No Place Like You Page 7

  Salt Devil whiskey. Will’s distillery. Mina had told him they were releasing their first batch soon. Maybe this was an advance sample. Not that he was in the mood for whiskey. Or the messages beneath the bottle.

  But ignoring them wasn’t going to make them go away and he had just enough of a buzz on from the three beers he’d had with dinner to make reading them bearable. Maybe.

  He set the whiskey to one side and picked up the stack of papers. Press. Press. Press. Jay. One of the execs from Fringe Dweller’s label. Press. Press. Press.

  Nothing of any interest until the very last piece, which read only CHEN followed by CHECK YOUR E-MAIL.

  Holy mother of—Chen Li was one of the two producers he was chasing.

  He wondered where he’d left his laptop because there was no way he was turning his phone back on yet.

  Then remembered it was lying on the table in the tiny galley kitchen in Grey’s studio.

  Tempting to leave it until morning, but he didn’t want to miss a message from Chen. And it was early. He could get in a few more hours work once he was there.

  When he reached the studio, the laptop was right where he’d left it and he turned it on and watched impatiently as it started up and connected to the Wi-Fi.

  He found the e-mail from Chen, which, luckily, was only from midday, not two days ago. Apparently he was interested. Asked Zach to send a demo to let him play around with and see if he could come up with a sound.

  Zach sent him one of his favorite songs from the current batch he was working on. It was simple and spare. A good blank canvas.

  Chen had a reputation for having an ear for finding new directions to push musicians toward. He did the sort of innovative stuff that Zach needed to make his album stand out.

  After he’d sent the track he scrolled through the rest of the e-mails. There was a message from Davis Lewis’s manager saying that Davis had no availability. “No availability” was producer speak for “not interested.” Damn. He’d tried to ignore the sting in his gut. Davis—the other producer he’d gone after—had been a long shot. The man was a legend. And these days he mostly worked with artists who’d already hit the heights. Back in the day he’d been a star-maker, though. But apparently he wasn’t going to be making a star out of Zach.

  But Chen had been his top pick, so he was less worried about Davis now. Grey had always said you shouldn’t chase a producer who didn’t like your sound. Said it never ended well. After two Fringe Dweller albums during which he’d seen the studio pushing to mold the band’s sound into a more radio-friendly version of the grungy indie rock they’d started with, he’d learned that was true.

  He didn’t hate the music Fringe Dweller played—he wouldn’t have stuck around if he did—but he did think Ryder, as self-appointed bandleader—was too quick to agree to bend when the studio asked.

  But they were doing okay—or had been until two weeks ago—so what did he know?

  But for this album, even though he would use the marketing might of a studio if the right one was interested, he was in the fortunate position of not needing their money to fund the recording. Which meant he was going to get the sound he wanted and then find it a home. Present the studios with a done deal.

  And if they didn’t bite, well then, he hadn’t ever spent much of his trust fund. He’d release the damn thing himself, sink some money into promotion, and see what the hell happened.

  But to do that, he needed to have songs to put on the album.

  Which meant he needed to stop worrying about what happened after they were written and focus instead on getting the job done.

  * * *

  “What the hell is that?” Zach turned on his heel to see Faith standing at the studio door. He hit pause, glad for the excuse to turn the disaster off. He’d listened to the song five times already since he’d opened his e-mail this morning to find it waiting for him—apparently Chen worked fast—and every time it sounded worse. It was a hell of a start to his Saturday.

  “That is the mix of my song Chen Li sent me.” He tried not to sound as gutted as he felt. Chen had worked fast but, in this case, fast wasn’t good.

  “Oh hell, no,” Faith said. She marched over to the computer. Hit play. Then winced as the jangly electronic beats blasted into the air again. “Please tell me this isn’t the direction you were thinking of.”

  Zach shook his head. “No.” He didn’t trust himself to say anything more. He’d been so sure Chen would have the right vision for him. But the mix he’d sent him was so far from what Zach wanted, it wasn’t even funny. In fact, it felt like someone was hazing him. Bubblegum dance music had its place. But it wasn’t what he wanted to do. “Maybe he just wanted to make sure it was nothing like Blacklight or Fringe Dweller,” he said as his voice—made weirdly tinny through whatever process Chen had applied—kicked in on the track.

  “Maybe he’s insane,” Faith retorted. She paused the music. “You can’t work with him.”

  “He’s a hit-maker.”

  “He’s not going to make you a hit with that.” She scowled down at the laptop, hands on hips. “Play me your version of the song.”

  He frowned, surprised by the request. “The track I sent him?”

  “How about you pick up that guitar and just play it?”

  Faith in CEO mode. He looked at her, standing there in running shorts, an ancient CloudFest SEX AND SAND AND ROCK ’N’ ROLL T-shirt, hair wild and looking completely sure of herself. Being in charge looked good on her. He grinned.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You’re cute when you’re running the world,” he said.

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m cute all the time, big brother. So pick up the guitar.”

  He did. Settled himself on the stool, feeling weirdly nervous. It had been a long time since he’d last played for Faith. And the song—about a guy trying to apologize to a girl—seemed a little close to the bone. So. Maybe he would sing it for her. It was a love song—weren’t all songs love songs?—but maybe this once it could be a “hey sis, I’m sorry” song.

