Savage Melody--Sample (Book 1 of The Savage Series)

Chapter 2

Holland

Why couldn’t the f*****g tractor trailer jack-knife and kill me? It would have been a less painful way to die.

And just for the record, I’d had no f*****g clue what I was walking into. Channing told me I was supposed to meet a new client today, a rock group, and I may or may not have paid complete attention to him. I might have been more interested in beating another level of zombies on that stupid ass The Walking Dead game Mandy got me to download onto my tablet. I swear that crap is addictive. Who knew I would find myself lying in bed at night wondering when the impending zombie apocalypse would happen? Because it would. Oh boy, it would.

It’s already started, I think. The man buns were the first sign. It was practically biblical. First, come the man buns, then the hipsters. Pretty soon we’ll have senior citizens that look younger than 20-year-olds from severe plastic surgery and stroller-moms all buying those weird jogging walkers with the Bluetooth installed in them so they can chat with other jogging stroller-moms while their babies were sleeping unbeknownst of the impending doom of rotting corpses lingering around every corner and wanting to take a bite of baby brain and svelte jogger mom who drank their no soy, gluten-free, half-caf latte with almond milk and one pump of sugar free, fun-free, anxiety-free caramel sauce that had no actual caramel in it.

I may have been on that kick and mentally ticking off my zombie apocalypse arsenal in my head when he told me Savage Melody was my new client. Maybe.

Note to self: Must buy a machete. Guns are too noisy and would attract the dead. Knives allow the dead to get too close. Also, get a smelly meat-suit. Maybe Gaga’s stylist is in the phonebook.

Channing. This was his fault. Had to be. He was always popping s**t on me at the last minute. I wondered if this was some weird karmic payback for that extra pint of Ben and Jerry’s I forgot to pay for last month. I meant to pay for it, honestly. It just didn’t fit in the cart and I’d had to put it on the bottom shelf by the wheels of my shopping cart. By the time I was out of the store, I had spent $137.48 and had an extra $4.99 of Cherry Garcia unpaid for.

So, what did I do? I bagged it and popped it in my trunk. Ben and Jerry’s made bank, and the s**t at my local grocery store was so overpriced that I was due for a break anyway.

Scratch that—L.A. was overpriced. Everything from a stick of gum to a Tesla needed a credit check and a 10-year background screening. Getting a car loan by itself would take you a full menstrual cycle unless you went through your bank. Granted you had to have been with them since the advent of the banking system to get the loan pain-free and without offering up your firstborn as collateral.

So, yeah. You either lived well or on government cheese in California. I was convinced the ‘middle class’ was just a myth that politicians had cooked up over the years to make it seem like a well-rounded democratic system. I knew no one in L.A. that could be considered ‘middle class’, so I was sticking to my guns on this one.

For instance, the asshole in front of me. Definitely not middle class, and definitely not poverty stricken. In fact, he looked so rich I was sure he wiped his ass on hundred-dollar bills before banging the next groupie at an after-party for one of his concerts.

Not that I paid much attention over the last three years to Savage Melody. Not that I got them where they are today. Not that I never got a damned thank you from any of them, even when I was still in their orbit.

And not that I care about any of that.

But they’re back. My client, with JB at the helm, was here to haunt me for the $4.99 of vanilla-cherry goodness that went unpaid for last month. I knew those calories would come with a price tag steeper than my psyche—and hips—could handle.

“Hello.” My voice sounded monotone and strange in my ears.

Must fix that. ASAP.

Channing said something, and my eyes went to everyone’s but his in the room. Jett. KT. The new guy—whatever his name was. I never looked at JB until I was practically forced to when presented with the callused, masculine hand of the man I most reviled in the world.

Fuck the zombies. If it came down to me or him, I’d kick JB in the knee, grab my machete, and run like hell.

While I laid waste to zombies and let JB fend for himself in my fast-paced, apocalyptic fantasy world, I blinked over at Dave Levy, who had been with Savage Melody from their first moderate success. I figured he already knew that this would happen since he was playing liaison between the band and TKO, and I cursed him, his family, his postman, and anyone who ever came in contact with him silently in my head. I even laid a pox upon his dog to get worms. The kind that made your ass itch so bad that you had to scoot on your behind across a shag carpet to leave a skid mark behind.

