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“I’ll
work with Butch on the schedule,” Max said. “See if there’s any give in it.”

“You’re
fucking kidding, right?” Dare asked, offering him a glare that would have sent
Reagan sobbing under the sofa.

“We
have to write,” Max said. “We don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“That’s
the problem,” Dare said. “We don’t ever have a choice. This isn’t even our band
anymore.” He pointed an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction. “It’s his and the
assholes he answers to.”

Reagan
cringed when Dare stalked to the door and threw it open. “I’m not answering any
questions,” he announced as he stepped out of the room. The incessant chatter
of the milling reporters went silent, and they formed a clear path for him to
walk unhindered down the corridor. Reagan wished she could do that. It was as
if Dare had superpowers. She hoped they were contagious.

“Are
you going to yell at me and stalk out of the room as well?” Sam asked Reagan.

She
shook her head, far too intimidated to speak. And she doubted the reporters
would obey her commands to leave her alone.

“They
really are under a lot of pressure,” Max said.

“You
don’t think I know that?” Sam said, sinking into the sofa.

Reagan
was shocked by how old and tired he suddenly looked. It was as if someone had
punctured his pompousness and all the jerk in him had leaked out at once.

“Sales
still not where they need to be?” Max said, sitting on the coffee table in
front of Sam.

Sam
shook his head. “A new album will help,” he said, “but the youth of America
isn’t as angry as it used to be. They all listen to pop and techno.”

“Not
all,” Reagan said, surprised she remembered how to speak.

“Do
you have any ideas on how to keep the fans Exodus End already has and at the
same time attract new ones?” Sam asked.

“Me?”
Reagan asked, slapping herself in the chest so hard, it was sure to leave a
mark.

Sam
chuckled. “Yeah, you. We hope this new all-girl band draws a younger crowd and
they stick around for the headliner, but we have no way of knowing if the
strategy will work.”

“So
you signed them to the tour to help us?” Reagan asked, her head spinning. “Not
the other way around?”

“Everything
Sam does, he does for the band,” Max said. “Deep down, the guys know that, but
no one likes to work harder for fewer and fewer results. So they take it out on
him.”

“I
didn’t realize,” Reagan said.

“How
could you? You’re the new girl,” Sam said. “Another promotional stunt to keep
Exodus End on top.”

“I’d
like to help keep them there,” Reagan admitted. “But I’m not comfortable being
used as a sex object.”

Sam
sighed. “Maybe instead of trying to get young men to fill the stadium, we
should focus on horny women. Max, how do you feel about performing shirtless?”

“I
thought Steve was our angle there,” Max said.

“Steve
isn’t very visible back behind his drums, and you no longer have a guitar strap
chafing your shoulder—”

“I’ll
think about,” Max said.

Reagan
ducked her head to hide a terse frown. She knew how much it bothered Max that
his guitar strap was currently chafing Reagan’s shoulder instead of his. None
of them needed the reminder that he couldn’t play.

“You
do that,” Sam said, patting Max’s knee. “And Reagan . . .”

“Try
to pretend I’m sexy,” she said.

“You
are sexy,” Sam said. “I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that fact.” Sam
stood and walked stiffly toward the door. “I guess I’d better deliver the bad
news to Twisted Element myself. Assuming Steve hasn’t already set them off on a
rampage. Would you do me a favor, Max?”

“Probably.”

“Try
to get the guys excited about having Baroquen join the tour.”

“I’ve
never heard of them,” Max admitted. He looked at Reagan and lifted an eyebrow.

She
shrugged and shook her head. She’d never heard of them either.

Sam
smiled, his eyes flashing with excitement. “That’s about to change. They’re
going to be huge.”

Sam
left the dressing room and barked at the reporters. “The band will have a press
conference within the next week and you can ask any questions you like. You’re
wasting your time hanging around here.”

Reagan
hoped they listened. She didn’t want to have to make her way through that swarm
on her way to the stage.

The
door closed, and Max released a long sigh. “He’s always doing this to me.”

“Who?”

“Sam.
He puts me in charge of pissing everyone off.”

“Maybe
you’re good at it.”