  He let his fingers settle on the strings and began to play, losing himself in the music, letting it take him to that place where nothing else mattered and nothing could get to him.

  When he finished, the echoes of the last notes fading as he came back down to earth, Faith was looking at him a little … weirdly.

  “Do you hate it?” he asked.

  “What, no?” She sniffed, and then smiled. “It’s great, Zach.”

  That pleased him more than he expected. “You like it?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Well, you don’t seem to be that happy with me lately.”

  “Thinking you’re behaving like a dick and thinking your music sucks are two different things, brother of mine. Luckily for you.” She grabbed the laptop, sank to the floor cross-legged. Started tapping away at the keyboard.

  “Are you posting rude things as me on Facebook?”

  “That would be easier if you had a Facebook account that you actually used.” She didn’t look up. “Put the guitar down for a minute and come listen to something.”

  What was she up to now? He had no idea, but for the moment things seemed easy between them so he didn’t want to mess that up again.

  The guitar went back on its stand and he eased himself down onto the floor beside her. “Can’t we sit on chairs like normal people?”

  “Nope. You need a different perspective.”

  “Is Caleb turning you into a hippie?”

  That made her laugh. “Caleb is pretty far from a hippie. No. Dad used to sit like this sometimes in here. Said the music sounded different.”

  “Well, it’s a theory.” No one could accuse Grey of having a dud ear for music, no matter what his other faults had been. “Okay, play whatever it is before my back seizes up.”

  “Poor old man,” Faith mocked softly. “We can get you a burly assistant to help you up and
down.”

  “If I ever get an assistant, I don’t think ‘burly’ will be high on my list of criteria. Probably because most people don’t even know what the word means.”

  “You need to read more books.” Her attention was back on the laptop.

  “What kind of books are you reading where the word ‘burly’ is thrown around?”

  “Good books. Historical romance.”

  “Girl books.”

  “Good books,” she repeated sternly. “You can learn things from those books. Things the women in your life might thank you for.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her. “The women in my life are plenty thankful, little sis.”

  “Oh? Are you dating someone?” she asked, still tapping on the keyboard.

  Damn. He’d walked right into that one. “Not right now.”

  Her head turned toward him, face quizzical. “It’s been a while.”

  “We’re not here to talk about my love life, Faith. I do okay.” He did, when he wanted to. But touring relentlessly didn’t leave much time for actual relationships. And he wasn’t into endless one-night stands. “New subject.”

  “Okay,” she said. She put the laptop down between them. Then clicked play.

  The voice that spilled out through the speakers was one he recognized. “That’s Nessa,” he said. “Great voice.” Faith must have connected to the house network and pulled up the song from her system.

  “Yes,” Faith agreed. “She’s the real deal.”

  He focused back on the music. Nessa’s voice powering effortlessly through a song that was a little bluesy, a little rock, the guitars and drums providing a solid structure for Nessa’s vocals to set on fire. “Nice.”

  Faith nodded but didn’t say anything as the music played on. The song ended and he opened his mouth, but she held up a finger to stop him before he could speak. The next song was different in mood. Slower. Sexier. More … wistful. The band had been moved to the background, leaving Nessa and a single guitar and someone on keyboard chasing each other around with a stripped-down melody that somehow still packed a punch.

  It was a great song.

  When it was done, he kind of wanted to hear it again but Faith clicked a few keys, then closed the laptop.

  “What did you think?” she asked.

  “It’s great. They’re great.” He almost envied Nessa. That first-album fearlessness that everything would be perfect. He’d had that once. So had Faith. He reached for the computer, and Faith handed it over without a protest.

  “Leah’s great,” Faith said. “She’s the one producing them. Nessa’s got talent but she and her band were still really raw when I chose her. Leah’s the one working the magic here.” She tilted her head up at him. “Maybe you should ask her to work with you.”

  He froze in the middle of opening the computer.

  “What?” Faith demanded.

  Busted. “Nothing”

  “Oh no, I know that look. And I thought Leah was acting weird around you. What did you do?”

  No way he was getting out of telling her. “She came to see me, the day after I got back. She asked if I’d consider using her to produce a couple of songs.”

  Faith scowled. “And you said no. Dumbass.”

  “I was looking at other options.”

  “Like the guy who came up with that poptastic nightmare?” she said nodding at the computer. She sounded disgusted. “Did you even listen to any of Leah’s stuff?”

  “No.”

  “Well, now you know better. So apologize for screwing up, grovel abjectly, and ask her to work with you.”

  “Grovel abjectly?”

  She nodded emphatically. “It’s what men who’ve been so dumb should do. Women too.” She grinned at him. “Though, in my experience we don’t do things that require groveling quite so often.”

  He got the feeling they weren’t only talking about Leah any more. But she was the more immediate issue. Groveling to Faith and Mina might take a bit longer. “I—”

  “Don’t go all weird and male and stubborn. Apologizing is a key part of any relationship.”