“I don’t really think introductions are needed, do you?” I asked this of Channing, but the question was really for Dave, who sat there in his seat, ramrod straight and looking as constipated as always. One day he’d give birth to the biggest turd the world has ever seen.

Oh, wait...that turd was already in the room. JB. Two letters I hated most in the world when placed together.

“Yes, I understand you did some work with them before their first major U.S. Tour,” Channing remarked. “I also have been told you were a big reason for their success today, which is why I thought it would be a good idea to get you on their payroll right from the starting box. Chase Hamilton is making noises about suing and wrongful termination, blah-blah, etcetera. As if this was some sort of at-will employment or unionized group. We figure with your expertise in turning water into wine, it would be best to bring on someone who was already familiar with all the players and established at TKO. That would be you, Ms. Chastaine.”

In my next life, I better come back as royalty of some sort. I was owed that much for this s**t. It doesn’t have to be a large country, but if someone isn’t calling me Your Highness or Your Grace while curtseying, I’m suing the f**k out of someone.

“While I can understand the gravity of the situation and the need for finesse, I would think it’s a bad choice to have me representing them,” I stated, trying my damnedest to remain neutral and not go thermonuclear Holland. “But I think that there would be some conflict of interest if I were to take on Savage Melody on top of the acts I already have on my plate.”

“She means that while she was PR’ing for us at the independent label, she and I were fucking.”

My face heated up. Anger or embarrassment, it didn’t matter.

Thanks, JB. Thanks a whole hell of a lot.

“They kept it hush-hush for the most part and they weren’t just bed partners,” Dave intervened. “They were actually dating. No one knew but the band, myself, and some of the roadies—all signed NDAs, of course.”

“So, you see what a bad idea this would be, Chan?” I asked, lifting my brow to my boss, hoping for a quick reprieve.

“Holland,” he began to say.

I hated the tone of voice he was using. He was getting ready to chastise me in that charming, condescending way he had.

“I have no one else available at the moment. Rick left a week ago, and I’ve had to spread our resources thin as it is until we can find a replacement for him. Your past with the band should not interfere with your ability to do your job. A job I pay you quite well for.”

There was a pause as I let the thudding of my heartbeat slow to anything less rapid than murder boss, flee the country, change appearance. Clearing my throat, I propped a loose hand on my hip before speaking.

“Can I speak to you alone for a moment, Channing?” I asked, my best semblance of cool, calm, and collected lacing my features.

“Fine.” He let out an exasperated gust of air, and we walked to his office a few doors down. When the door closed, I let it rip.

“This is a horrible idea, and you know it!” I whisper-yelled. The walls weren’t soundproofed, though you’d think they would be in a building with sound studios in the basement. “JB and I didn’t part on friendly terms. That man is right next to Satan in my book, and if I ever see his face again, I may mar his pretty little features with my right hook.”

“Hol, you have always been completely professional and honest,” Channing said with a sigh. “I admire that. In a world where falsehoods hide the truth for the betterment of the business, you’ve always had a knack of turning something horrible into something humbling for each act you’ve worked with. When The Caustics signed on a few weeks after you came aboard, there was that incident with the hooker, remember?”

God, did I remember. Not only was she—or he—a hooker, but he was a transvestite hooker. California was pretty liberal, but even that made people want to sell the band short. The hysterical thing was that the bass player who had gone to jail that night for soliciting a prostitute had had no idea he was a pre-op female. In other words, said hooker still had a full set of sausage and meatballs, though he was already taking the hormones needed to make the change. His voice was still too low, but Jerry Pontz had been so drunk you could have put the corpse of Carrie Fisher in front of him and he still would have f****d it.

I’ve surrounded myself with idiots, being in this business. Idiots with high testosterone levels and failing grey matter from a mixture of heroin, speed, and alcohol.

