Beautiful Crazy Part 1

Beautiful Crazy.

Kasey Lane.

For Jeffrey, my big, bad handsome man. Thank you for pus.h.i.+ng me to chase my dreams and cosigning all my crazy.

I love you.

Chapter 1.

Kevan Landry couldn't catch a break. No matter how hard she tried to alter her fate, everything just got worse. Same s.h.i.+t, different f.u.c.king day. Case in point: her self-destructive brother Bowen. At the moment, the bruised and bloodied idiot was sleeping off an epic and near-fatal high in a local rehab center, New Beginnings. She and two of his buddies had dragged him half-conscious into the bright, sterile admitting room the night before during a typical Portland fall downpour.

She'd lied to the counselor about being able to pay the whopping bill for treatment. Truth was she did have some savings that would help, but the bulk would have to come from somewhere else-what she made at her part-time job at the tattoo shop and her full-time gig as an event marketer wasn't going to be enough. Unfortunately, the one promising opportunity had gone down in a fiery ball of flames when she'd had to choose between saving Bowen and making a meeting with an up-and-coming band. She'd just have to find another better-paying promotions job.

Which is exactly how Kevan found herself hurrying into the Tiki Torch Bar and Lounge with a new plan to keep Bowen in treatment and save Jolt Marketing, her fledgling company. Somehow she had to convince the headlining band, Manix Curse, they couldn't live without her marketing genius. Fortunately, she knew most of the band members. Unfortunately, according to Jax, Manix's drummer, all business decisions were made by the band's manager, Joe McKellan, whom she didn't know well. Now she just had to locate him and pitch her services.

Searching for Joe, she felt the eyes of another man watching her. Hair rose on the back of her neck, but she wasn't cold. It was practically a sauna in the packed club. She smoothed her clammy hands down the front of her dress and glanced over her shoulder. There. A handsome stranger's gaze followed her movements through the room. Their eyes locked and she held her breath. She turned and forced her eyes back to the crowd, trying to locate the man she needed to find.

Her pulse quickened, and her heart slammed against her ribs, either from the man's perusal or anxiety from approaching Joe. Maybe both. At first, she'd thought her excitement was from being in a club again. She loved the way music cast its spell, allowing her baggage to drop away as it swept her up in the magic of the moment. The pounding drums and gyrating bodies filled her with freedom as she swayed to the fantasy created by the instruments.

d.a.m.n, she loved live shows.

The opening band, Toast, worked the capacity crowd into a frenzy of sweat and thras.h.i.+ng bodies. Careful to steer clear of the widening mosh pit, Kevan leaned against the end of the battered wooden bar. Turning her head, she attempted to catch a surrept.i.tious glimpse of the striking man who'd tracked her from the shadowy edge of the club.

Yep. He was watching. Not leering. Just observing her with a slightly amused curve to his lips. He leaned against the wall, with his long legs crossed at the ankles. Arms folded against his broad chest in a way that might make another man appear surly. He didn't look surly.

Oh no. Mr. Hot Conservative Suit Guy looks interested.

Two words: goose b.u.mps. Her nipples hardened, tightening just from some suit eyeballing her across a crowded, dingy club. The lights dimmed, and the bodies moving between them made it difficult to get another good look, but he seemed familiar. Unlikely, though. She'd remember a looker like him, especially if he'd been walking around in an Armani suit. Suits did things to a girl. Good things.

Kevan tried to gather the b.u.t.terflies twisting in her belly and summon her saucy minx persona-as Bowen called it-the one she used to use to cover her nerves and get guys to buy her drinks. Before she slipped her mask into place, her former coworker and token jokester, Tyler, staggered up and bent his long, lean body over her.

"Haven't seen your tight a.s.s around here since you quit and started your little business." He reeked of cheap whiskey, and his sour breath a.s.saulted her nose.

"You're a real charmer," she said. "You always work drunk, or is that something new?"

"I'm not bouncing tonight."

