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And no amount of logical discussion would sway Max into admitting that their record label was involved in shady business that affected them either directly or indirectly, but maybe if Steve got Max involved with trying to sort this shit out, he’d see the light, and they could cut ties from the corruption of big business once and for all. Steve knew they could be successful on their own. They didn’t need a record label or a manager to tell them what the fuck to do.
After several minutes of arguing, Max asked, “So what do you want me to do about this tabloid situation?”
A spark of hope. Steve could scarcely believe Max was finally willing to cooperate. Unbelievable as it sounded, Steve was tired of hearing himself talk about the issue. He wanted some fucking resolution to their problems. He’d been spinning his wheels for years and getting absolutely nowhere.
“Ask Sam what he’s up to,” Steve said. “Ten bucks says he’s behind this entire thing.” Because like their record label, their manager only saw them as a paycheck with lots of digits.
“I’ll ask him,” Max said. “Not sure why you think he’ll admit to anything.”
“Because he likes you,” Steve said. “He thinks the rest of us are a bunch of idiots, but you’re his best pal. He trusts you.”
“What are you guys talking about back here?” Logan asked from the doorway.
“Steve’s continued search for a reason to cut loose from our record label,” Max said before leaving the room.
“We don’t need a reason!” Steve called after him. “But we have millions of them,” he said under his breath. He’d never been a patient man, and he was resolved to get to the bottom of this mess with or without Max’s help. He might even have to break his personal commitment to avoid Bianca for the rest of his life. How had her tabloid ended up under the umbrella of Tradespar West? Was it her tabloid? Her idea? Or was she just the head editor? The easiest way to find out would be to call her and ask.
Which reminded him that Roux hadn’t called yet.
He checked his phone one last time before shoving it aside and concentrating on what was important at the moment—winning a decade-long argument with Maximillian Richardson. Steve promised himself he would prevail. Roux’s ignoring him only added fuel to his fire.
*~*~*
It had been days—days—since Exodus End had left behind New York and the stubborn female who still hadn’t contacted Steve via his personal and usually coveted number. He hadn’t yet found the gumption to quiz Bianca about her involvement with Sam, Tradespar West and the stupid tabloid, and Zach—Steve’s lover, according to the same stupid tabloid—had been particularly vocal about Steve’s cowardice. Not that Steve found that surprising. Zach knew him better than anyone and wasn’t afraid to kick him in the proverbial—or literal—ass when he needed it.
Zach was a little moody because the tour was set to wrap up in a couple of days, and he was convinced this was the end of his glory days. Plus, his boyfriend was a jackass, and giving him the runaround. Not to be outdone, Steve was very moody because he’d figured out the thing that must be keeping Roux from calling him was the continued tour. As soon as he was on break, he was certain she’d call. So, because neither guy was in the mood for a big after-party tonight, the two of them had ventured off to a local bar to brood in shared misery.
“What do you think Bianca is going to do to you if you call her?” Zach asked. He took a swig of his beer before adding, “What can she do to you that she hasn’t already done?”
Steve scrubbed his face with both hands. Despite popular opinion, he wasn’t a glutton for punishment. Just thinking about talking to Bianca after years of no contact made it hard for him to breathe.
“I’m not sure I’m over her.”
Zach coughed and scratched his eyebrow. “How can you not be over her? She destroyed you.”
And the effects were long-lived. Bianca had probably been over him for a solid five years. Steve was the one who could not move on. He might have been able to finally get over her if Roux had bothered to call him, but no. The one woman he’d been willing to take a chance on, the one woman who had gotten under his skin, wasn’t interested, as she’d told him several times in their short acquaintance. The problem was that he hadn’t believed her. Still didn’t, in all honesty. She’d cave eventually.
“Bianca didn’t destroy me.” Lie. Steve dipped his finger in his whiskey. His stomach wasn’t strong enough for alcohol at the moment, so maybe he could absorb the mind-numbing whiskey through his skin.
“She did something to you. Why else would you be sitting here with me instead of accepting that pretty brunette’s open invitation?” Zach inclined his head toward the woman at the bar who repeatedly glanced at Steve and smiled.
Not accepting that invitation had very little to do with Bianca and a whole lot to do with a certain redhead he couldn’t get out of his thoughts.
“Maybe instead of calling her, you should go see her,” Zach said.
Steve’s heart rate ticked up at the thought of seeing Roux. “I should have gotten her number. That was stupid of me. Butch insists he can’t get it, but I think he’s punishing me for arguing with Max. The asshole.”
“If you can’t locate her, all you have to do is show up at her office. You know where she works.”
Steve rubbed his tight forehead. Had Roux mentioned where she worked? He couldn’t recall. “I do?”
“Uh, the American Inquirer.” Zach rapped on Steve’s forehead with his bony knuckles. “Earth to Steve. How much pot did you smoke tonight?”
Oh. Zach was talking about going to see Bianca, not Roux. What a buzzkill.
“I don’t want to see her.”