Max
laughed, rested his elbows on his knees, and then rubbed at his eyes with the
heels of his hands. “I completely understand why Steve is ready to drop the
record label, but the reason they’re always on our backs is because we’re not
pulling in as many sales as we did even three years ago. We’re on a steady
decline and have been since the last album came out.”

“I
don’t see how that’s possible,” Reagan said. “The arena is packed every night.
Fans line up around the block at every promo event.”

“Sinners
is drawing part of that crowd. I’m not sure we’d sell out if we weren’t
co-headlining with them. I’m not saying we’re broke—we’re still the top-grossing
band in hard rock—but our margin of success is slipping.”

Dread
dropped into the pit of her stomach like a stone. “I had no idea. Do the guys
know?”

Max
nodded. “They’re just not too concerned about it. I guess they figure we’re
still doing well and we’re busting our asses trying to keep the fans we have.”

“But
you’re not bringing in new fans,” Reagan said, seeing the conversation with Sam
in an entirely different light.

“Not
many. We haven’t found the right hook.”

“And
Sam thinks I might be the right hook.”

“We
all think you’re the right hook, but none of us want your sex appeal to be the
focus of your career, Reagan. You’re an amazing musician, not our whore.”

“Tell
that to the tabloids.” Reagan laughed, resisting the urge to hug him for making
her feel valuable. She didn’t think Max was much of a hugger. She’d seen Toni
hug him, but Toni hugged anyone and everyone, oblivious to how uncomfortable it
made some of them.

“Don’t
let them get you down, Reagan. It’s not personal. They’re just trying to sell
papers.”

“And
you’re just trying to sell music.”

Max
shifted his gaze to the floor. “I can’t apologize for doing whatever it takes
to save this band from obscurity.”

Reagan
reached over and touched the back of his hand, her fingers brushing the brace
that stabilized his wrist.

“I
don’t want you to apologize, Max. I want to help.” If she had to shake her ass
to do her part, she’d shake her ass.

Max
turned his hand over and linked his fingers through hers before patting the
back of her hand with his good one. “We appreciate your cooperation,” he said.
“Just don’t forget that the music always comes first.”

“I
won’t forget.” How could she forget? Before Max had made her see things
differently—unlike Sam who just bossed her around and expected her to
obey—she’d believed music was her
only
responsibility.

“Will
you be okay if I leave you alone?” he asked. “I have some business to attend
to.”

She
didn’t want to be alone. God, she was getting as bad as Trey. Maybe his
inability to spend even a moment in solitude was infectious. But she didn’t
want to hold Max back from his business. Whatever needed his attention was likely
far more important than keeping her company.

“I’ll
be fine,” she said, “but if you see Cora, could you send her to me? I think I
need to make a few adjustments to my costume and makeup for tonight’s show.”

“Don’t
overdo it,” he said. “Last night when you showed up in your street clothes,
with your hair a mess and wearing indignation like a shield, you were the
sexiest I’ve ever seen you.”

She
drew her eyebrows together, no longer sure what he wanted from her. “I thought
you wanted me to get the fans all hot and bothered.”

“That’s
exactly what we’re after.” Max’s predatory grin filled her belly with
butterflies. “And all you have to do is be yourself. Drop your guard, let them
see what’s inside—Reagan in the raw. And I’m not talking about your body. Bare
your soul. It’s always the sexiest part of a woman.”

This
was going to be a lot harder than she’d anticipated.

And,
jeez, was it hot in there, or was it just him? She nodded and licked her lips,
not sure she could form words. Max stood and crossed the room. Reagan tried
very hard not to stare at his ass, but her eyes were starved for candy. He paused
at the door and turned. Her gaze darted upward. Shit, she’d been caught. He
grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head. Her jaw dropped.
She’d never seen Max without a shirt; he even wore one in the gym. Beneath his
shirt, the man was all hard muscle and beautiful colored tattoos and
well-groomed chest hair that tapered into a narrow strip that separated his abs
before disappearing into his waistband. He was blindingly gorgeous.

“Do
you think this will draw more women to our shows?” he asked, running a hand
down his side. It wasn’t the cheesy bragging move she expected from a man who
looked the way he did. He seemed to be genuinely concerned that women wouldn’t
find his shirtless look appealing.

“Yeah,”
she said, “but they won’t be there for the music.”

