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10
PIPER
If someone had dared to tell me that hearing Cannon Cage sing one of my songs would turn me on, I would have laughed in their face and then punched them. The very idea was absurd.
Or it would have been, the day before. Hell, even an hour before.
And then he started singing along with me during practice. Playing the bass with such ease, never once missing a chord, as if he’d been playing the song in his sleep for years. Then he did it with the next song. And the next. And then the one after that.
I hadn’t been expecting perfection for practice—hell, I would have been happy with mediocre. Yet, perfection was what I got. And then some. Because I didn’t need anyone to tell me that Cannon’s voice and mine blended so well together that it gave me goose bumps.
From the way everyone working nearby stopped what they were doing to listen and watch us together told me that I wasn’t the only one affected. I even spotted Trinity at one point, her phone out, videoing our rehearsal. I trusted her not to post it to social media, but I figured it would be sent to someone. Probably Emmie or her mother, maybe even my own and Cannon’s as well.
I vaguely noticed all that while trying to contain the inferno that was trying to overtake me with each song we played. This was bad. I had to be coming down with some kind of virus, one that made me want to make bad decisions. It was the only excuse I was able—and willing—to accept. Because anything else was too scary to entertain.
It didn’t matter that I’d been fighting my attraction to Cannon for years. Or that I was starting to suspect that the only reason I’d been so bad at the whole dating thing was because I’d been subconsciously hung up on this monster. I needed to cure myself of whatever illness I’d been infected with so I could get back to my normal life.
A life where I didn’t get embarrassingly wet from a heated look from those beautiful blue eyes.
As the last chord of the final song on my playlist faded, I licked my lips. The taste of him haunted me, and I shivered, remembering how he’d asked if I would reward him with another kiss for sitting in on the meeting with Petrova’s golden child later. It wasn’t that I was scared of the asshole producer—he just gave me creeper vibes. On top of that, he was the most narcissistic person I’d ever met. Having met more than my fair share of them over the years, that was saying a hell of a lot.
“That was… Whoa,” Hymn said in awe. “Do you have, like, one of those brains that memorizes a song as soon as you hear it?”
“No,” Cannon told her as he handed the guitar over to the same roadie who had given it to him earlier. “Just a love for great music.”
Something exploded in my chest. He thought my music was great? It was, but that he, of all people, thought so blew my mind.
Fuck, I needed to figure out what medication to take to get over this bullshit, because it was getting out of hand far too quickly. If I wasn’t careful, it might even rot my brain, and then I’d be stuck like this forever.
Catching sight of Flint standing not far from the stage, his trusty iPad with my itinerary at his fingertips, I latched on to that so I could ignore the looks Cannon shot my way. “I’m on my way back to the bus now,” I informed my personal assistant. “Is everything set up for my Zooms?”
“The first one is in ten minutes,” he said as he glanced down at the tablet. “But the one with the producer is right after, so if things start to run over, I will interrupt you and have them schedule a second chat if you are interested.”
“Great,” I muttered, not in the least bit thrilled about either call. The producer dickhead was one thing, but the showrunner for the drama was something else. From what I’d heard, they had lined up one violinist for the tracks, but something fell through, and now they wanted me to play the music the other person had already written for the series.
I’ve done cover songs, played some of the world’s most famous music from composers who had survived the changing tides of time. But this was different. I didn’t want to play music no one else had heard before unless it was my own. It wasn’t stealing because, according to Emmie, the show had the copyrights to all the music. And I knew she would never let me take a meeting if that wasn’t legit. But it felt wrong to me. As if the music would be tainted or even cursed if I took credit for it in any way.
Taking the bottle of water I was offered, I walked over to Hymn, who had gotten to her feet. Nala was at her side, so I knew my friend was in good hands. “I’ll see you tonight,” I said as I hugged her. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Charlie and I are going to lunch. Want us to bring you back anything?”
“Nah, I’m good. Have fun.” I kissed her cheek, waved to my drummer, and then turned to follow Flint back to the bus.
I’d barely taken a step in his direction when Cannon caught my hand. I stopped and looked up at him, wondering why he’d stopped me. Smirking, he entwined our fingers and tugged me toward the stage steps. “Back-to-back meetings suck. I’ll just sit with you through the first so I don’t miss the one with the producer.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled, letting him guide me back to the bus.
