yes, but she noticed Gary was looking right at Dan.
All the words he'd sung were using her brain for a mosh pit. She couldn't think. She let instinct take over, and instinct said, run. “Well, thanks,” she managed, and started for the door. “Everything you need to know is in the contract, but if you have any questions feel free to call me. Gary,” she added. She didn't need Dan calling her.
“I'll walk you to your car,” Dan said, slipping off his bass.
“That's okay. Don't bother.” She opened the door and ducked out.
But she was barely onto the porch before he was beside her. “It's dark out there, and Martin's probably waiting to jump on you again.”
Neither dog was anywhere to be seen. Dan was right about one thing, though. Once they got away from the porch light it was dark. No streetlights out hereâjust trees and sky and stars.
She cast around in her mind for something to say as they picked their way across the spotty grass. “You guys are really good.” Cute. She sounded like a groupie.
“We're okay for a garage band,” he said.
“You're a lot more than okay.”
She was suddenly very aware of the yin and yang of them as they stood there in the darknessâhis strong male lines, her softer ones, his low voice, her high voice, his hard muscles, her ⦠mushy insides.
This was ridiculous. What was she doing? Those Bryan Adams lyrics had programmed her to start thinking like a thirteen-year-old.
She opened her car door, stumbled around it, and fell onto the driver's seat. “I'd better go.”
“Yeah, I guess you'd better,” Dan agreed. “McDoodoo is waiting.”
“That's McDreamy,” she corrected him. And he wasn't waiting for her. He was home with his head stuck in a medical book. She shut the door and started the car. And then, because her brain was mush, rolled down the window to talk some more. “You really saved me tonight. Thanks. I owe you big-time.”
“No problem. And you don't owe me anything. I like helping you.”
“Well, thanks again,” she managed, then stuck the car in gear and got out of there.
And all the while someone's voiceâBryan Adams? Who knew anymore? Her head was getting so damned full of them!âkept crooning, “When you love someone,” over and over again.
I do love someone, she told herself as she drove away, I love Adam. Of course she did. And Adam loved her.
And what would Adam say when he learned they'd gotten a band for the wedding reception for free and that it was Dan Rockwell's? She let out an angry breath. Dan Rockwell, closet bass player. Why hadn't he stayed in the closet where he belonged?
Suddenly, for no reason, Erin had a burning desire for Fritos.
Don't do it,
cautioned her inner mother.
You'll never fit in your wedding dress at this rate
.
I'll get back on track tomorrow, Erin promised. Right now she needed to grind something between her teeth.
Â
Â
Megan looked around her at the dingy office space. It was small, the hardwood floor was worn and paint spattered, and the windowsill looked like it had been painted shut since
Roe v. Wade
. Dust motes danced on a weak sunbeam, taunting,
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
â
this is all you can afford.
“You won't find a bargain like this in the city very often,” said the property manager at her elbow.
There was a reason for that. Megan nodded. Could she fix this place up so it didn't look like Sam Spade's office?
Okay, use your imagination. Picture new paint, some nice rented art.
She sighed inwardly. Even her imagination couldn't fix this place. She needed an office that would impress clients, not scare them away. “I'll have to think about it,” she lied.
“Okay, but don't wait too long,” cautioned the property manager. “Space like this is hard to find.”
If space like that was hard to find, how would she ever find a really good office space? She left the building completely disheartened. Maybe Pamela had been right. Maybe she had been crazy to leave the shark tank. She should have at least waited until she had more than one client. At this rate she'd blow through her savings in six months. And then where would she be? Maybe it wasn't too late to go back.
Her cell phone rang, and she looked at the screen. Pamela. Maybe the sharks had given her Megan's partnership.
Pamela didn't bother with greetings. “Where are you?”
“I'm out looking for office space.”
“Have you found one you like?”
“Not yet.”
“Good, because I've found one for you.” Pamela rattled off an address, commanded Megan to be there in ten minutes, and then hung up.
Like I'm going to be able to afford that part of town, Megan thought. But she went anyway. She hadn't talked to Pamela since that day in the bar and it would be nice to see her and catch up on what was going on over at the firm. And, speaking of the firm, why wasn't Pamela at work?
The building was slickâall steel and turquoise glass. The lobby was full of gigantic metal sculptures. Everything about it said money.
And money says success, Megan reminded herself. But on her limited budget she couldn't afford this much talking. What kind of sick joke was Pamela playing?
She rode the elevator up to the twenty-first floor and got off. Directly in front of her she saw a sprawling insurance office with an impressive reception area. She turned right and walked down the hall in search of 2106. And there it was, a big, open space with huge windows looking out over the city. And standing in the middle of the room was Pamela, wearing her lawyer pinstripe suit and looking like a navy blue Bic pen with blond hair.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
Megan looked around in amazement. “It's great.” But she'd never be able to afford it.
“I think the space will work quite well for us.”
Us? “Am I missing something here?”
Pamela raised an eyebrow. “Your offer's still good, isn't it?”
She wouldn't have to go it alone after all? It was all she could do not to jump up and down and scream. She beamed. “Absolutely.”
“Well, then.” Pamela spun around, arms out. “Welcome to Thornton and Wales. I'm the rainmaker so I get top billing,” she added. “Besides, it sounds better with my name first.”
“It would,” Megan teased. “But, are you sure?” This was too good to be true.
“Absolutely. We can go over the partnership agreement this afternoon if you want.”
“I'll have to clear my busy calendar, but I think I can make time,” Megan cracked. “What changed your mind?”
Pamela gave a little shrug. “You were right about the firm. It is a shark tank. I don't want to be there.”
“Okay, who propositioned you, Cutter?”
“The disgusting lech,” Pamela said with a frown. “As if.”
“Poor Cutter,” said Megan. “He can't seem to catch a break.”
Pamela's eyes widened. “You, too?”
Megan nodded. “I'll say one thing for him,” she added with a smile. “He's got good taste.”
“Yes, he does,” Pamela said with a grin.
“And so do you. This is a class act,” Megan said. She walked
over to the window and looked out. The sun was shining on a shimmering blue Puget Sound. She watched a ferry slide into Coleman Dock. This was a view to die for. Alone, she could never afford it. With Pamela, she could still never afford it. This had to be way out of the price range for a brand-new firm. “How much is the rent?”