Listen to Me, Page 2

  Or, was. I don’t think he’s released any new music in the past few years.

  I wonder why.

  “I don’t think we’re going to find our act here,” Kat says with a sigh. “We’ve seen at least twenty people in the past two hours. The only ones we liked were a homeless guy, an egomaniac couple, and a rock star.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go.” We gather our handbags and walk out into the cool spring evening. Walking ahead of us, away from the club, is a man with his guitar case. I’d recognize that shape, that walk, anywhere.

  Jake Knox.

  What is up with me being so damn attracted to the bad-boy musician type? It never fails. If there’s a bad-boy musician within a thirty-mile radius, my girl parts are on high alert. Every. Single. Time. Ever since I lost my virginity to Todd Perkins in the eleventh grade. Todd was the lead singer of a garage band and happened to seduce me out of my pants in said garage, right behind the drums.

  And dump me the next day.

  “He even walks sexy,” Kat whispers into my ear.

  “Mm,” I reply.

  “Don’t act all nonchalant with me,” she says, shoving my shoulder. “He turns me on, and you’re the one who loves the bad boys. You have ever since I met you freshman year.”

  I shrug. She’s right.

  “Let’s go to the restaurant. I want to see how Jamie is doing behind the bar,” Kat finally says when it’s apparent that I’m not going to talk about my penchant for musicians.

  “I’ll check on the waitstaff, and we can both make Mia go home.”

  “Mia’s working?” Kat asks with a frown.

  “Of course Mia’s working. She’s not sleeping.”

  “She needs an intervention.”

  “I’LL TAKE A glass of that,” Mia says as she joins Kat and me at the bar after closing. Kat and I each handled our own staff for the rest of the evening, juggled a few mishaps, then sent everyone on their way and decided to unwind with a glass of wine before we head home.

  “I can’t believe you’re still here,” I say to Mia. “You’ve been here since this morning.”

  “Back at you,” she replies with a sigh as she sits on a stool beside me and rolls her head back and forth on her shoulders, stretching. “It was a good day.”

  “You’re taking tomorrow off,” I say, not looking her in the face.

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Yes, we are,” Kat replies and passes two glasses of wine to Mia. “Of all of us, you work the longest hours. The kitchen will survive for one day without you.”

  “What does one do on a day off?” Mia asks.

  “Clean your bathroom. Go to the coast and put your feet in the water. Get laid. Just don’t come here.”

  “Maybe.” Mia shrugs. “Did you find us an act?”

  “No.” I shake my head and sip the crisp, dry wine.

  “But you both look so hot. No one threw themselves at you?”

  “Kat had her ass grabbed a time or two.”

  “I want to grab Kat’s ass,” Mia replies. “Ever since we met her in college we’ve wanted to grab her ass.”

  “And you have,” Kat replies with a salute and takes a shot of tequila.

  “And you loved it,” Mia replies. “Tell me about tonight?”

  “There’s not much to tell. We found one couple that would be good but they wanted a ton of money.”

  “We also found Jake Knox,” Kat says with a satisfied grin.

  “What?” Mia shrieks. “You did not!”

  “We did. He sang one song.”

  “Why? He’s famous. He doesn’t have to go to those things.”

  “Trust me, I wasn’t questioning his motives.” Kat tops off our glasses again. “I was simply thankful to be sitting roughly ten feet away from him.”

  “I’m so jealous! I had Hard Knox posters all over my bedroom!”

  Kat reaches out a fist for a bump. “Me too.”

  “Hard Knox was a good band.” I sip my wine. “They broke up, you know.”

  “So sad.” Mia shakes her head. “You got to see Jake Knox.”

  “But we didn’t find an act for here.” I feel defeated. I so wanted to wrap that up tonight.

  “We’ll find one,” Kat says. “Have Jeremy ask around.”

  “He doesn’t really play the kind of music I want for us.”

  “You mean the good kind?” Mia asks sarcastically.