"Good. You're so wasted you couldn't bounce your way out of a paper bag." She s.h.i.+fted to peer around him. Tyler followed her gaze until his eyes landed on her target across the bar. When she pulled away, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.

"Stick with your own kind, Kev." Tyler moved to block her view and raised his slurred voice over the cras.h.i.+ng guitar solo. "That one is way over your pay grade, sweetheart."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She turned her attention to the band onstage. The band her brother had started with his childhood friend, Nathan, and had eventually been kicked out of after too many missed practices and shows. Bandmates tend to frown on guitarists who don't show up for paying gigs.

"A suit like him will only use you and break your heart. He'll kick you to the curb with your cute little tail between your long, hot legs. Play it safe and come home with me, gorgeous."

Kevan ground her teeth. She'd been good-natured about dodging Tyler's lines for years because he was related to her a.s.sistant, Tina. But this s.h.i.+t was getting old. Her cheeks burned as she clenched her fists and stuck her chin out.

"Knock it off. I like you. As a friend."

Tyler flinched and took an uneven step back, stopping short against the bar. "A f.u.c.king friend? I don't want to be your friend."

"You think you're any different from any other guy who's tried to get up my skirt? You're not. You're all the same. Him. You. You're all arrogant jerks who think you're so d.a.m.n hot. Get over yourself, Tyler."

Covering her mouth with her hand, Kevan took a deep breath as regret, tinged with maybe a little righteous courage, filled her chest. Once again she'd gone too far and said too much. His withering glare s.h.i.+fted over her shoulder.

"Sorry, Tyler. But you're acting like a d.i.c.k," she said, hating the shake in her voice.

"Well, so are you, Kevan Landry," he said. And then he was gone. Absorbed by the writhing ma.s.s of bodies screaming and jumping to the band.

It wasn't his fault she was on edge. Tyler wasn't a bad guy, just a bit needy. And grossly inappropriate. Like a new puppy wanting to sit in your lap and lick your face all night, then take a dump on your carpet. More than once he'd come to her defense by fending off drunk and overly aggressive frat boys. Now, she had another mess to fix, because she couldn't hold her tongue. Add it to the list.

Before making her way to the ladies' room she ordered and drank a gla.s.s of water to help loosen the tightness her chest. Time to shake off the awkward exchange with Tyler and get her head back in the game.

After waiting in line for almost twenty minutes and carefully avoiding at least two of her brother's jilted lovers and one of her own, Kevan finally made it into the grimy bathroom with the chalkboard walls scribbled with profanities and silly doodles. In the mirror, she checked her face for makeup smudges and steeled her nerves, which felt raw and exposed, arcing like downed electrical wires after a storm. Attempting to appear playful, yet professional, she practiced a smile. It wasn't great, but it had to be good enough. She ran her tongue along her teeth and patted the front of her violet fifties-style pinup dress.

In the past, a night like tonight had been all about letting loose, letting her hair down, getting tipsy, maybe even hooking up with someone and getting lost in the shallow promise of a potential romance. Superficial goals she'd fully embraced once upon a time. But that wasn't her anymore. Sometimes she longed for the past, when she and Bowen could hit the clubs and party with the metalheads or the rockabilly crowd, where she didn't have to worry about responsibility. But the fun was over for good if she couldn't sign Manix Curse tonight.

Taking a deep breath, the warm air filling her lungs, Kevan smiled weakly at her reflection, ditching thoughts of loan payments, past-due rent, and rehab costs. Tonight was about finding a solution to her problems and calming the chaos swirling around in her life. Signing her first on-the-rise band would give her a chance, and she would fight like h.e.l.l to save her fledgling business and keep her brother in rehab.

Kevan exited the restroom, intent on finding Joe. As she scanned the room for the older, gray-haired man, she stepped forward and looked down as her foot caught on a tear in the thinning carpet. She lurched forward, arms flailing and grasping for purchase.

