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It was going to be a long day and I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to happen.
Not getting the gig would be a disappointment. Despite what I’d told Greatty, this would be an amazing opportunity. On the other hand, there was so much to think about if I got it.
Leaving my job would be hard.
Then, if things didn’t work out down the road, I’d have to find another one, ostensibly someplace farther from home and potentially working for people I liked a lot less. I had my choice of projects at Black Kat, and the owner adored me. Was the possibility of fame and fortune worth risking the very good life I already had? Because this was about more than a job. Most people had events in lives they wanted to forget, and I’d worked hard to do that in mine.
This was going to add a level of scrutiny I wasn’t sure I was prepared for, and there was no way to know how my past would impact my exciting new future.
Either way, there was also no way in hell I was walking away from the chance to play with Onyx Knight, so I was going to have to wait and see.
* * *
The members of Onyx Knight were already there when I arrived, even though I was ten minutes early. They had a buffet set up with a continental breakfast and I put down my bass, wondering if I was supposed to just help myself or wait to be invited. You never knew with guys like this. I’d heard they were party animals but decent human beings. Other than Kingston Knight. He was a well-known pain in the ass who liked everything a certain way and could be extremely demanding both on tour and in the studio.
“Good morning.” Tommy Bane was good-looking if you liked scruffy. He had a beard and long hair that fell past his shoulders. He was an inch or two taller than me, a little thinner than I liked in a man, with a quick smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. He was a bit of an enigma online too. Since his divorce a few years ago, he’d been the consummate player; the kind of guy I avoided like the plague. If he’d been seriously involved with anyone, there was no trace of it online.
I’d tried to do my research on all of them, but most of the details available seemed to have been well-curated by their undoubtedly expensive PR team. Almost everything had been focused on Carter’s suicide three months ago.
“Good morning.” I nodded.
“Help yourself,” Z said, motioning to the table. “We’ll get started in a few, but we wanted to talk a little first.” William “Z” Zerkesian had gotten married this past summer and had a son with his now-wife. Beyond that, details of his personal life had been sketchy.
“Sure. Thank you.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and added a little cream, but I was too nervous to eat.
“Tell us something about yourself,” Kingston said when we were all sitting around the small reception area of the main studio, where I saw their equipment had been set up. “You don’t have much of an online presence.”
Just because Kingston’s life was an open fucking book didn’t mean everyone’s had to be. They called him The Rock God for a reason and he seemed to want everyone to know it. His reputation preceded him, especially here in L.A. He was rock and roll royalty, so everyone talked and now that I was in the same room with him, it wasn’t hard to see why.
Looks-wise, he was breathtaking, as beautiful as a man could be. A few inches taller than my five-foot-eleven-inch frame, with eyes as green as emeralds. Though he appeared to be a natural blond, he was always dying his hair different colors. In the past, it had been a different color for each album. It was only the last year or so that he’d gone back to blond.
“Social media is the devil,” I responded. I’d practiced this part of the interview in my head a dozen times because I’d figured they ask. “I have an Instagram account that I occasionally post in when I’m working on a project, but other than that, I don’t have time for it.”
“Makes sense.” Kingston nodded. “But you know you’ll have to amp that up if you take this gig.”
“That’s fine.”
It wasn’t, but it didn’t appear I would have a choice.
“How long have you worked at Black Kat Studios?” Tommy asked, redirecting the conversation.
“Four years.”
“What did you do before?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?
I almost laughed but managed not to.
“Well, I was living in Boston while I went to Berklee. I have a Bachelor of Music in Contemporary Writing and Production.”
“You went to Berklee?” Kingston cocked his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
Asshole.
“Yes. It didn’t work out with the band I was in so I came home to L.A. and started working at Black Kat.” That was an oversimplified version of events, but hopefully it would satisfy them.
“So, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty,” Kingston said, looking at me. “If this works out, will you be able to go on tour? Right now, it’s set to start on New Year’s Eve in London for two nights. Then we’ll do eight weeks. It’s a jam-packed schedule, playing two or three weeknights, both weekend nights, and some Sundays.”