  “Okay, so he’s no Daughtry. He’s not horrible.”

  Both Kat and Mia just raise a brow at me and smile.

  “Okay, he’s not good.”

  We all giggle and fall into a comfortable silence. Finally, Mia whimpers and lays her head down on the bar. “So tired.”

  “Day off tomorrow, Mia. I mean it.” I rub her back in big circles. “You need to sleep.”

  “Okay. But if anything happens, you call me.”

  “We will,” Kat says. We look at each other while I continue to rub Mia’s back and we don’t need to speak aloud to know what the other is thinking.

  The place would have to be on fire before we’d call Mia tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  Jake

  “You’re quiet.”

  My head jerks up at the sound of her voice, pulling me from some damn daydream, and I frown. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  I chew on my bacon and watch my best friend of more than fifteen years across the table from me at this dive diner that serves the best breakfast in Portland. Christina has been with me through fame and money, and some of the shittiest moments of my life. She’s watched as I hit bottom and clawed my way out of the darkness again.

  She’s the only person in the world that I know I can trust without blinking.

  “Music’s always on my mind,” I reply and take a sip of coffee. She rolls her pretty brown eyes and tosses her brown hair over her shoulder the way she does when she’s annoyed.

  “You’ve been invited to—”

  “Not interested,” I reply, cutting her off. “I lived it, and I don’t need it anymore.”

  “You miss it. You sang at that open-mic-night thing last weekend and you nailed it.”

  I shrug one shoulder and don’t deny that she’s right. I do miss it.

  Not playing music for people hurts as bad as if I were missing a leg, but playing at that open gig the other night was a big mistake. Because now I crave it again.

  But I don’t deserve it.

  Because Christina is missing a leg.

  Because of me.

  “I loved the song you wrote for Nash that just released last week.”

  I manage a grin. “Thanks.”

  “Why did you do it?” she asks unexpectedly.

  “What?”

  “Open-mic night.”

  I rub my hand over my lips and sigh. “I just . . . God, I miss it, C.”

  Her eyes soften. “I know.”

  “So, I sang and I got it out of my system. Case closed.” A complete lie, but I won’t admit that to her.

  “Working this afternoon?” she asks.

  “Yeah, Max and I will be in the studio this afternoon, finishing a couple of songs for Daughtry.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “Must really suck to be you, with your own production company, and fancy studio at your house, and famous people flying in to work with you and all of that.”

  “Yes, it sucks to be me,” I reply dryly.

  “You’re writing, and producing, still making a difference in the music world, just not performing.” She tilts her head to the side and runs her pink-tipped finger over her bottom lip, in thought.

  “You already know this.”

  “Excuse me?”

  We both turn to the pretty blonde standing beside our table, wringing her hands nervously.

  “Hi,” I reply with a smile.

  “Aren’t you Jake Knox?” she asks and I immediately switch gears. My smile is cocky, and I lean back in the chair, assuming the
role.

  “I sure am. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “M-Michelle,” she replies with a slight stutter, and her cheeks blush. More than five years out of the limelight and this still happens at least once a week. “I’d heard a rumor that you lived in Portland now.”

  I raise an eyebrow and glance at Christina, who’s hiding her smile behind her coffee mug.

  “I live in the area,” I reply. “What can I do for you?”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Could I maybe just get a selfie with you?” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and smiles shyly.

  “Sure.” I stand, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and take her phone from her, aiming it high. I paste my signature smirk on my face and take the picture.

  “Wow, thanks. I love your music. Are you going to put a new album out soon?”

  Now Christina frowns and glances down at her empty plate.

  “Thank you. No, the band broke up. I’m more behind the scenes now.”

  “Aww, that’s a shame,” Michelle says with a frown. “Thanks for the photo.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Michelle leaves, happily staring at her phone, and I return to my seat.

  “That wasn’t too painful,” I say and take another bite of bacon.

  “It is a shame,” Chris says.

  “Don’t start, C.” I toss the bacon on my plate and push it away.