Frickin' shoes. They were too d.a.m.n high. But so cute, and they made her legs and a.s.s look amazing...or so she'd been told.

Her cheek collided with something solid. She lifted her chin and met the whiskey-colored eyes of Mr. Hot Businessman. Her heart raced, and her breath quickened. When he swept his tongue across his full bottom lip, it glistened the way his eyes did, and she nearly stopped breathing altogether. His large hand fanned across her lower back, a single finger resting above her waistband.

What a cliche. Only she would nearly fall into a mysterious stranger's lap.

Kevan clutched the fine material of the man's pressed s.h.i.+rt. His tailored suit looked like it easily cost more than the monthly rent on her tiny apartment. Her fingers rested on the hard muscle of his chest, reminding her more of a solid wall than a man's body. Time suddenly felt frozen as his hot breath feathered against her cheek, and she noticed the thick, dark lashes and soft crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes. The man was hot, definitely. But there was kindness mixed with the darkness in his calmly amused expression.

"Don't worry, darlin'. I won't let you fall." His voice was a low drawl, dripping honey and s.e.x.

For a heartbeat, she wished his rea.s.suring words meant more than they did. They were like sandpaper and silk smoothing her jagged nerves and carried over the thumping of the club's music. All ba.s.s...matching her increasing heart rate from the rea.s.suring grip of the breathtaking man's hold on her. A woman could lose herself in those mesmerizing dark eyes. A woman could forget he wasn't her type. For a minute, a woman could, but shouldn't, imagine a white picket fence with a man like him.

s.h.i.+fting her feet, Kevan cleared her mind of the fall-induced tunnel vision clouding her head. "Thanks for saving me from total embarra.s.sment," she said, her face heating to the point of fever. She hoped her words got lost in the loud club. But, of course, that wasn't her luck, was it? Righting herself, she tugged her crinoline skirt straight and looked around.

They weren't alone. They were in a crowded club surrounded by dancing bodies, pickup lines, and bleak desperation wrapped up in combat boots, skimpy clothes, and copious amounts of sweat. And the ridiculously handsome man with the angular chin and firm grip on her waist was not Kevan's date, nor was he some kind of modern-day Prince Charming. He was a polite man who happened to catch her-a career klutz-before she fell on her face.

"My pleasure, Ms...?" His deep voice dragged out the words as if expecting her to offer her name. And still, he didn't remove his hand from her waist. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips, almost delicately, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

Oh. My. G.o.d. Who the h.e.l.l does that anymore?

His soft lips caressed her hand in a simple, old-fas.h.i.+oned action, but jolts of desire shot from where his mouth lingered, down her arm, through taut nipples, and straight to her sad and lonely s.e.x.

This man was not safe.

The man's middle name has to be s.e.xG.o.d. Holy mother.

"Kevan Landry," she mumbled before her brain kicked in and had a chance to reconsider.

Making an effort to keep her wits and avoid embarra.s.sing herself further, Kevan closed her mouth to prevent drool from running down her chin. She was used to a little male attention, but never had her body betrayed her so quickly. Reacting with such strength to an almost innocent and chaste action was not a good sign, especially since she was there for one reason: to find the band's manager for a brief meeting and get the heck out before she got into trouble. And even more so since she'd sworn off men for the foreseeable future.

She didn't belong in his arms. The more comfortable she became with his hands on her body, the faster she should run away. But his strong arms around her and the sweet kiss on her hand had somehow rendered her stupid...and more than a little h.o.r.n.y.

"Nice to meet you, beautiful Kevan Landry. Mason Dillon." A slight smile touched his full mouth, sending more tingles of warmth down her arms at the mere thought of those lips on her body. Mr. Cla.s.sy Businessman definitely had her teeny tiny panties in a twist.

Toast finished up their first set, and the club echoed with the excited chatter of fans mingled with random yells for songs and chanting for Manix.

"You don't look like a cowboy at all." The heat in her face spread down her neck.