“Good
point.” He pulled his shirt back on over his head. “Let’s try baring our souls
a little more first. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll show some skin.”

“So
is Steve going to perform entirely nude then?” The drummer already played shirtless
and barefooted, and he didn’t make it a secret that he went commando under
those tight pants of his.

Max
laughed as he reached for the doorknob. “Don’t put any ideas in his head. With
the way he flails about when he performs, he’d end up putting an eye out.”

Reagan
laughed at the mental image of Steve’s flailing cock poking him in the eye. “I
think you’re being rather generous.”

Max
opened the door and Reagan was relieved to see the crowd of reporters had
vanished. Maybe they’d taken Sam’s words to heart, or maybe they’d found
something better to do than stare at the outside of her dressing room door.

“Do
you still want me to send Cora your way?”

“Yeah.
Maybe she has some makeup that will cover up the ugly parts of a soul.”

Max
smiled at her. “You don’t need it.”

How
is that man still single? she wondered as he exited the room and the door
clicked shut behind him. In her head, Reagan started going through a list of
her single friends, wondering if he’d be open to an introduction. She was still
dismissing prospective mates as not good enough for Maximillian Richardson when
Cora entered the room lugging a makeup case the size of Texas.

“Girl,”
she said, her dark eyes wide as she gaped at Reagan. “What did you do to your
hair?”

Reagan
ran a hand over the tangled mess. “Not a thing.”

“That’s
obvious.” She set her case down next to the dressing table in the corner. “Get
on over here. We have work to do.”

Reagan
trudged across the room and plopped down on the bench. She stared at herself in
the mirror, rubbing at the dark circles under her eyes with her fingertips. She
looked like she hadn’t slept at all the night before. But then she pretty much
hadn’t. Trey and Ethan had kept her occupied for a few hours, but even after
they’d both fallen asleep, she’d stared up at the ceiling, a hand on both of
the men she loved to remind herself that they were worth any trouble that came
with loving them both.

Making
Reagan look like she wasn’t trying too hard to look sexy had taken a
professional with a suitcase of supplies almost an hour to accomplish.
Seriously? The painted-whore look didn’t even take that long.

Cora
stepped back and spun the chair to face the mirror. Reagan was a little afraid
to check her reflection for the results. When she did find the nerve to look
up, her appearance wasn’t what she expected. She looked basically the same as
she usually did except more vibrant. Cora had skipped the contouring and hadn’t
used the deep eye and lip colors she’d used in the past.

“Is
that what you’re going for?” Cora asked.

“I
think so.” Reagan was a terrible judge of her own appeal. Max had thought she
looked sexy the night before, and she hadn’t been wearing
any
makeup
then. So maybe this was the right look. She liked it.

“Are
we doing a wardrobe change too?” Cora asked.

“I
guess. You know I’m not good at this stuff.”

They
tried several combinations of Reagan’s normal street clothes and her stage
attire, mixing pieces until they decided she’d wear lace-up boots that were a more
feminine version of her favorite combat boots paired with the short skirt she
usually wore on stage. Cora ripped off most of the tulle that made up the outer
layers of the skirt, leaving a few ragged pieces that gave the skirt a grungier
look. Cora also took her scissors to the back of the black T-shirt Reagan had
put on that morning. The designer created a skull pattern with holes, the eyes
appearing red since Reagan’s bra strap showed through, the rest revealing areas
of bare skin.

“I
think it looks awesome,” Reagan said, looking over her shoulder so she could
see her back in the mirror. “But I’m not sure it’s sexy.”

“Trust
me, girl, it’s sexy. Y’ain’t gotta show tits and ass to look sexy.”

Reagan
was relieved to hear that. A knock at the door made her jump.

“Are
you decent?” Dare’s voice asked through the crack in the door.

“I’m
never decent,” she said, “but I am dressed if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Can
I come in?”

“Yeah,
I need a guy’s opinion.”

“I
can offer one of those,” Dare said as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Reagan
put her hands on her hips—feeling foolish—and then turned to show him the back
of her attire. “We’re going for sexy without trying too hard.”

“That’s
cool,” Dare said, sticking a finger into a hole in the center of her back and
making her dance sideways. “Where’d you get it?”

“Cora
made it. Is it sexy or just cool?”