I simply nodded my head at Channing, letting him know I remembered.

“You were magnificent with his image switch. You had him polishing up like gold. You have the Midas touch, Hol, and I am convinced that you can let bygones be bygones and do the same with Savage Melody. I have faith in you.”

Oh, God. I hated it when he got all ‘proud papa’ on me. Made me feel like I was 8 years old again and first learning how to ride a bike without training wheels. He always meant it sincerely, I was sure, but it shamed me as well for having a f*****g past I couldn’t and wouldn’t come to terms with.

“I could switch with Felicity.” I tried a different tactic. “You know she hates working with that rap group out of East L.A. I could work with them instead. Felicity can take Savage Melody.”

Channing shook his head. “They won’t work with anyone but Felicity now. I’ve already tried.”

Figured. Felicity had a big ass and boobs to match. They probably just kept her around for eye candy. Not that that was all she was. She was great at PR, but hands off the merchandise, fellas. That woman was married with a kid. Didn’t seem to matter to many of the groups she PR’ed for, though. They still ate her up like she was an all-you-can-eat buffet in Vegas.

Why God? Why now? I was finally getting past this s**t and starting to date. And I mean really date. No one had stuck yet, but it wasn’t all me going out on a date and finding the smallest thing wrong with the guy in order to say no to a second assignation, either.

As a matter of fact, I had a date tonight. It was Friday, and I was young and healthy. It would be a second date with a guy I’d met at a tiki bar at the beach a few weekends ago. We started to talk and text, and he eventually asked me out. Kyle was his name. Surfer with so much chill he could hand out Icees on a smoldering August day at Long Beach.

The first date was good. Not great, but good. He didn’t pick his nose or fart at the table, so I was assuming he wasn’t a Neanderthal. He even covered his mouth when he sneezed when a woman wearing massive amounts of Chanel No 5 walked by. She must have bathed in it. Even my nose was itchy for a while after that.

He even wore speedos when he surfed. He seemed to fill them out quite nicely, and I was looking forward to seeing if he was a grow-er or a show-er. Maybe tonight. I was heading off as soon as this damn meeting was over with so I could get ready for my date. No idea where he was taking me, but I didn’t honestly care. I had plenty of clothing to pick from, and he said casual but dressy was just fine for the evening out.

“Holland, I know that this is going to be awkward for a while with your history with JB, but I’m sure you’ll be able to handle anything the band throws at you. I have complete faith.”

He had me at ‘awkward’. I would show these assholes the meaning of awkward. At least awkward for JB. I wasn’t going to be awkward. I would be...negative awkward. At ease. Breezy. I’d be so damned breezy you couldn’t light a match around me.

“Fine, but if s**t gets weird, I’m asking you to replace me,” I told him, the words sharp in my throat. It felt like a jagged piece of metal had lodged there and was shredding my larynx by just talking about Savage Melody.

Funny. My heart had the same feeling about it when I turned around and moved out of his office to go back to the boardroom.

§§§

We talked about strategy. Since I knew Chase way-back-when, I knew his weak spots and had annotated them in my mind as Dave spoke about what was being said. It was nothing major, but what he said was so believable, I was sure there were people in his corner just waiting for the band members to royally f**k up.

“Keep a low profile,” I told them all sternly. “No orgies after concerts or impromptu gigs at Hole In The Wall. And don’t speak to the press no matter what until I can get a statement ready for them. If one of you says so much as boo, they’ll turn it around on you. I think flipping it and making Chase look like the bad guy is a horrible idea as well. We need to make drugs the bad guy, not the person addicted to them.”

I didn’t say much else to them after they guaranteed they wouldn’t imbibe in any illicit narcotics or videotape a gang-bang for PornHub. They drank, sure, but blow and H were a no-go. They’d seen what it did to Chase, and none of them wanted to end up like that. The kid was a hot f*****g mess.

As I was gathering my things, I heard Jett mutter something to JB.

“Dude, are you wearing the same s**t you wore at the meeting last night?”

