NicenEasy (13 page)

She thought of her lover and couldn’t imagine him in
anything more outrageous than a touch of eyeliner. “I can’t think how he’d do
that.”

Nothing about Murder City Ravens should work. The outrageous
costumes Riku sometimes wore when the mood took him, the subdued T-shirts and
jeans that some of the band members preferred, topless Hunter, ragged and edgy
Zazz, with the occasional wild streak from him and Jace. They went their own
way, with no overall image, and it came together onstage. Nobody could touch
them for sheer musicality, and that, she supposed, was their secret. Not such a
secret. “Don’t you write songs together?”

“Eventually. But Zazz works on the central thread first,
mostly. He’s a walking musical encyclopedia, that man.”

She knew too much about the band to let him get away with
that. “So are you.”

“Hey, not so much. And I do visuals too, or hadn’t you
noticed?” He pounced and dragged out a long black coat that had floating wings
on each side. “What do you think?”

“It’s a bit big for me.”

“Who said anything about you? Haven’t you heard of visual
kei? This is perfect.” Without glancing at the price ticket, he hung the
garment over one arm. “And this.” He pulled free an animal-print jacket with
pants underneath. “With a few additions, that’ll be fucking perfect. Now let’s
get you something. Do you want to make a statement or are you into plain?”

She of her office-perfect clothes and casual jeans and
T-shirts decided she’d grown tired of them. “Statement,” she said. “Not too
expensive,” she added as a concession to the gods of unemployment.

After two hours they returned, Riku with as many bags as
Allie, if not more. He’d promised to lend her a few things, but he was a tall
man, so she doubted he’d find much. “Fuck size, it’s the way you wear it,” he
told her, and she began to recognize her inner rock chick again. Before her
effort to make it in New York, she’d dressed much more flamboyantly.

The vintage store turned out to be much more of a
select-pieces place, but the sympathetic owner found some things that Allie
could afford and loved. Everything was steam-cleaned before going on the
shelves, so she could wear a lot of what she’d chosen immediately. For a couple
of hundred dollars, she’d done really well, probably more than she should have
spent. But she’d enjoyed herself so much she asked Riku if there was a store in
L.A. “Probably,” he said. “Great idea. I’ll ask around.” Fuck it, she could
always work in a department store or something, if she found herself without a
job. And sharing apartments wasn’t that bad.

She’d found the two hours relaxing and was glad that she
wasn’t stuck in the hotel, luxurious though it was. Despite his bizarre
appearance, Riku had a rational and interesting mind, and she found talking to
him almost as easy as talking to Donovan. Almost.

Walking back onto the floor, she felt the tension radiating
out. And knew that he wanted her.

On that thought, Donovan walked out of their suite, his face
taut. “I’m glad you’re back. I could do with your advice.”

“Her advice?”

His mother’s voice sounded from the room. “Why do you need
the advice of someone you hardly know?”

Donovan exchanged a helpless look with her. He didn’t have
to say anything. Walking into the suite ahead of him, she dropped her bags just
inside the door.

Mrs. Harvey gave the shopping bags a glare that would have
incinerated them. “Spending my son’s money already?”

“Spending my money.” Refusing to let the woman rile her,
Allie took her time strolling across the room and taking her seat on the sofa
next to her. Elliott sat on the sofa set on the other side of the coffee table,
on which reposed a large laptop. “How can I help?” She gave Elliott a bright smile.

Donovan closed the door and came to join them. “Would you
like a drink?”

She shook her head, although a coffee might have worked for
her. Used coffee cups lay on the table. Two of them. But she wanted to know
what was going on first, couldn’t wait for the time it would take. Something
was wrong here, she could sense it in the air. It snapped with tension.

Elliott leaned back and crossed his legs. “I’m not sure this
is appropriate. Ms. Bartz works for a publisher.”

“Would it help if I promised not to divulge anything I
learned here?”

Elliott glanced at Donovan, who nodded. “I guess.” Elliott
sat up and faced her directly, his sharp gaze assessing her. “I want a bigger
deal for Donovan. A larger house that can bring in more marketing skills and
reach more readers. And pay a bigger advance. I won’t tell you which house, but
we’re talking big and reliable here, has offered Donovan high six figures for a
three-book deal.”

That rendered her temporarily speechless.

“They want the books fast,” Donovan said. “I’d have to give
up the world tour and probably the band too. They’d need to get another bass
player.”