Flint already had my laptop set up and ready to go in the living room. I sat down on the couch and joined the meeting while my assistant made me a cup of hot tea in the kitchenette. Beside me, Cannon stayed out of sight while I listened to the showrunner’s pitch to entice me.
“I’m not saying that I don’t think the show is going to do great,” I told the woman once she’d finished and sat waiting for my response. “It seems like something I would definitely binge when I have the chance to watch television. I just feel uncomfortable recording music that I had no hand in writing. I don’t know what happened to the last violinist, and it’s not my place to ask questions. But it’s also not my place to take credit for something they already put so much time and effort into creating for this show.”
“They will definitely be credited as the composer,” she tried to assure me.
“It’s not just that,” I tried to explain. “I didn’t have any part in writing it, so I won’t have any emotional attachment. Without that, I won’t be able to give it the performance it deserves.”
“Quick question,” Cannon spoke up, sticking his head into the frame, causing the woman to gasp in surprise. “How attached are you to the music that was already written?”
“It fits the theme,” she said hesitantly.
“But you’re not in love with it?” he pushed.
She grimaced. “Not one hundred percent. But the executives are happy with it, so…”
Cannon hit mute on the call. “Are you trying to blow this chick off because you don’t want to work with them, or is it really about the excuses you are throwing at her?”
I could see exactly where his mind was going and sighed. “No, it’s exactly what I said. I won’t have any connection to the music. And I don’t like taking credit for something I didn’t create.”
“Then write the music for it,” he urged. “She already said that you wouldn’t be recording anything until the end of this tour. That gives you plenty of time to come up with something everyone will love.”
I chewed that over for a few moments before unmuting. “If you let me compose it, I’ll do it.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head, they grew so huge. But she recovered quickly. “Excellent. I’m sure whatever you come up with, the execs will love just as much as I will. You were my first choice to begin with, but nepotism and all that bullshit got in the way. Lucky for me, that fell through—as I knew it would.”
“Reliable people are hard to find. Anyway, Emmie will reach out about the contract,” I told her, not wanting to gossip about the other violinist. Even though, when I’d heard who she was, I’d made a few guesses as to why she couldn’t fulfill her commitments. “Meanwhile, I’ll be in touch with something for you to listen to in the next few weeks.”
If the woman’s grin got any bigger, I was sure her face would split in half. The meeting might not have gone as I had expected, and now I had even more work to do, but her obvious happiness put a responding smile on my face. “You won’t regret it, Piper. This is going to be huge for everyone, I promise.”
I ended the call and tossed back the last of the tea still in my mug just as Flint stepped on to the bus. “Do I need to make adjustments to your schedule?”
“Not yet. I need to do some writing before I take another meeting with her.” I shot Cannon a mock glare. “Because some people can’t keep their mouths shut and put ideas in my head.”
He winked as he stretched out his legs in front of him. “We all knew you were the best option for everything anyway. If she hadn’t brought it up herself this meeting, she would have been calling you tomorrow, next week at the latest, pleading with you to write the score as well. I’m just confused as to why they only want a violinist and not an entire orchestra.”
“They do for the main theme and several episodes, but there are a few scenes they need something softer yet just as dramatic. I’ve read the books it’s based on, but I guess I’ll need to do a reread to refresh myself and get inspired.” I shoved at his arm. “But I swear, if you get me talked into even more work with this next call, I’m going to smother you in your sleep.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be trying to keep us both from extra work, sugar, not making more of it for anyone. Holiday songs are not my forte.”
“You say that, but I really liked the version of ‘The Little Drummer Boy’ you and Jags did with Smith a few years ago,” I murmured. “And considering it made it to number one on iTunes for over a month, that’s proof enough that you’re even good at things that aren’t your forte.”
“My sister dared us to do that,” he said, waving off the compliment. “Those two pop boys did a decent job of it live, but I made the mistake of saying Jagger and I could do it better, and she told me to prove it.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled with a roll of my eyes. “It’s still my favorite version.”