Cowboy? Really, Kevan? That's my clever intro to the hottest guy in the history of forever?

A vague recognition of his name and maybe his face drifted in the back of her mind, but it quickly evaporated the moment she stared into his enticing eyes. Maybe she knew him from somewhere.

"I am from Texas." He grinned. A heartbreaking, light-the-room-up, panty-melting smile. For a moment, he didn't seem so serious or dangerous at all. He seemed kind, approachable, and full of life.

At the front of the room, the band started their second set, tearing into a spirited cover of Korn's "Coming Undone." The woman standing next to them squealed, loud even over the noise of the band. As she jumped up and dragged her friend into the roiling mosh pit-a quilt of undulating flannel, black T-s.h.i.+rts, and denim-Kevan was pushed against Mason. Again.

As soon as the heat from Mason's intoxicating touch began to warm her frigid soul and dormant libido, all h.e.l.l broke loose. Tyler rushed up and grabbed her arm. As he dragged her toward the front of the crowd, he leaned in close. "I'm sorry, too." Then he flashed a sloppy bad-boy grin.

"You know you're a letch, right?" She laughed as he pulled her farther into the audience. Tyler had always been good to her and Bowen. And it was probably best to leave her new friend before she decided to drop her latest resolution like a bad habit. One minute to dance with Tyler wouldn't kill her, then she would go back to finding the band's manager.

Kevan flashed a stilted grin at Mason. Thankfully, he met her silent apology with that d.a.m.n smile and waved before pointing to his watch. What did that mean? Did he want to meet with her again? Or did it mean it was time for him to leave?

She didn't have time to process the s.e.xy man's cryptic gesture. Tyler turned her toward the band. Nathan, Bowen's best friend, raced his fingers like lightning across the guitar neck. Before Bowen's life disintegrated, her brother would have been up there jamming next to Nathan, performing the same complex dance they'd executed flawlessly for years onstage. Closing her eyes, she let the music take her. The notes collided and churned as the tune took over, and her busy brain stopped thinking and focused only on the melody. Her hips, her legs, her body swayed.

With half-open lids, she watched Nathan. His long black hair fell over his face as he concentrated on his mistress, his love, the guitar and the melody it created. He flipped his sweat-drenched hair back and gave the audience his patented wolfish smile. The smile said he could make a woman scream with pleasure and then make her beg for more. If they ever decided they wanted to be more than an opening act, his grin had rock star written all over it.

Kevan was pretty sure every straight chick in the room got a little wet thinking about Nathan Carter. The dude was hot. Not that it mattered to her. Kevan looked at Nathan like a brother. Just like she did all the guys at the tattoo shop.

Once again, she found herself scanning the room from one corner to the other, involuntarily searching the dark club for Mason. She dropped her shoulders, and her stomach clenched. He was nowhere to be found. Not that she'd intended to do anything about the attraction, but he was nice to look at.

He's gone. d.a.m.n. Now focus on your future.

It was for the best, really. Kevan needed to quit looking around for Mr. Wrong and get back on her A game. Tonight was her Hail Mary pa.s.s to sign the coolest local metal band as her first major entertainment marketing client. Time to go big or go home.

Chapter 2.

Tonight was Kevan's one chance to sign Manix Curse before they were out of her league forever. Over the last four years, they'd played the local music circuit so often that fans joked they were Portland's official house band. In the last six months, though, the band had honed their sound and built a substantial fan base in Portland and the surrounding areas. They'd scored a dream gig-opening act later that year for metal superstars Pagan Saints.

The tour would catapult Manix Curse into the heavy metal music stratosphere with bands like Five Finger Death Punch and Volbeat. They were that good. Maybe even great, and someday might reach both the commercial and artistic heights of Avenged Sevenfold.

Toast finished their set with a big flourish, and Kevan spotted Joe as he strode toward the back of the club. Moving quickly, Kevan snaked between the bar and the edge of the pit. Avoiding flying elbows and spilled beer, she made her way to the Tiki's small green room.