  “All I’m saying is—”

  “The same thing you’ve been saying for years. I don’t want to live a public life anymore. It just fucks things up.”

  “You don’t have to live a public life to play music.” She shakes her head, cutting me off when I would speak. “Just listen. Kevin took me to a new restaurant the other night. It’s awesome.” She leans in, her brown eyes shining with excitement. “It’s sexy.”

  “The restaurant is sexy?”

  “Yes, and it’s amazing. So, these women have opened this place in downtown Portland called Seduction. There are aphrodisiacs on the menu, sexy music and atmosphere, amazing wine cellar. Did you know that asparagus is an aphrodisiac?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Me either! Until we went there. It’s so great for couples, and it looks like it’s making quite a name for itself.”

  “What the fuck does it have to do with me?” I ask mildly and sip more coffee.

  “There was a sign in the window advertising for a weekend musician.”

  I stare at her, blinking.

  “So?”

  “So you should go apply!”

  She slaps her hand on the table and leans back with a satisfied smile, proud of herself.

  “Fuck no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Jake Knox doesn’t perform anymore.”

  “Jake Keller could.”

  I tilt my head, suddenly intrigued.

  “You don’t have to go in there and be a rock star, you know. You could just go in with your guitar and play music. You don’t have to do the old Hard Knox stuff, unless you want to try some acoustic arrangements. You could just do covers, if that’s what you wanted. Or new stuff you’re writing.”

  Suddenly the yearning in my gut is so intense I can barely breathe. I love producing and writing music. Hell, I spent a month up in Seattle last fall cowriting and producing with Leo Nash, an old friend of mine, for his band’s new album. It’s fulfilling.

  But fuck me, how I miss performing. And it’s really not about the screaming women, the lights, the louder-than-fuck music.

  It’s just the music itself. Performing and watching the crowd sing along.

  There’s just nothing like it. And the other night, when I sat on that stage and sang, it was like visiting an old friend.

  But I gave it up on a rainy night five years ago when Christina was almost killed and lost her leg, all because of me.

  I shake my head and clench my jaw. “No.”

  “God, you’re so fucking stubborn,” she growls and clenches her tiny fist. “I don’t expect you to never perform again because of something stupid that happened long ago.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Cut the bullshit.” She leans in and narrows her eyes at me. “My accident wasn’t your fault, J. I don’t know how many times I have to say it before you’ll believe it.”

  “If we hadn’t fought—”

  “I’m going to beat you up. Hard.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to see you try with your one leg.” I smirk, but my chest hurts at the words. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you, C.”

  “Then do me a favor and go apply for this job. I want to watch you sing again. I miss it. And the one song the other night wasn’t enough. I know it wasn’t.”

  “I’ll bring my guitar over tonight.”

  She smirks and shakes her head. “Just go apply. They might not hire you. Maybe you suck now.”

  I smirk. “Baby, I’ve never sucked at music.”

  “So prove it.”

  “God, you’re a pain in my ass.”

  She laughs. “I know. I have to go to the doctor now.” She scrunches up her nose and sighs. “I swear, all of Portland has seen my hoo-haw.”

  “Your what?” I ask, raising a brow. “Are you eight?”

  She throws an orange wedge at me. “This whole pregnancy thing needs to resolve itself. Lying with your feet in stirrups is not sexy or fun.”

  “Do you find out today if it worked?” Christina and her husband, Kevin, have been trying to get pregnant for three years. They want this more than anything in the world, and it’s just another thing that the accident has robbed her of.

  Another thing that I’ve robbed her of.

  “Yes,” she says with a smile. “So cross your fingers.”

  “And my toes.”

  “CAN I HELP you?” A young woman greets me as I enter Seduction, nestled in the heart of the Pearl District, one of the trendiest areas of Portland. From the outside, it looks like an old warehouse.

  On the inside, it’s pure sex. But not the kind of seedy sex that you’ll find in any of the many sex or strip clubs in the city. This is classy sex.