“Jagger said the producer talked him into a solo song for the album. He’s doing something fun like ‘Run Rudolph Run.’ You know he’ll rock the fuck out of it.” His lips twisted with distaste. “Which means they will want me to do a solo. Probably something like ‘White Christmas’ or ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas.’ That’s what I get for mocking Bublé that one time while my sister recorded me.”
“That TikTok got like six million views in two days,” I remembered aloud. “Bublé even commented on it that he wanted to record a version of that song with you.”
“It was just a joke,” he said with a shrug.
Before I could tell him how good he’d been at the “joke,” Flint motioned to his watch, reminding me of the next call. Groaning, I connected and settled back onto the couch and poked Cannon in his bicep. Only to stub my finger. “You should make us lunch after this.”
“Sure, if you want food poisoning,” he said with a grin.
“I’ll order in for you,” Flint said, pulling out his phone.
“No. I don’t want takeout. I want grilled cheese and soup,” I said with a pout.
“Panera is just a few blocks away,” my assistant coaxed.
The side-eye I shot his way had him zipping his mouth shut. When we were on the road, almost every meal was takeout. That got old fast, and sometimes I skipped meals because of it.
My laptop screen filled with the top half of the producer, and I turned my attention from my grumbling stomach to the meeting I needed to participate in. I shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable, only to have Cannon shove the pillow into my lap that Trinity had left there when she’d been dozing after breakfast earlier.
Without thinking, I hugged my arms around it as the producer, Laurence Ward—or so the plaque strategically placed behind him announced—jumped right into the meeting. I knew I shouldn’t try to tune him out, but his voice was so damn boring when he started going on and on about something, that I couldn’t help it.
“Piper, we’re going to get you into the studio next. It shouldn’t take you more than a few days to record, so we can fly you out to me right after your Sunday show and get you back for your next stop in the middle of next week.”
It wasn’t so much Laurence who pulled my focus back to our meeting, but the growl that left Cannon. It was animalistic, a sound I imagined a predator making to warn others they were getting too close to their territory. I pressed my thighs together as I slowly turned my head to glance at him.
“I need to get my own music recorded for the album, so I’ll come with her, and we can get everything knocked out in one go,” Cannon gritted out from between clenched teeth.
“I’m not ready for you or Jagger to get into the studio,” Laurence said, his distaste for the change of plans more than obvious from the sour expression on his face. “I’m getting all the girls taken care of first, and then I’ll move on to the male vocals.”
Cannon leaned forward, moving closer to the computer screen, effectively blocking me out. “Have Kin St. Charles or the Blonde Bombshells already recorded?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but they will be in the studio next week.”
“I don’t think Jace or Sin will allow either of their wives to show up without them,” Cannon said with a dry laugh. “You have two choices here, Larry my man. You either accept that I will be there, manage the time accordingly, and get my turn in the studio checked off your list, or waste both our time while I’m in LA. Because I will be there with Piper, whether you want to record my shit or not.”
With the turn the meeting had taken, I was torn between being pissed that Cannon was dictating how things would go for me and being glad that I wouldn’t have to deal with ol’ Larry on my own. Not ready to examine either too closely, I nudged Cannon with my foot, reminding him that we were supposed to be playing nice with the producer.
Still keeping me blocked from the screen, he glanced at me over his shoulder. My lifted brows silently asked him what the hell he was doing, but he simply winked and shifted his head back to Laurence.
“Send Flint all the details of our flight,” Cannon instructed. “As well as the itinerary for the days we will be in LA. If there’s nothing else, I need to feed my girl. I can hear her stomach growling, and she’s about two minutes from turning into the hangry version of herself that scares the absolute fuck out of me.”
I swung the pillow I still had in my arms at his head as he closed the laptop. His oomph did little to appease me. I swung it again, connecting with his back. As I lifted the pillow over my head to hit him harder, he moved quick as lightning and tackled me to the couch. My struggles were in vain, because he trapped my legs with his thighs and pinned my wrists to the couch above my head.
Vaguely, I heard the tour bus door closing, and a part of my brain barely realized that Flint had abandoned me. But that didn’t matter, because I was too caught up in the feel of Cannon’s hard-on pressing right into my core. My mind told me to push him away, that this was a really bad idea.
But my body told that bitch to shut the fuck up.