“So you have a choice,” she said.

“I do.” He didn’t sound happy. Two fantastic options and she
could see why he didn’t want to make one.

“What do you want to do?”

He flashed her a smile. “Thank you.” He turned to his agent
and his mother. “Allie is the first person to ask me what I want, rather than
to tell me what I
should
want.” He reached out and she took his hand
immediately, feeling the connection between them strengthen. Even his mother’s
small “Tcha!” didn’t break their concentration on each other.

“You should think of the future. You’ll have a lump sum you
can put away and you can put down roots,” Mrs. Harvey said. “None of this
gallivanting around the world. You can’t do that forever. This is a good
opportunity for you.”

Donovan didn’t take his attention away from Allie. He
stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. “I never gallivanted in five-star
luxury before.” His gaze said the rest. Nor with her.

Allie tore her gaze away from Donovan to give Elliott a
decided stare. “So what’s in it for you?”

He spread his hands in a you-got-me gesture. “Fifteen
percent and a star client. And you?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Allie. You get him in one place and you get him in
the industry you know about if he takes the book deal.”

She shrugged. “I want him happy.”

She leaned back, breaking the physical contact with Donovan
but keeping the visual link. “I want you happy,” she repeated, this time for
him alone.

“I want him settled,” his mother said.

Allie confronted her. This close, she could see the fine
sheen of sweat on the woman’s forehead despite the almost chilly temperature in
the room. “Why?”

“Because he’s wandered around long enough. He’s reached
thirty and it’s time he thought about settling down.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t gad around forever.”

Mrs. Harvey wanted her son where she could control him.

Now he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You have
Maeve and Paul to wait on you.”

This could turn into a nasty, unproductive argument, Allie
thought. “Where’s Mr. Harvey?” she asked abruptly.

“Snoring his head off,” Mrs. Harvey said. “I can’t sleep
during the day.” She widened her eyes and gazed at her son, softening her
voice. “I’m not getting any better, Don. I’ve put a brave face on it, but I’m
in pain most of the day.”

“It’s night for you,” Allie pointed out. “You should rest.”
Get
out of this room and stop trying to guilt-trip your son.

Something had to give, and she wanted Donovan alone to think
over the decision he had to make. If he needed to make one at all. He seemed so
sure that he couldn’t do both.

She got to her feet and headed for the small refrigerator in
the corner of the room. “Anyone like a drink?”

Nobody did, so she found herself a bottle of water but
didn’t go back to the main seating area.

“The point is,” Elliott said, “this offer came in to D.G.
Ford, not Donovan Harvey. They didn’t know your alter ego when they made the
offer. They really want these books, Donovan, not the kudos of celebrity. If
you say yes, I can parlay this offer up to seven figures. A celebrity author
who can actually write? Gold dust.” He paused. “You don’t even have to write
every word or do every drawing. I can negotiate that for you too. If you want.
Just say the word, buddy, and you can be a literary giant.”

Donovan’s lip twisted. “Hemingway I ain’t.”

“No you’re not. You’re Donovan Harvey and you’re fucking
good.” Allie ignored his mother’s outraged squawk. Why was everybody talking
about him instead of leaving him alone?

She’d had enough, and she could sense that Donovan was about
done. “Out. Both of you, out. I don’t doubt you have his best interests at
heart, but he needs time on his own.”

Neither Elliott nor Mrs. Harvey moved for a minute. Then
Elliott glanced at Donovan’s set face. He closed his computer and got to his
feet. “She’s right. You need to think.” He glanced at her and jerked his head
in a nod. “Nice assessment.”

It took a little longer to get rid of Mrs. Harvey, who
wanted to describe her symptoms in more detail.

Five minutes later, they’d gone and he was still sitting on
the sofa, elbows on his knees, frowning and staring into space. Allie sipped
the water and watched him until she thought he needed to wake up. He needed to
think, but too much and he’d just go around and around without getting
anywhere.

“Who’d have thought two such wonderful opportunities could
leave you in such a dilemma?” She strolled toward the sofas and, as she’d
hoped, he looked up and smiled.

“Hey, you. I know something I’m not in two minds about.”

She joined him and he put his arms around her, taking her in
a long, drugging kiss.

“Now I feel better,” he murmured against her lips.

“Do you know what you want to do?”