“I’ll go with you,” Zach said. “The tour is almost over. God knows I don’t have anything better to do.”
“I’d rather go to New York.”
“To see that woman responsible for the destruction of Twisted Element?”
“She isn’t—”
“I’m joking. Don’t get so fucking defensive. I know it’s not her fault.”
Steve couldn’t help but feel guilty. Even though Zach was cool with how things had turned out, Steve was not. He’d never forgive Sam for kicking Twisted Element off the tour without consulting anyone. It was one thing to fuck with Steve and his career and his money, but an entirely new level of suck to do the same to his brother from another mother.
“How about this idea?” Zach said, leaning closer to keep his words secret. “You go see Bianca and get your shit straightened out with her and her stupid fucking tabloid and her dick-grabbing sister”—yes, Zach knew all of Steve’s secrets—“and then, as a reward, you head to New York to figure out why Red hasn’t called you.”
Steve couldn’t help but laugh. He’d barely mentioned Roux to Zach, but the fact that he’d mentioned her at all made it very clear to his best-friend-since-forever that he was interested. Far more interested than he was in the brunette who was slowly stroking the side of her bare thigh while she sent him seductive glances.
“We didn’t have much time to live it up in New York,” Steve said. “Sounds fun.”
“We? You want me to third-wheel your romance?” Zach gave him a sidelong glance. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You’re never a third wheel.” He poked Zach in the side. “Spare tire, maybe.”
Zach ran a hand over his perfectly flat belly. He never did get the level of ab definition that Steve pulled off—and they did the exact same workout—but there was no extra flab on him.
“Is that why the ladies don’t look at me like that?” He nodded toward the brunette who was now hiking her skirt a few inches higher. “I work out.”
“It’s probably the blaring wail of their gaydar keeping them at bay.”
“And your overbearing heterosexuality keeps all the guys away, so I get no action.”
“That’s a tragedy,” Steve said, swirling his finger in his whiskey and lifting it to his mouth for a tiny taste to test if his stomach was ready for a gulp. He knew Zach didn’t want any action. At least not with anyone but his current boyfriend, Enrique—an up-and-coming film a
ctor who was determined to keep his personal life out of the spotlight. Enrique liked that the world thought there was something going on between Steve and Zach. It took some of the pressure off him, and he knew Steve was no threat for Zach’s romantic affection. Steve’s love for Zach was deeper than the ocean, but purely platonic.
“Let’s get out of here,” Steve said, shoving his glass toward the center of the table. “I’m not in the mood for the bar scene tonight.”
Zach tapped his forehead. “I wonder if we could figure out how to get Roux’s number on our own. There is this thing called the Internet.”
Steve stood and tossed a few large bills on the table. “You don’t think I googled her?” Because he had.
“And?”
“Their band is surprisingly good at keeping personal information separate from their stage personas.” Steve wished Exodus End was good at that. And there were no listings for Roux Williams anywhere in New York.
“So you have no clues. Nothing she talked about that might give you a hint as to her whereabouts.”
Zach chugged down Steve’s abandoned whiskey before following him toward the door.
“I know she was raised by a foster mother in Boston. All the women in her band were.” But he’d searched for Roux Williams in Boston directories too. No matches. He’d even tried a few different spellings. It was as if her real name wasn’t Roux.
“Sounds like something a local paper might pick up on and publish as a special interest story.”
Steve slapped Zach on the back. Brilliant. Steve should have tried looking her up through her family connections. “I don’t know why I asked Reagan’s ex-cop boyfriend to dig up dirt on Sam. I should have asked you, Sherlock.”
“I don’t like to dig up dirt. I just think it’s time you found yourself a decent partner, and not a single woman has turned your head except this Roux. So even if you’re timid enough to let her get away, I’m not.”
“Timid?” Oh, those were fighting words.
Nine
Roux fingered the rather ratty slip of paper she couldn’t bring herself to throw away. She’d been incredibly busy for the past week with tour preparations and rehearsal after rehearsal after rehearsal. Iona was an incurable perfectionist, and she was determined to turn the rest of them into perfectionists as well. Roux had therefore found it easy to put off calling Steve while she was playing Baroquen’s set list until her fingers were numb and singing harmony until she went hoarse. But they couldn’t very well rehearse without their drummer, and Jack had all but kidnapped his wife and taken her somewhere for a few days’ rest before they headed off on tour. Lily hadn’t protested her abduction at all. And Roux had been envious. How great would it be to have a husband who looked after your well-being and took you away from it all when you were stressed-out beyond your limits? Roux sighed. That would be fantastic. She drew her finger down the center of the scrap of paper and over the number that she decided was too late to call. She’d missed her window of opportunity. He had probably already forgotten about her. Not that she was thinking Steve would make a great husband like Jack, but he was a worthy distraction—an off-limits but worthy distraction. She sure could use a distraction right about now. The closer their day of departure, the more nervous she became. It didn’t help that Iona was constantly snapping at everyone that they weren’t ready.