“It
makes me want to stick my fingers in all your holes.” Dare winked at Cora, who
snorted.

“I’m
gonna make me a shirt like this,” Cora said, fanning her neck with one hand.

“Watch
it, Dare,” Reagan teased. “You wouldn’t want me to tell your brother that
you’re making moves on me, would you?”

“I
don’t think he’d care.” Dare lifted both eyebrows. “Unless they were
successful?”

“Dream
on.”

“Yoo-hoo,”
Cora called, waving to get Dare’s attention. “They’d be successful on me.”

Dare
chuckled. “I’m tempted, beautiful, but you know I don’t mix business with
pleasure.”

“Fire
me,” Cora said. “Right now. Fire me.”

Reagan
rolled her eyes. “Stop joking around, Cora. You know I need you to fix my
hair.”

“She
thinks I’m joking,” Cora grumbled, grabbing a brush, both curling and flat irons,
and a variety of hair products from her bag and then arranging them none too gently
on the dressing table. “Like I’d rather do her hair than rock Dare’s world,”
she continued under her breath. “The girl’s done lost her mind, I tell you.”

Still
grinning, Dare leaned against the edge of the dressing table.

“What’s
up?” Reagan asked, wincing as Cora got to work on her hair, also none too gently.

“Sam’s
arranging the press conference for tomorrow morning,” he said. “I figured you’d
want to know so you could prepare.”

Reagan’s
body stiffened involuntarily. “Tomorrow morning!”

“Hold
still,” Cora complained.

“Why
so soon?” Reagan asked, though ten years in the future would still be too soon
for her to face the press.

“We’re
going back to LA to attend Phil’s funeral before we head to the East Coast for
the final leg of the US tour.”

“Trey
wanted to go back tonight after the show,” Reagan said, thinking she was off
the hook. “He wants to be there for Sed.”

“Trey
should go back tonight,” Dare said, “but you need to stay here with us.”

So
not only was she expected to face the press, she was expected to do it without
Trey? She trusted him above all others when it came to this notoriety bullshit.
How would she manage without him?

“I
don’t think I can get through this without him,” she admitted.

“We’re
here for you,” Dare said.

“Wish
they was here for
me
,” Cora grumbled. She wrapped the hair at the back
of Reagan’s head around her curling iron.

Dare’s
claim meant a lot to Reagan. If she wanted the guys to ever truly accept her as
part of their band, she figured she should allow herself to rely on them a
little. “I know,” she said. “I’ll call Trey and let him know he should leave
without me.”

“You’ll
see him tomorrow,” Dare said, patting her hand.

Reagan
nodded, though she was sure the next twelve hours would feel like a lifetime.

“Stop
moving your head,” Cora protested.

“I’ll
come get you and escort you to the stage in about forty-five minutes,” Dare
said. “Do you think you can stay out of trouble that long?”

Reagan
grinned but didn’t chance a nod. Cora was liable to brand her with that curling
iron if she moved again. “I’ll try.”

Dare
shifted away from the dressing table.

“I’m
almost done here,” Cora said. “Do you need help with your hair?”

Shoulder-length,
straight and shiny, Dare’s black hair looked like dark angels continually
tended every strand to perfection. “I’m good, thanks,” Dare said, “but I’m sure
Max could use some help.”

Cora
sighed forlornly and nodded. “I’ll hunt him down in a bit. And Logan too. Get
that fro of his under control.”

Dare
left the women alone, and Cora reached for her flat iron to run through
Reagan’s bangs.

“Are
you really cheating on Trey with your bodyguard?” Cora asked.

Reagan’s
eyes widened and flicked upward, catching Cora’s gaze in the mirror.

“Sorry,”
Cora said, “that ain’t none of my business.”

“I’m
not cheating on him,” Reagan said, concentrating hard on keeping the tremor
from her voice. If she couldn’t say such things to Cora, she’d never be able to
repeat them to the press the next morning. And she
wasn’t
cheating on
Trey. So she could confidently say that without lying. But if they worded the
question a bit differently—
are you involved with Ethan Connor
, for example—she
would have to lie, and she was horrible at it. Maybe she could just run away
and no one would notice.

After
Cora finished with her hair, still grumbling about never getting to work with
Dare, she left Reagan alone. As soon as the door closed, she called Trey.