"You f.u.c.king rock! We're Toast!" Nathan yelled, his voice gravelly and thick. Glancing up at the stage as she pa.s.sed, she saw him fling his damp hair back, strands sticking to his heated face like a time-traveling '80s rock G.o.d in his Slayer T-s.h.i.+rt and ripped jeans. The crowd roared. "Thanks for coming out tonight. You guys stoked to check out Manix Curse before they hit the road next week?" The crowd went even more berserk. "You should be. Now, go get a f.u.c.king drink and buy our new CD."

Pus.h.i.+ng past fans in various stages of drunkenness, Kevan followed Joe through the back of the club. After opening the door to the wrong room, an office where the night manager was entertaining two "regulars," she located the band members and their manager crowded around a small Formica table. Kevan patted her blue-streaked, victory-rolled hair before pulling a folded brochure and contract from her clutch. Trying to ignore her sweaty palms and the thunderous pounding of her heart, she stepped into the room, ready to do battle.

"Well, if it isn't the lovely Kevan Landry. Everyone's favorite metal billy pinup." Joe winked, his open grin bolstering her confidence.

The band-and more important, Joe-had to believe she could promote them and take them to the next level. She tried not to focus on the dollar amount floating in her head-the one from the bottom of the page she'd signed at the treatment center. Pulling in another deep breath, Kevan cleared the sand from her throat and smiled.

Joe's eyes narrowed. "We thought maybe you were too good for us, girlie. We haven't seen you around the clubs. Seen that troublemaking brother of yours, but not your pretty face."

Hiding a cringe at Joe's reference to Bowen's epic crash and burn at the club the night before, Kevan threw back her shoulders and moved deeper into the room to hug the guys she saw practically every day at the shop. This was different. This was their element. And really the guys were Bowen's friends. Not hers.

"Work's kept me busy. I've been doing all the promotions for Tatuaggio-"

"h.e.l.l yeah," Marco shouted.

Kevan winked. "And I was working with Toast before Bowen left. Put together a few shows for them." Her lips felt tight, sore, as she tried to form them into the smile she'd practiced in the mirror.

"Glad to see your brother's getting some help," Joe said. "He's a good guy and an amazing artist when he's not wasted."

She swallowed again and wished she had a drink. "Thanks. It means a lot. But I want to talk to you about Manix."

His playful demeanor evaporated instantly. Joe was all business as he leaned forward and waited for her to continue.

"I've always been a fan but really followed Manix Curse closely for the last year. You guys, and Mandi"-the young, pet.i.te, pink-haired guitar player smiled as Kevan gestured toward her-"have really tightened your music and taken your stage show to a more professional level. You've gained such a huge local, and even extended, following. I hoped you might be ready to discuss a marketing and public relations campaign." Sitting down in the one open seat next to Mandi, Kevan crossed her legs and willed her restless hands to be still by folding them in her lap.

"Kevan." Joe held up his hand as she prepared to launch into her pitch. Her heart sank. That doesn't sound good. At all. "We were kind of thinking the same thing. And we know you. You know us. We like you."

Awesome. "If you're on board, I'd love to discuss some ideas I have," she said as she set her brochure on the table in front of him. d.a.m.n. And why hadn't she thought to bring along her tablet to give them a short presentation?

"Honestly, we've been approached by a bigger, more established firm," Joe said. Her gut dropped, and her heart melted into puddles around her four-inch purple heels.

"Oh." The room began to s.h.i.+ft suddenly, and the smell of stale beer filled her nose, making her stomach pitch.

Think. Think. Think. Don't panic.

She could do this. She pulled deep for her most authentic smile and pointed it right at the man holding her future in his hands.

"That ill.u.s.trates my point. Manix Curse is ready for the next step. And you need someone in your court who's not only a fan, but who knows this industry, this genre, and promotions. And that someone needs to understand the importance of not spending your band's money before they make it. I can do it, Joe. You know I can."