Page 9 of Conquest

Evan nodded. He sat motionless for the rest of the night, not drinking, not speaking, his eyes focused on Jesse. When Conquest finished their set and Jesse and his band disappeared into a room at the back of the bar, Evan headed out to the black Cadillac Escalade Marcus had hooked up for him. He climbed in and stared at the steering wheel, Jesse’s beautiful voice resounding in his head.

“Jesse Alexander,” Evan whispered, caressing the name with his tongue.

The guy was incredible. His voice, the sensual way he moved on stage, his skill at instruments, playing keyboard, guitar, and bass, switching between them in different songs with graceful fluidity all while singing and never missing a note. Jesse’s talent, with a little guidance, could rival his own.

Evan paused, the realization hitting him hard. Jesse just might well be his equal. A slow grin lifted his lips. A soft chuckle slipped from his throat, and he leaned his head back on the headrest. He felt giddy, like a warm, euphoric energy was rising in him.

He wanted to talk to Jesse, to meet him, to get close to him, extremely close to him.

He stopped himself before the thoughts progressed. He didn’t have the right to allow himself even the slight pleasure of little dreams and fantasies, let alone the extreme pleasure of actually being with a guy like Jesse. He didn’t even know if Jesse was into it, and if he was, then what? What if Jesse started to really like him? What if he started to really like Jesse? He didn’t deserve to be happy with someone that extended beyond a night or two of physical pleasure. What he really needed to do was go back to his hotel, get his things, go to the airport, and…

A melodic laugh like a lively violin concerto touched his ears, and he jerked his head toward the sound. Jesse walked up the sidewalk with his guitarist at his side, both carrying two guitar cases. Evan tuned his ears to catch Jesse’s voice.

“See? I kept my promise. I didn’t fight with Mike, even though he totally sucked. But if he blows this bad next time, I swear I’m gonna throw him head first into the drum set.”

Evan laughed under his breath. Yeah, he was a total perfectionist. He watched Jesse and Kenny walk past the driver’s side window.

“That’s real cute, Jess. Now I swear, if you lose us another drummer, I’m gonna chain your skinny ass to the drums and make you play ‘em.”

“Maybe I should rewrite the music so I could drum in a couple of the songs, but it’s ‘Vanish’ that’s the problem, and I need to play rhythm guitar in that one.”

Evan listened to their voices recede. So he could play the drums, too. That pretty much clinched it. Like himself, Jesse was a musical prodigy, and here he was stuck playing in little dives struggling to get by. He couldn’t let Jesse’s talent be suffocated to where he might decide to give up his music altogether. Whether or not he deserved to be with someone as special as Jesse wasn’t the point, the point was Jesse deserved a chance to shine on stage before thousands, millions, of eyes.

Evan fired up the Escalade and headed back toward the hotel, deciding he liked the car enough he would buy one of his own. Buying a car meant he needed a garage, especially if he was going to bring the two cars from New York he put in storage before leaving on his travels, which all meant he needed a house.

An inward chuckle rose in his chest. He had made the decision to call Chicago his new home with hardly thinking of it. But Jesse had sparked something in him that he hadn’t felt in years, inspiration. And while not directed toward his own music, to feel it in regards to Jesse’s was just as good.

CHAPTER THREE

One month later

Greg Hansen sat behind his dark cherry desk and frowned at the numerical figures in front of him. It wasn’t good. The new studio the owner and president of Phoenix Records, George Livingstone, had ordered built when they made the jump from New York to Chicago was incredible. But it tapped pretty deep into the already tight funds, and what was worse, they didn’t have any artists worth a damn to record in it.

Greg sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. He shouldn’t think that. Their artists were all good, but they had more of an Indie following than the mass popularity of Top Forty acts. What he would give to have an artist who could break into the top ten on the charts again, to be able to launch a tour playing to venues capable of holding more than a couple thousand. But, maybe he needed to come to the realization that the days of Phoenix being a label of superstar performers were long gone.

Stress churned Greg’s stomach. He really shouldn’t think like that. He had to stay positive. Someday, Phoenix would be able to attract the big name musicians again. Maybe even some of the ones who had jumped ship when the label started sinking would come back once they saw it was stable again. If they could get out of the contracts they had signed with other record companies. If not, they could always attract new ones and launch someone else to the status of music elite. If they could find someone with the talent, someone worth throwing everything they had behind.

Greg looked to the wall on his right where four framed concert posters of Evan Arden hung, one for each of his tours. Around those, Gold and Platinum records covered the wall. Beneath them, a long glass case held awards from the Grammy Awards, the American Music Awards, the Billboard Awards, the MTV Music Video Awards, and various other award shows. At least they still had Evan, wherever in the world he was.

Though, it was probably better that Evan was hiking the Himalayas, or horseback riding across Mongolia, or scuba diving in Bora-Bora, or any of the other things Evan did in the far off places he had gotten letters from. Maybe it’d mean Evan wouldn’t find out they had re-released his masterpiece album, One More Time, with two new bonus tracks and new liner art without his approval. Doing it was a complete breach of Evan’s contract. It specifically stated no unreleased masters of his were to be released without his direct consent as Evan had full ownership rights to all his songs and had that clause written into his contract when they renegotiated it before his third album, Allegro. In order to keep the label’s head above water, he had decided to risk it, hoping when Evan found out and flew into one of his rages, he’d be able to calm him and make him understand the reasoning behind it. In truth, it was worth the risk of raising Evan’s wrath. Evan’s fans were the very meaning of fanatical and gobbled up the re-release after waiting so long to be fed anything by him.

Greg turned back to the ugly figures on the papers in front of him. Fortunately, he probably wouldn’t have to deal with a tirade from Evan any time soon. The last letter he got from him over a month ago said he was going to Greece, so there wasn’t much point in worrying about it until the time came. He dragged his calculator across his desk to make sure the accountants had gotten the figures correct and paused, his ears catching the sound of someone humming.

He sat quiet. The humming grew louder as if someone was walking up the hall toward his office, the voice a smooth, rich baritone that could never be mistaken for anyone else’s, even at so subtle a pitch. The humming stopped outside his office door.

Greg stared at the open doorway, listening, waiting.

A head peeked around the corner, a glowing smile on the handsome face that looked to be around twenty-two years old, yet Greg knew would turn twenty-seven in the coming month. A pair of purple lens sunglasses shadowed his eyes, but Greg didn’t need to see them to know they were eyes of radiant blue that either enchanted or intimidated depending on their owner’s mood.

“Evan,” Greg whispered.

Evan stepped fully into the doorway. “Hey, Greg. Did you get all the letters I sent you?”

Greg shot up from his chair so fast it flew backward and crashed into the window behind him. He dashed around his desk to Evan, threw his arms around him, and jostled him in a rough hug. “Evan! My God, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it!”

Evan laughed, patting Greg on the back. “I came to visit.”

Greg pulled back, keeping both hands on Evan’s upper arms. “You came to visit? Just like that after three years?”