“Everything
okay?” he asked.

“As
good as can be expected,” Reagan said. “I’ve been hiding out in my dressing
room all evening. And Sam’s here.”

“Did
he piss you off again?”

Sam
managed to piss her off every time she interacted with him. She’d always
considered him misogynistic, but Max had changed her way of thinking about
Sam’s motives. At least a little.

“A
bit, but it’s not important. He’s scheduled a press conference for tomorrow
morning.”

“Have
you thought about what you’re going to say?”

“Not
much,” she admitted. Just thinking about being under a media microscope made
her skin itchy, as if she were breaking out in hives.

“Ethan
and I will come up with a bunch of potential questions, and we’ll drill you
tonight.”

“I’d
rather you just drill me and skip the questions entirely,” she said.

Trey
chuckled. “We can do both.”

“Actually,
you should go to LA without me. Your band needs you there to support Sed.”

“I
just talked to him. He’s holding it together.”

Reagan
covered her churning belly with one hand. She didn’t want Trey to go to LA. She
wanted him sitting right beside her when she faced the press. But knowing him,
he’d tell the whole world what kind of relationship they were truly involved in,
and Reagan doubted she could handle the public outrage.

“I
need to do this myself,” she said. “Dare wants me to depend on my own band a
little more.”

“Dare
said that?”

“Yeah.
I can’t expect to be one of them if I go to you with all my band-related
problems.”

“I
get that,” he said. “But this isn’t just a band-related problem, Reagan. It
affects all of us.”

Reagan
licked her lips, contemplating her options. Dare had a point, but so did Trey.
Whose advice should she follow?

“Will
you be upset if I do this press conference on my own?” she asked.

“Of
course not,” Trey said. “If you feel more comfortable without me there—”

“I’d
feel loads better if you were here,” Reagan admitted. “But I think I need to do
this on my own.”

“What
about Ethan? Do you want him there?”

“No,”
she blurted. She didn’t want the press to give him the third degree. She’d
shoulder the burden this time and hopefully diffuse this bomb before it
exploded and destroyed them all. “Take him home with you.”

“He
isn’t going to like this,” Trey said.

“I’m
sure you can charm him into leaving with you.”

“If
he thinks you might be hurt? Yeah, wish me luck. He’s been pacing the floor
since you left.”

“Let
me talk to him.”

She
heard Trey say, “She wants to talk to you,” before Ethan came on the phone.

“Say
the word and I’m there,” Ethan said. “I don’t give a shit what those reporters
say about me, but if they insult you, I will make them sorry.”

“Ethan,
I don’t need you here.” Which wasn’t true or even slightly true. “I want you to
leave with Trey tonight, and I’ll meet you at home tomorrow.”

“Not
happening.”

Reagan
massaged her forehead. She didn’t need the added stress of Ethan’s
stubbornness. “It will make things easier on me.”

“I’m
not buying it, Reagan,” Ethan said. “I know you need someone to lean on right
now.”

“That’s
what my band is for. I won’t ever be accepted if I don’t allow myself to rely
on them.”

She
could hear Trey’s voice in the background, but couldn’t hear what he was
saying.

“She’s
too upset to know what she needs,” Ethan said.

She
refused to listen to a one-sided conversation about her inability to make her
own decisions. “I’m going now. We’re on early tonight.”

“Reagan . . .”

“And
if you show up here against my wishes, I will be pissed.” Hands shaking, she
hung up the phone before they got into a heated argument. She didn’t want to take
out her frustration on those closest to her. Her outlet, once again, would be
her guitar, and an arena full of people would be there to witness her fury.

Moments
later Dare and the rest of the band came to retrieve her.

“You
ready?” Max asked.

She
breathed in a deep breath and blew it out to steady her nerves. “Yeah,” she
said, but she wasn’t.

Logan
held open the door as they filtered out into the corridor and offered her a
gentle smile as she passed. Most of the paparazzi had cleared out of the
backstage area, but a few had stuck around to take pictures. At least they
weren’t shouting offensive questions. The guys surrounded her like a protective
shield, and she was grateful, but she didn’t understand the tears prickling her
eyes. Why did she feel like they were escorting her to the electric chair?