The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(84)

There had only been a couple of moments of anxiety with Pixie’s triggers. The first time, in the heat of the moment, he’d grabbed her hands over her head again, forgetting how much she hated being restrained. The second had involved some admittedly hard-core dirty talk. She’d called “Rule Two” both times, and of course he backed off immediately.

He stepped out of the town car and met Trent in the lobby of the building. They were recording an early-morning segment about the scars episode they’d filmed at Second Circle. A special on how tattooing was being used for good, including a woman who helped burn victims create more even skin coloration after recovery and a man who had perfected tattooing nipples for women recovering from breast-cancer surgeries. Before the show, he had no idea things like that even existed, and he was grateful for the opportunity to help raise awareness.

“Morning, bro. How’s it going?” Trent said.

Dred grinned. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Nah. Thanks for having us over for dinner last night. That little girl of yours is a heartbreaker.”

“Yeah, she sure as hell is. Although not so much at four in the morning.”

Trent laughed. “Maybe we should have her sleep over. Soon as we got in the cab last night, Harper was all “when are we going to start?” Told her I promised her old man we wouldn’t be getting married shotgun. If she sees the four in the morning wake-ups firsthand it might be enough to put her off for a few more months.”

Dred doubted it. Harper had been all about his little girl. Hadn’t even batted an eye when Petal pooped like a trooper while sitting on her knee. And from the looks Trent kept sending Harper’s way, she wasn’t the only one with babies on their mind.

The interview went smoothly, and Dred was in awe of the courage of some of the people he met. He found himself biting the inside of his cheek as he sat on the sofa listening to the TV anchor lead the women through their stories. Crying on television wouldn’t do his hard-core man-of-metal reputation any good.

Once the recording was over, Dred and Trent stepped outside.

“Off to the studio?” Trent asked.

“Yeah, got down the outline for a great song yesterday, so we want to see if we can finish it off today. Then I’m taking tomorrow off. You?”

“I’m opening, so I gotta shoot. You need a ride?”

“Nah, that’s mine over there,” he said, tilting his chin in the direction of the town car. Dred hugged Trent and slapped him on the back. “See you later.”

When he was in the limo, he checked his messages. There was an email from Sam.

Spoke to John Ferica this morning. He’s in New York right now so can’t really take meetings, but says label requirements are clear, as is the contract.

Their treatment by the label was the only thing left in his life with the potential to burst his happy bubble, and he was so f*cking over it. But Dred couldn’t be sure how persuasive Sam was being. Dred looked at his watch. Seventeen minutes to eight. He scrolled through his emails and found one from John that listed his cell phone number. Without giving himself time to overthink it, Dred dialed.

“Ferica.”

“Hey, John, it’s Dred Zander. How’re you doing?”

“Dred Zander,” he said in a long drawn-out drawl. “Gimme a minute, will ya?”

He heard John mumbling instructions to someone else in the room.

“Sorry about that, Dred, I’m back. Can I say we’re all thrilled with how well the box set did over the holidays? Worked out great. Got us some great momentum in the first quarter that’s carried through into this one. How’s the album coming along?”

Either the guy was dumb or was playing him. “Well, I think you know, right? You spoke to Sam this morning.”

“No. Haven’t spoken to Sam in a while. In fact, it’s been so long, I was thinking of giving you guys a shout. I’m interested in hearing where this album’s taking you.”

Dred ran his hand through his hair. “What do you mean you haven’t heard from Sam in a while? We had a list of issues we asked him to bring to you and he told us you blew them off.” Dred opened the window to let in some air. He was suddenly uncomfortable.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t know about Sam, man. I always said you needed someone with a shit-load more experience. What’s on your mind?”

“The timing of the European leg of tour and the album is really tight, but we can just about pull it off if we didn’t have to do all that other stuff you ask for. Like the festivals and all the publicity events.”

“Look, Dred, we asked Sam if you guys thought you could manage the timing of the tour and album and he told me you all agreed,” John replied.

Dred tugged on his anchor. “Sam told us it was non-negotiable. It’s been a f*cking shit-show trying to get it done.”

“We didn’t ask for you to do Brazil. I mean, it’s all good publicity, but the album and tour have always been our priority.”

“So the tour? Did you say I couldn’t bring my family along?”

“No, Dred. I had no clue you had a family. Congrats, man. Listen. I don’t know what the f*ck is going on here, but sounds like Sam isn’t on the up. Talk with the guy. Fire him if you have to. Let me help you find a new agent. Send me a list of what you need to make the tour happen. Sales from you guys over the past two years have kept us all in jobs. You’re one of our best earners. If you’ll forgive the pun, you’re f*cking rock stars.”