  “Leah and I don’t have a relationship,” he said, the words spilling out a little too fast. Best to cut that line of thought off in Faith’s head before she sniffed out any of his and Leah’s history. He didn’t think Leah had ever told Faith about it. Faith would, for sure, have had words to say on the subject of him sleeping with her best friend. And she’d never mentioned it. So, he didn’t want her finding out. Or noticing anything like the weird moment there’d been in the kitchen last night when he could have sworn Leah had been giving him “take me now” eyes. Unlikely. But unlikely or not, he didn’t want Faith getting anywhere near it.

  “You’re friends, you big dope. Or you used to be. That’s a relationship,” Faith pointed out.

  “It’s also what makes working with her kind of complicated.”

  “You’ve worked with friends before. You work with Eli. So what’s the problem? Is it because she’s a girl? Friends with boobs are still friends, Zach.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Unless her boobs are a different kind of problem?”

  “No!” It came out too loud. “Not a problem.” He bent his head to the laptop, hoping Faith wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth.

  “Good. Because she’s just divorced.”

  He looked up. “Wasn’t that final like a year ago?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Lou,” he said. Faith’s mom, who was also more of a mom to him than his own had ever been, had kept up her usual steady stream of information about what was happening on Lansing via e-mail and the occasional phone call. He didn’t always pay attention to all of it, but he kept up with the big picture. Somehow that had always included filing away the stuff she told him about what was happening in Leah’s life. “She also said it was amicable.”

  Faith sat up a little, toying with the honking big diamond on her left hand. “It was. That doesn’t mean Leah feels nothing. She’s a little singed around the edges, I’d say. She doesn’t need to be messed around.”

  She took a breath and he thought she was going to say more, but she didn’t. So he just nodded and tried to ignore the fact that he had a sudden urge to find Joey Nelson and punch him in the face. It didn’t mean anything. He’d do the same if someone screwed over Faith or Mina, though it looked like he wouldn’t have to do that any time soon. Will and Caleb were good guys. So his desire to squash Joey like a bug was purely because he’d grown up with Leah. One hundred percent.

  Nothing to do with Leah’s fierce eyes or the way her body curved or the way his memories of the night they’d spent together had been popping into his head at all the wrong moments since she’d showed up on his doorstep and asked him for a job. Letting it have anything to do with any of that could only be insanity. And a whole lot of trouble he didn’t want.

  “No messing, I swear,” he said.

  “Good. And don’t screw with her about this producing thing. If you ask her, you need to give her a decent shot. Take her seriously.”

  “I always take music seriously.”

  “Yeah but sometimes you’re not so good at remembering that the people involved have feelings too, Zach.”

  She said it gently but it still felt like a slap. A slap he deserved. “I know,” he said. “I was an ass last year. I’m sorry. I know I need to make it up to you. I want to.”

  “Well, start by being more careful with my best friend,” Faith said, leaning over to shoulder-bump him. He caught her as she made contact, curled his arm around her shoulders to pull her into a half hug, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Damn. He’d forgotten how much he liked being with his sisters. Between Grey’s erratic parenting style and his and Mina’s moms bailing, the three of them had been the three musketeers. Their own little tight unit. Always there for one another. Until, of course, he’d left. Then proceeded to do his best to screw up the relationship he had with Faith completely.
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br />   He nodded. “I can do that.” He let Faith go, but she stayed where she was, leaning against him. He angled his head so he could see her better. “So if you had to grovel to Leah, how would you start?”

  “Probably with the biggest box of doughnuts Stella will sell you. Leah likes the custard ones.” Faith peered up at him. “Stella doesn’t deliver though. You’ll have to go into town.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a good grovel if I didn’t have to run the paparazzi gauntlet, would it?”

  * * *

  Leah hesitated outside the screen door to Grey’s studio, wondering what exactly she was doing here. Zach had called her just after five and asked her to come over.

  Why, she had no idea. A wiser woman would have asked but the sound of his voice on the other end of the line had been so unexpected that she’d gone blank. She’d already been wrapping things up in the studio when he’d called but she’d messed around longer than she needed to, trying to psych herself up to seeing him again. After last night’s awkward moments before dinner, her hormones needed a bit of a lecture about what constituted acceptable behavior around Zach before she saw him again.

  But eventually she couldn’t stretch things out any longer. She didn’t even have the excuse of needing to keep working. Faith had managed to book Nessa a gig for a few nights in L.A., so she and her band had packed up and left after lunch. The studio’s other clients had left two days ago.

  All she needed to do now was lift her hand and knock. She wiped her palms against her jeans, feeling nervous and sweaty, but couldn’t actually make herself do it. Maybe she should just go.

  Before she could make herself leave, the inner door swung open, and Zach was staring at her through the screen.

  There was an awkward moment of silence before he reached for the screen door. “Leah, hi.”

  She stepped back so he could open the door, distracted by the sudden heavy thump of her pulse in her ears. Dammit. Why did he do this to her?

  He was Zach. Just Zach. The guy she’d known her entire life. She’d seen him gangly and awkward as a teenager, heard him tell a thousand terrible jokes, and watched him play baseball really badly. He should have no effect on her whatsoever. Yet there he was, hotter than the sun, making her forget how to talk again.