He shook his head and pulled back a little. “That’s the
problem. I dreamed of being a writer once, but I didn’t have much luck. I fell
into being a musician, played in pubs and small clubs because it got me more
money, then I found I loved it. I never dreamed of being a rock musician, other
than playing air guitar with my school tennis racket. I started to draw on tour
and it went with the stories. Riku told me to send them off. ‘What can it
hurt?’ he said.” His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “This is how it can hurt.”

“People have left the band before,” she said. She smoothed
his hair, loving the thick, velvety texture. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Do you want me to?” His gaze bored into her.

“I want you to do what you want. I can’t tell you. Nobody
can.”

He snatched another kiss, as if he couldn’t help it. “No,
that’s right. My decision. Which I won’t make yet. I want to think it over.”

“Works for me. Do you want the band to know?”

“Why not? They have the right. I’ll tell them later, when
nobody else is around. Except maybe you.”

“Because I already know?”

“Because you matter to me.”

Donovan had to face the band. He owed it to them, but they
had a song to run through and Riku had ideas for it. That took priority. Always
had. So he got out his guitar and went to the large living room. Security was
doing its job, keeping people away. Later, he’d take his mother and Allie
shopping or sightseeing. His father had already left on his trip to Alcatraz,
with Chick in tow.

Zazz ran through the song a capella and then, without being
asked, started again. Donovan tried out a few notes and Hunter joined in,
tapping out a basic backbeat on his electronic drum kit. The next time around,
V added a breath of a sax note, barely there, but the listener would notice if
it were absent.

Matt stood at the bar, watching. Occasionally he’d add a
suggestion, but he was the only member not officially in the band they allowed
in to these sessions. Besides, Matt had belonged, and did again. He could
imagine how the music would sound in its polished, recorded version. Or rather,
he could imagine several different versions.

They built the song and on the fourth go-round, Riku added
something, guitar and a few notes he hummed under his breath.

Donovan loved this. Fucking loved it. Couldn’t imagine not
doing it. When the band played he could put all his concentration into it and
nothing else mattered. He suggested another try but Riku vetoed it. “We need
Jace here for the next part. Those notes, I want to put in some electronic
stuff. Maybe scratch something onto it. This needs to be fuller.”

“Yeah.” V had started distorting her sax using a
foot-operated floor panel. “I don’t want sax, I want something winding and
weird. This is a fantastic number. We could go any way.”

“Do you want my input?” Matt asked. The fizz as he twisted
off the cap of a bottle of soda and took a gulp sounded loud in the sudden
quiet.

“Anytime, man.” That came from Hunter. Laconic but to the
point, as always.

“It’s a beautiful song. One of Zazz’s pure, heartfelt
numbers. There’s no anger in it, like in some of the others he’s been writing
recently. So it could be quiet, an acoustic break. Or you can build on it and
leave the lyrics and the central melody as the heart. That could be completely
awesome, or it could be insane. No way of telling right now. But the song’s about
the wind blowing you where it will, so weave around him and change it up. Make
it seemingly unstructured, and then bring it all together at the end. I can’t
really explain it, but I can hear it in my head.”

“So can I,” Riku said. “Shit, so can I. He’s right. I vote
we leave this one where it is until Jace gets here.”

“Too busy with his new lady,” Hunter murmured.

“Nah.” Matt grinned at V. “We’re here, aren’t we?” He blew
her a kiss and she laughed but didn’t catch it, which made Donovan kind of
glad. Murder City Ravens didn’t do cute.

Maybe they did. Last night he’d made love to Allie with a
tenderness he’d rarely employed with anyone. He’d never really gotten off on it
before, but she so clearly enjoyed it and he wanted to make her happy. Her
pleasure had brought him right back up and he’d ended up, after long and slow
loving that could have lasted hours for all he knew, climaxing with a
thoroughness that left him gloriously tranquil and sleepy.

He’d woken up with the idea for the song firmly fixed in his
head. As usual, he hadn’t had to tell Hunter, just start the piece and their
combined inner clock allowed his bandmate to pick up and expand the thoughts
that had only existed in his mind an hour before. Usually, his bass line came
as a result of hard work, trying various combinations and ideas, but this had
just gelled.

Allie was sure as fuck good for him.

But she had to go back to New York if she was going to hang
on to what she had. He was living proof that you could never get everything you
wanted. When all his options were great, why did he feel so bad?

“So what’s so important that I have to come back early?” a
new voice said.

“Shit, Jace, do you have to creep about like a-a-fucking
creeping thing?” V demanded, spinning around to face the newcomer.

