Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) (2 page)

“You’re coming with me, Campbell,” Seers stated.

“I am?”

Seers nodded.

Feeling more than a little bamboozled, Jax raised his phone to his ear. “Pep?”

“You owe me, Jaxon,” his manager declared, her voice one-part stern admonishment, one-part laughter. “Big time.”

Casting Detective Seers a curious look—the guy was damn near quivering with what could only be called excitement—Jax cocked an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“Agreed to introduce your friend there to Bruce Springsteen.”

Jax blinked. “Do you even know—”

“Of course I do,” Pepper cut him off. “Now try not to fuck up in the car trip here.”

“What car trip?”

“The one you’re taking with Detective Seers. He’s personally driving you to the Crowne Plaza. You know, that place you were meant to be thirty minutes ago?”

A sheepish grin pulled at Jax’s lips. “Ahh, gotcha.”

Killing the connection, he gave Seers a nod. “So, road trip?”

The boyish smile on Seers’s face evaporated. “I’m not talking to you, Campbell. Don’t care who you played keyboard for. And just as a warning, if I even see you
thinking
about going near my daughters again, I’ll break both your legs. Understand?”

Jax flipped off a salute. “Loud and clear.”

Seers pointed a slow finger at him. “Stay put. I’m getting the car.”

Thirty minutes later, after Detective Seers sneering at him the whole time, Jax climbed out of the
back
of the squad car that had been wailing up a storm earlier. The entire duration of the drive from Seers’s home to the Crowne Plaza, Seers had watched him. If Jax didn’t know any better, he’d swear the detective was enjoying seeing him sitting in a seat normally occupied by criminals.

Leaning down to peer into the front passenger window at Seers, Jax smiled. “Thanks for the ride, Detective. Feel free to give the clothes I left in your house to charity.”

Seers’s nostrils flared. “Both your legs, Campbell.
And
all your fingers.” He turned to the uniformed cop sitting behind the wheel. “Go.”

Jax straightened just as the squad car took off.

With a chuckle and a scratch at his belly, he turned on his heel and ambled into the luxurious hotel’s foyer. The fact he was barefoot and dressed only in a pair of jeans didn’t cause a ruckus. He
was
Jaxon Campbell after all. It wasn’t the first hotel he’d walked into semi-naked and shoeless.

The ride up to the executive suite was long enough for him to check his phone—three messages, one from Sarah begging him to call her, one from Samantha
requesting
he call her, one from Pepper telling him he better put his jeans on before arriving at the hotel. He deleted Sarah’s and Samantha’s messages and laughed at Pepper’s. Then, with a grin, he took a photo of his exposed stomach and low-slung jeans’ waistline and posted it on Instagram along with a smiley face. By the time the lift dinged its arrival on the top floor, he was adjusting his
package
.

His bodyguard stood waiting for him on the other side of the lift door.

The intimidating ex-marine ran a silent and thoroughly judgmental stare over him.

Jax held his arms wide. “Heya, Bruce. I’m alive.”

“Not for long, Mr. Campbell,” Bruce rumbled, “if Ms. Kerrigan has her way.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Jax chuckled. “She’ll be right, mate. Noah will save me.”

“Noah won’t save you,” Pepper’s voice—with its subtle New York accent and husky tones—floated from behind Bruce.

The ex-marine stepped aside, revealing a petite woman wearing a
Yoda for President, Vote For
T-shirt, faded denim jeans and an exasperated scowl. “I’ve told him he’s not allowed.”

And before Jax could say another word, she pivoted on her heel and strode through the executive suite’s open door.

Jax’s gut clenched. “
Okay
.”

Bruce gave him a pointed look. “Told you.”

Jax whacked the bodyguard’s chest with the back of his hand. “Shut up, Bruce. Damn, what the fuck are you made of? Concrete?”

Bruce—who in Jax’s opinion had no discernible sense of humour—shook his head. “Shit and piss, Mr. Campbell. Now if I were you, I’d get in there before Ms. Kerrigan loses her temper.”