I stopped abruptly before picking up my briefcase. Wearing last night’s clothing meant only one thing when it came to JB. And it didn’t mean he had slept over his grandma’s after watching reruns of Golden Girls.

“And none of that either,” I said loudly. “Your dickish behavior after f*****g and dumping isn’t going to help your image at this juncture. Chan, I’m leaving now. I cleared it with Ross and I have no other meetings to attend to today.”

“Where are you going?” JB asked, standing up from his slump at the table.

“On a date,” I said before slipping out the door and moving to my office where I had kept my purse and cell phone. I didn’t bring my cell into meetings as the many texts were just too distracting.

I must have been more shaken up than I thought, because I suddenly got butterfingers syndrome and dropped my damned phone on the ground near my desk. I hadn’t stopped to close my door because I was going to duck and run immediately after the meeting. I was bent over at the waist when the least welcome voice slithered into my ear just as a hard pelvis bumped up against my ass and large hands grabbed my hips.

“We need to talk, Holly.”

JB

“Talk? I have nothing to say to you.”

There hadn’t been much of a pause between me grabbing Hol by the hips and thrusting my d**k between her ass and the words she just said, but I heard it. And I knew what it meant.

I still f*****g affected her.

She knew I couldn’t resist her ass, and when I saw her bent over to pick up that stupid glittery-cased cell phone, I saw an opening and took it.

She stood up, jolting me backward a few steps as she turned around to face me. “Excuse me,” she said coldly, eyes narrowing but not moving from mine. “I have plans I need to get to, and I’d rather not leave you in here with my belongings.”

“Don’t trust me with your stuff? We used to live together,” I reminded her.

“And now, we don’t.” She tried to push past me, but I caught her wrist with one hand.

“Let go before I knee you in your most prized possession,” she ground out. “And I don’t mean your hands or throat.”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it. She must’ve been paying enough attention to me the past few years to know I slept around quite a bit. Threatening my junk the way she was? So typically Holland.

“Jealous?”

“Of an STD-riddled groupie? As if.” She wriggled her hand away, breaking the connection.

“Who are you going on a date with?”

“None of your business. That is, unless you’d like to recount the thousands of females that you’ve had in your bed the past three years, and I don’t think I have the time or patience for that.”

“They’ve never been in my bed, Holland.”

That stopped her. It was a brief second, but I knew that she knew what that meant. I never took them home and let them get into my personal life. It was f*****g, no feelings. No attachments.

“Irrelevant,” she sniffed dismissively.

“Important,” I countered. I didn’t s**t where I slept and had only ever had her in my bed when I started to become something more than some ambiguous name under the brand name of Savage Melody. It was only ever her, and she knew that.

And now she knew more.

“You can f**k whoever you want to f**k as many times as you’d like. Hell, invite them over and have a regular all-week s*x-a-thon. I care not,” she told me.

The look in her eyes said differently.

“And so that whole no orgies or being a fuckboy for a while was for what? Show? Needed to express that sentiment in front of your boss?” I wasn’t planning on sleeping around. Probably wouldn’t be able to. Not when I knew she was around and in L.A., the town I now lived in.

“It was a suggestion and necessary that I say that to you,” she said. “It’s your prerogative to not listen. I know you won’t, but that’s what I’m here for. To clean up whatever mess you get yourself into. You, KT, Jett, and whatever the other guy’s name is.”

“Seth,” I told her. “His name is Seth.”

“Cool. I’ll have it monogrammed on my Moleskin,” she quipped sarcastically.

“And, like I said, I won’t f**k anyone else,” I told her.

Again, she froze, and I watched her throat as she swallowed noisily and nodded. “And I believe in Santa Claus,” she muttered. “Just do me a favor, JB. Either get the girl some Plan B after you f**k her or let me know she’s pregnant before she goes to the press. It would make my life a lot easier if I wasn’t cleaning up after your s*x partners as well.”

“I said I won’t f**k anyone and I won’t,” I reiterated. “So long as you go out with me tonight instead of that prick you’re seeing.”