“Yeah, right.” Grinning, Jace sauntered toward the group of
sofas the band had taken as its own. Zazz shifted over to make room for him.
“Beverley’s in the office, aka Chick’s room, makin’ sense of whatever mess he’s
left this time. Your parents are here?” He raised a dark brow at Donovan.

“Yeah and you know how well I get on with them.” He’d never
hidden his most candid thoughts about his “invalid” mother from the band. He
put his guitar aside, laying it against the arm of the sofa. “I need to tell
you guys something now you’re all here.”

Riku, in the process of retuning his instrument, stopped.
Hunter switched off his rig. V froze, her fingers on the keys, and exchanged a
glance with Matt, who moved closer to where she sat. Jace just watched him, his
expression unreadable. “So okay, you’ve got our attention,” Zazz said. “Go
ahead.”

“Elliott Moore flew here with a specific reason. He said it
was to come to the convention, but he didn’t arrive until it was nearly over.
He needn’t have bothered if that was the only reason for him to come. He had
the flu, so he couldn’t make the signing.” He shrugged. “I did okay without
him. But he had something else to tell me.”

This was proving fucking hard to do, but he had to say it.
Honesty, he reminded himself. His mother had nearly made his father cancel his
visit to Alcatraz this morning because she’d claimed to be ill. Only the
combined efforts of Chick, Allie and himself had persuaded him that she wasn’t
at death’s door and they would look after her. At which point she’d retired
back to bed in a huff. That was where lack of honesty got a person. Trapped in
something they didn’t want.

“Okay, man, so spill,” Riku said. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s pretty good, actually.” He lifted his gaze, met Matt’s
troubled, dark stare. Matt had once been Maxx Syccorraxx, badass lead singer
and hard-living man. People used to make bets on how long he’d last, but after
one too many near-death experiences, he’d gone to rehab and turned his life
around. So it was possible to change direction, to change and be happy.

“Elliott told me he’d had a six-figure offer from a major
publishing house. They want a series of books, but the money’s just for the
first three. And they made the offer before they knew who I was, so it wasn’t
Murder City Ravens that did it for them. Now my secret’s out, he thinks he can
parlay seven figures out of them.”

“Shit, that’s amazing.” Riku leapt up and shook his hand,
the others following suit with slaps on the back and handshakes, even a kiss
from V.

“Fuckin’ A,” Matt murmured to him. “Author and bass player.
Congratulations, pal.”

Donovan shook his head gloomily. “Author
or
bass
player. I can’t do both.”

“Why the fuck not?” V demanded. “You’ve done fine so far.”

“They want a lot more from me and I’d have to do it full-time.”
Plus, he could spend more time with Allie. That hadn’t escaped his notice.
Although he’d told her he loved her “for now”, when he’d first kissed her he’d
felt a connection that went bone-deep.

It was true, he didn’t do forever, didn’t believe in it, but
he wanted her for as long as he could imagine. He wouldn’t let her go easily,
and he’d wait for her if he had to. But telling her that? No way.

As an author, he could live anywhere, which would mean with
Allie. Not wander around the world in the company of other vagabonds. The fact
that those vagabonds were his best friends didn’t escape him either. Neither
did his love for the music they created together.

He loved drawing and writing, creating new worlds and
exploring them. Shit, fuck and damn. This was impossible.

“You know what?” Jace said. He leaned back, folded his arms.
“Murder City Ravens has been through a fuck of a lot in its short life. We’ve
coped before, we’ll do it again. I nearly left the band recently.” They
exchanged glances. Some knew, some had guessed that when Jace’s family home
went up for sale he might decide to stay with the new venture and quit the
band.

“I went with my heart in both cases. I was going to give up
the band so I could have Beverley, but she wouldn’t let me do that. Now I have
both of them. Sometimes that’s not possible, but I wasn’t about to give up on
Beverley. Ever. You have to go with your heart, with what will make you happy.
Life’s not a rehearsal, man. Fuck, I’m not tellin’ you anything you don’t know,
just trying to point it out. Do what you need to do. Don’t do it for anyone
else.”

“He’s right.” Hunter didn’t speak much, but what he said was
always to the point. “We’ll miss you but it’s not like we’ll never hear from
you again. You’re the best bass player for us, but maybe you need to move on.
Matt did.”