Letting out a sigh, Jax dragged his hands through his hair, sucked in a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and adjusted his cock once more. “And I thought running from a murderous homicide detective was hard,” he muttered.

Bruce snorted. “I told you not to go home with those twins.”

Jax pulled a surprised expression. “
Not
go home with them? Ahh, shit, I thought you said
go
home with—”

“Jaxon,” Pepper’s voice came from the suite.

He grinned at his bodyguard. “Gotta go. Tell my mum I love her.”

Bruce snorted, shadowed him across the private foyer and into the suite and closed the door behind them with a soft clink.

Spying his fellow band members on the balcony, Jax hurried outside and flopped into the vacant seat next to Samuel Gibson,
Synergy
’s lead guitarist. “Guess what I did last night,” he said, plucking a slice of watermelon from the fruit platter sitting on the middle of the glass table.

Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “Do we really want to know?”

Jax grinned. “Twins.”

He tossed the melon into his mouth and chewed with utter satisfaction at both the delicious sweetness of the fruit and the memory of Sarah and Samantha’s devotion to showing him a good time. A
really
good time.

On his left, Levi Levistan—bass player and award-winning Hollywood composer—let out a chuckling sigh. On his right, Noah Holden—the best drummer in the world and Pepper’s one and only—burst out laughing. And yet Jax noticed a strained energy in Noah’s body. His leg thrummed up and down and he tapped his fingers against his rising and falling knee in a blur.

It had been a while since Jax had seen the ADHD-suffering drummer in such a state. Since Pepper had entered his life, Noah had been so much more calm and centered. Come to think of it, where was Pepper now?

As if he’d conjured her up with the curious thought, their manager strode out onto the balcony, two steaming mugs in her hands.

“Where’s mine?” he asked with a smile as she placed one in front of Noah and kept the other in her hand.

“You don’t get one,” she answered, taking a seat in the empty chair next to Noah.

He pouted. “Because I broke curfew,
Mom
?”

She rolled her eyes. “One of these days, Jaxon Campbell, you’re going to find yourself in a situation you can’t joke your way out of. Now please put a sock in it, there’s a reason for this meeting and it isn’t just to eat breakfast together.”

Jax straightened in his chair. “There’s breakfast coming as well? Excellent.”

Levi picked up a strawberry and threw it at his head.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, catching it mid-air.

“Okay, okay.” Pepper shook her head and shifted in her seat, stiffening her back a little. “Time to be serious.”

Jax frowned, studying everyone at the table. Holy shit. Why
were
they all so serious? “Has someone died?”

“
Synergy
,” Samuel muttered, glaring at the tall glass of juice on the table in front of him.

Jax couldn’t stop his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “We’re breaking up? What the fuck?”

“What Strings is saying—” Pepper shot Samuel an exasperated sideways glance, “—is the notion of replacing Nick for the
Dead Even 2
soundtrack seems unlikely, given the studio wants the song in four weeks.”

“And we’ve had fuck-all luck finding a new lead singer to sing the bloody song,” Samuel continued, lifting his stare from his juice. “So unless one of us is going to take front and centre—and we know that’s not happening or we would have done it when Nick first retired years ago—this wonderful experiment we called
Synergy
has run its course. Told you it was impossible to replace the bastard.”

Jax gaped at the group of people who were closer to him than family. “So that’s it? The reason for all the doom and gloom? Geez, don’t do that to me. I seriously thought someone was dead.”

Levi let out another shaky sigh disguised as a laugh. “Think this group has had its fair share of death, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I think we have.” Jax gave his friend a warm smile. The shit the bass player and his partner, Corbin, had been through this year…man, Jax didn’t know how he’d coped. Jax sure as hell couldn’t. What he
could
do, however, is save
Synergy
.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Leaning forward, he picked up Noah’s untouched coffee, took a sip and then settled back in his seat. “I know a guy.”