She laughed, her pocketbook slipping from her shoulder as she shifted. Then she laughed even more. I swore people were starting to whisper outside the door, or maybe I was just being paranoid. They were full-belly laughs, and I didn’t think any of it was humorous in the least. I never took women out on dates. Only her. She knew I was serious, but still, she nearly busted a gut by the doorway of her office until her eyes got glassy with tears.

“You have some nerve,” she finally said. “Not only do you want me to go out with you, but you want me to break a date I’ve had for a week to do it? No, thanks. I’m looking forward to tonight.”

“Why?” I stepped toward her, leaning in. “Were you planning on f*****g him tonight?”

“That’s a big MYOB. Mind Your Own Business, J,” she said, her laughter vanishing. “I never would ask when you are planning to f**k anyone, and I don’t intend to start.”

“Because you left.”

There. Out in the open.

“You made me leave,” she murmured, every trace of anger and humor gone from her face. “You wanted a break. Anyone with a f*****g single working brain cell knows what that means, and I wasn’t about to play the poor, pitiful ex who pines away while her famous boyfriend f***s anything with a wet hole. I’m not that person.”

“I didn’t f**k one damn chick on that whole stupid tour,” I vowed. Loudly, might I add. It caused her to close her door finally, allowing me to get this all off my chest. “I didn’t f**k anyone on the U.S. tour, and I didn’t f**k anyone when we went global. The only f*****g I did was when I thought of you at night, and that was with my hand.”

It shut her up, but the hurt didn’t leave her eyes. She blinked a few times, her lip twitching. “That’s not the point, and you know it.” Her voice was soft, low. “You wanted us to be nothing so it looked like you could be something to a million female fans. I know we weren’t telling people about us, but you having to say it like that—that hurt. And if truth be told, it always will.”

“I didn’t want to. I was out-f*****g-voted.” I tried to convince her. “I figured you wouldn’t care since you already knew how I felt. How I feel.”

She blinked, her eyes gazing over at me with recognition.

Yeah. I laid it bare. Basically told her I was still in love with her. She’d had me. Always had, and probably always will. Why else would I still be mental over someone after three f*****g years of not seeing them, of wanting to see them, and hating myself because the last time I did see them, they were near tears and walking away from me?

So yeah, if I had to, I’d lay it all out there, over and over again until she finally heard the words, heard my truth. Heard me.

“If you’re not going to leave, will you at least lock the door on your way out?” she asked, finally breaking the deafening silence between us. “All this stuff is s**t in here anyway. Throw it, steal it, toss it into the Pacific for all I care. All my important things come with me.” She indicated her briefcase with a tap of her finger.

“That’s all s**t, too,” I told her. “Work-related s**t that doesn’t mean anything at the end of the day, Hol. The real s**t’s in you, your heart. Mine, too. I can play guitar, sing to thousands of fans a night, but it’s all s**t when the words seem empty and without meaning. I need my meaning back.”

Her hand was on the doorknob, threatening to twist it and escape me.

“Bye, JB,” she murmured softly before turning that f*****g knob and walking out the door.

I didn’t break the s**t in her office. Didn’t even touch it. I just stood there, ass leaned against her desk for a few minutes, and then followed her out.

I even locked that stupid f*****g door after me.

§§§

“Dude, I had no f*****g clue Holly was gonna be here,” Jett told me once we left the building and stood outside by his lime-green boner-killing machine. Looking at it made my balls literally want to crawl back up inside my body.

“I know,” I grunted the response. “It was Dave that kept it mum. Stupid fucker. I’d have liked a heads-up first. Maybe not be wearing the same outfit I had on last night and giving Hol the impression it did.”

“Why, man? She’s f*****g hating on you so bad she couldn’t even look at you.”

Seth and KT had already left. Can’t say I blamed them. I was a f*****g mess after Holland and I broke up, and I’m sure KT was expecting a repeat performance. The Jamison Bettes sideshow. Come one, come all. See a man practically eat his own heart out over a chick that left him three years ago. I bet some of my detractors would pay top dollar to witness that s**t.