“Matt came back,” Matt said. “But I never planned it that
way. Don’t get me wrong, I was fucking glad when it happened, but I’d built
myself back up by then.”

“Sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll and comic novels,” Riku
suggested.

That thought remained with him as much as the others. “I’ll
tell you all by the end of the last concert in L.A. If I decide to leave, I’ll
honor my commitments.”

“Fuck that,” said Riku. “We can get a standby for a while.
Matt’s got some fucking brilliant session players. Tell us by the end of L.A.
and then go, if that’s what you need. You owe us nothing. We owe you, Donovan.
Just be sure you take the right path.”

Yes, that was the thing. Choose and stick with it and give
his whole self to it.

Allie picked up her phone when it rang, expecting it to be
Donovan or perhaps Chick. Once Chick had a phone number, she was discovering,
he made good use of it. But she didn’t recognize the number on the screen.
Taking a chance, she answered it anyway. “Hello.”

“Is that Allison Bartz?”

“Yes.” She could always change her number if the media had
gotten hold of it.

“Duane Fredericks here.”

It seemed like a strangely long time before she remembered
that Duane was Nancy’s boss, the senior editor of the fiction department at
Casterbridge.

So this was it, her official dismissal. Nancy had done what
she’d threatened and gone to her boss, even before she’d flown back to New
York. Allie braced herself for the inevitable. “Hello, Duane. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. Listen, Allie, it’s about Nancy. I’ve been
talking to her and it seems you and she are incompatible working together. I’d
call it artistic differences. Am I right?”

Did she tell him the truth, that Nancy was a sleazy boss
who’d get authors at any cost? She couldn’t assume that everybody at
Casterbridge operated the same way, surely? But if she told him and he didn’t
believe her, that might screw up her career in publishing completely. She
decided on a half-truth. “That’s part of it, yes.”

“Okay. How would you feel working for someone else here?
Maybe with a promotion?”

Promotion? Ah, yes, right. “That sounds good.”

Silence for a brief moment. “Yes, Nancy does have a forceful
personality. You’ve no doubt heard rumors about Casterbridge at the convention,
but like most, there’s only a little truth in them. However, we are
restructuring the company and this does necessitate moving people about.

”Allie, I’ll be honest. Those pictures and the gossip, it’s
not good. As a result, Carl Morano will be moving to Nancy’s editorship, but we
have many other authors we can keep you busy with.” He paused. “You’re taking a
few days’ vacation?”

“It’s due.” She didn’t mean to sound so defensive.

“Yes, it is, and it’s a good time to take it. You’re not
alone, Nancy tells me.”

Aha. Smooth bastard. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re with Murder City Ravens? One member in particular?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. Oh well, why not? He said he’d seen
the pictures, so it was hardly a secret anymore. “Donovan Harvey, the bass
player.”

“And you’ll be staying with him until you’re due back in New
York?”

“Yes, I will.”

He hummed, actually hummed. “I’ve done some research. Murder
City Ravens is a very private band and the manager is extremely protective of
them. You’ve got in where few people go. You hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes.” Although she wasn’t sure that she did. She’d let him
tell her what he wanted.

“Donovan Harvey is this month’s hot property in the
publishing world. Coming out at the convention was a masterstroke. I understand
he has a contract for three books with Edsel, but that’s a small publisher. We
can offer more.
Now
do you hear what I’m saying?” He sounded impatient.
Good.

“Yes. You want Donovan Harvey and you want me to get him for
you.” Presumably because they couldn’t. “Have you tried approaching him
directly?” Like, say, the other house had, through Elliott.

“We’ll leave that to you. We’ll have to make a formal offer
through his agent, but if you can secure his approval, that won’t take long.”

“What are you offering him?” Better to ask, but she doubted
Casterbridge could match the figure Elliott had mentioned.

“We can go up to half a million.”

“What are you offering me?”

“A senior editor’s salary and the chance to work with him
exclusively if you need it. That might mean traveling with him.”

The crafty bastard. Giving her what she wanted, but in a way
she could accept. Since she was sleeping with him anyway, she might be able to
persuade him. Not sleep with him in order to snag him. A lot of difference in
that approach. Shit, Donovan must be hot right now. She’d get everything she
wanted and a salary to go with it. His exclusive editor, traveling with him,
enjoying the sights and sounds of a band on the road.

She couldn’t deny she was tempted, but the fact that he knew
that and was depending on it gave her more pause than anything else. Leverage
to the max. Play for time.