  “I’d like to speak with your manager, please.”

  “That’s Addison,” she replies with a bright smile. “I believe she’s in the bar.” She points to the back of the house. I nod and walk through a sea of black tables with wide-backed, plush gray chairs and teal blue table linens. Along the back wall are inviting booths, giving a feel of privacy with pretty gray curtains hanging at the side of each booth.

  The room is arranged to face a small stage that currently sits empty. It’s only lunchtime, so instead of live music, Adele is crooning through the speakers about chasing pavements. I hum along with the song as I enter the bar area, similar in color scheme but a bit more edgy.

  A wall of wine barrels rises behind the bar, with bottles of wine lying inside. There must be a thousand bottles on that wall. Under the countertop is the largest wine fridge I’ve ever seen, also packed full of bottles.

  So they do wine well.

  “You need more for lunch than a glass of wine,” a woman announces. She has deep red, almost burgundy, hair, wide blue eyes, and is wearing a pair of jeans that was made for her ass along with a white tank top that shows off some pretty amazing ink. Her face is made up to look like a pinup model, and her red lips tip up in a grin as the blonde with her back to me takes a sip of her glass of wine.

  “Wine comes from grapes, which is fruit. I’m having a fruit salad for lunch,” she says and sips her glass. “God, this is good.”

  “Of course it is,” Red says with a smirk, then sees me leaning against the archway leading into the bar. “Can we help you?”

  “I’m looking for the manager. I was told I’d find her in here.”

  “And you have,” Blondie says and turns on her bar stool to look at me.

  And suddenly the air is stolen from my lungs. This is the woman I saw the other night at the club. The one I couldn’t take my eyes off of. The o
ne that made the rest of the room fade away.

  The only word I have for her is bombshell, and I’ve never used that word in my life.

  She slides off her seat, perfectly at home in her mile-high black heels, and strides quickly and confidently over to me. She’s in a high-waisted, black pencil skirt with a white button-down tucked into it. Her sleeves are rolled, the top few buttons unfastened on her shirt, giving me a glimpse at the most impressive cleavage I’ve ever seen.

  Her blond hair is piled high on her head, in lazy curls. Her makeup is simple and flawless.

  And she’s wearing black-rimmed glasses.

  Fuck me.

  I swallow hard and hold my hand out to shake hers, but she comes to an abrupt halt about two feet too far to take it.

  “You’re—”

  “Jake Keller,” I interrupt and close the gap to shake her hand. Hers is warm and slender, but her grip is firm. Her eyes narrow.

  “Jake Knox,” she corrects me. “My friends all had your posters on their walls.”

  “You didn’t?” I ask with a cocky smirk, already enjoying her.

  “No, I wasn’t particularly smitten with you.” She pulls her glasses off her nose, much to my disappointment, and tucks them on top of her head in her hair.

  God, I’m such a sucker for a beautiful woman in glasses.

  “Shame,” I reply and continue to smile at her.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here about the job.”

  She frowns. “You want to be a busboy? Are times really that bad, Mr. Knox?”

  “Keller,” I correct her. “Actually, just call me Jake. And I’m here about the weekend music gig. Although, I can clear tables if need be.”

  She tilts her head, hooks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and smiles, and my heart stops. Fucking hell, where did this woman come from?

  And where the hell are these thoughts coming from?

  “I’m quite sure I can’t afford you, Mr. Keller.” She turns to walk away, but I catch her elbow, turning her back to me.

  “It’s not about the money,” I say quickly. “I’d really just like to play.”

  “Your whole band?” she asks with a frown.

  “No, just me. I’ll bring my guitar and all I’ll need you to provide is a mic and a stool, but I’m sure I can come up with a mic if you don’t already have one.”

  She blinks at me, as if I’m not speaking English, then finally says, “Okay, where are the cameras?” She looks around the room and points at Red behind the bar. “Did you stage this? Seriously, you guys are bitches for doing this to me.”