“She doesn’t hate me,” I refuted. “She resents me a f**k-ton. But she’s hurting. Still. After three years, she’s still hurt. That’s gotta mean something.”

“Yeah. She holds a grudge—always has,” Jett said. “It’s a long trip to get on her bad side, but when you’re there, you’re there for life.”

Holly always gave people millions of chances, but when you f****d her over one too many times, she was done. Don’t speak to her. Don’t address her. Don’t even f*****g think about her. She’d know. And she’d f*****g find you. She always was a little crazy that way. It’s what made her our biggest supporter and number one fan.

“She’ll get over it,” I said. She had to. I wasn’t myself without her. I was going through the motions, wowing the crowds, but my heart wasn’t in it. Hadn’t been since she left. She took all the good in me when she left, and I had yet to get it back.

“Dunno, man,” Jett sighed. “She seemed pretty upset you were there. I don’t think she would have cared if it was just us other guys. I mean, at least she held our gazes. She was giving you laser beams through the skull, though.”

“You can’t hate without love.”

“Very poetic,” Jett remarked wryly. “You planning on pussying out and putting that in a lyric? Maybe getting it tattooed above your ass in a tramp stamp?”

“She’s crazy, but I know how she really feels,” I said, ignoring his quips. “I always could tell. She still feels something. I just have to remind her of that.”

“Good f*****g luck, bro,” Jett said, shaking his head before opening his car door. “You’re gonna need it.”

“I don’t need luck,” I said, smiling for the first time since seeing Holland again. “I have her f*****g cell phone number. It’s on the paperwork Channing gave out at the beginning of the meeting.”

“Can’t you just f*******: stalk her like a normal guy? Blowing up her phone when she can’t block you this time isn’t going to endear her into giving in.”

“f*******: stalking is so 2009,” I replied. “Plus, I’ve been doing it since she left. She hardly goes on there. She’s more active on Twitter.”

“So? Twitterstalk her then. Or whatever it’s called. I like to think of it as its true name. Being p***y-whipped as fuck.”

“I told her I wasn’t going to sleep around,” I said.

“Think she believed you?” Jett asked, turning on his air conditioning. “I wouldn’t, if I were her. You’ve had more photos of chicks leaving your hotel room than a hooker with an i********: fetish.”

“Don’t know.” I sighed. “Maybe. The hell if I know. I plan on making her believe. I’ll be so f*****g good, you’ll think I’m a goddamned eunuch.”

“You? Abstaining? Well cut my d**k off with a butcher’s knife and grill me some sausage,” Jett choked out with a laugh. “I don’t even think I’ll believe that until I see it. And I’ve seen you swear and come through on some pretty sketchy s**t, too. Like that f*****g tattoo you got when you were drunk that one night. The one on your ass…”

“f**k,” I groaned. “Don’t remind me. I was so drunk I’m surprised the dude let me go through with it.”

“You offered to pay him triple the usual cost. Of course he was going to do it.”

“I’ll never live that s**t down.”

“Maybe if you show Holland, she’ll be flattered and let you feel on her a bit.”

“I don’t plan on showing anyone,” I said. “Can’t even believe I let you sit there and watch while he did that to me.”

“I was drunk, too.” Jett shrugged. He was as crazy as Holland was, but in a wilder, more dangerous way. He was a balls-to-the-wall risk-taker. It was a miracle he hadn’t developed a drug habit by now.

“Well, if I ever get desperate enough, I’ll take a f*****g selfie and send it to her. Bet you’d love to be a fly on the wall for that.”

“I would, my friend. I would.”

I said goodbye to Jett and watched him zoom out of the parking lot before heading over to my car. My ride was reserved compared to Jett’s, but it suited me just fine. I got enough attention from fans. I didn’t need to distract people on the road as well. That was an accident waiting to happen.

Still, as I rode home that afternoon, stuck in traffic that was way too early to be happening, I wondered how I would get Holland to take me back. I was honest when I told her I wasn’t going to be f*****g anyone.

Well, not totally honest. I thoroughly planned on f*****g her at some point. I just needed to get her there as well.