Pepper narrowed her eyes. As did Samuel. Noah’s knee stopped thrumming. Levi raised an eyebrow.

“You know a guy?” Samuel echoed.

Jax took another sip of Noah’s coffee. Damn, how many sugars did the guy put in the thing? “Well, more like a girl,” he said after swallowing. “And she hates me. At least, she did the last time I had anything to do with her, but—”

“Jesus,” Samuel burst out, “you’re not talking about who I think you are, are you?”

“I am.”

Pepper frowned at him, then at Samuel and back to Jax again. “Who?”

On Jax’s right, Noah threw back his head and laughed. “Oh man, this is going to be fun.”

Pepper’s frown deepened. “Who are you talking about? Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Jax grinned at his fellow band members, his stomach tight, his heart fast and his groin…well, his groin liked the idea a lot, even if it was damn near suicidal. “Hey,” he said, doing his best to ignore the image of the sexiest woman on the planet suddenly filling his head. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

Noah laughed again.

Samuel snorted. “It’s your funeral, Liberace.”

“
Who
?” Pepper repeated.

Levi sniggered, reached for the glass of juice in front of him and raised it in a toast. “To Jax. He was a brave if somewhat stupid man. We knew him well.”

Pepper gaped them all. “
Who
?”

Stomach knotted, cock well on its way to making his jeans too tight, Jax took one more sip of Noah’s coffee. “Natalie Thorton,” he murmured. “God help me.”

Chapter Two

Natalie Thorton knew going all fan-girly over Nick Blackthorne was pretty damn woeful, given she was the Dean of the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, but it was hard not to. She’d thought by now, two months into his son’s studies there, she would have gotten the highly teenage-like reaction out of her system, and yet every time Nick rang or visited the Con, Nat went a little silly.

The most annoying thing about it all was the fact she knew Nick personally. Knew him just as Nick, not Nick Blackthorne, mega rock god. Of course, she’d known Nick back in the early days of his career, when he and her no-good, lying, duplicitous, stealing ex-boyfriend had performed together. Before she’d gotten wise to the fact Jaxon Campbell wasn’t anything more than the most amazing sex of her life. She’d thought he was her one and only for a while, but truth be known, she’d also thought One Direction were the next Beatles, so her judgment skills back then weren’t exactly stellar.

What
was
stellar, however, was Nick Blackthorne’s son. Damn, Josh Blackthorne could sing and play guitar. The twenty-one-year-old’s voice was a smoky mix of sex, sin and velvet, and he left his father for dead when it came to playing the guitar. The trouble was, Josh was only at the Con because his true love—soccer—had been taken away from him. Which made for an unsettled and at times surly student. A student inclined to rest on his laurels and cause a ruckus in class.

In his two months at the Conservatorium, he’d been in more than one drunken fight, more than one argument with lecturers and teachers, and more than one
situation
with fellow students—which essentially was Nat’s euphemism for Josh Blackthorne being busted having sex with a female student in the choral assembly hall, or the music café
or
the Director of Vocal and Choral studies’ office.

The last time he’d been caught, the
situation
had been taking place in the east recital hall as Nat was taking the Federal Minister for Education and the Federal Minister for the Arts and Culture on a tour of the Con. When they’d walked in on Josh and his
situational friend
, Josh had raised his head from between Emily Duncan’s thighs, grinned at the federal ministers and asked if his performance was worth a standing ovation.

For Nat, it was the last straw.

Either Josh straightened up, or he left. Simple.

Hence Nick Blackthorne’s imminent arrival in less than fifteen minutes. The retired rock star was going to have a talk with his son. Nat suspected, based on his tone of voice during her last telephone conversation with him, that it wasn’t going to be a calm one.

A knock at Nat’s door raised her head from the paperwork she was paying no attention to on her desk.

“There’s a man here to see you, Ms. Thorton,” the pixie-like brunette on the threshold said. “Says he knows you.”