CHAPTER FIVE
GRIFFIN

“London.” I yell, but of course she can’t hear me over our debut album blaring overhead. I hate how everything here is about the brand, it’s all so shallow and empty. I need more.

I need more of London, that’s for sure.

It’s terrifying.

And exhilarating.

And… I was right the first time, it’s terrifying. 

Travis is perched on a stool at the end of the line incessantly flicking his drumsticks against the table. I’m sure he’s ready to bail out of here too. He can’t stand the crowds any more than I can, but music is like oxygen to him—to all of us, really. Adair is making literally zero effort to hide the fact he’s telling Nash about the girl in black ripped jeans. I heard him say “love-sick” and I’m not sure he’s wrong.

I don’t even care.

“What the hell, man?” Nash slaps me on the back of my shoulder. ”You’ve been holding out on me, brother. A fan?”

I sigh and shake my head, but the fog doesn’t clear. “I honestly don’t know the answer to that question.”

Adair cackles. “He because apparently London got about half the lyrics right during the set.”

“Who is London?” Nash asks a very valid question and I draw a complete blank. Did she tell me her last name while I was signing her shirt and I didn’t even hear it?

Wow.

I suck.

I suck really bad.

Adair’s green eyes flash recognition of my bumbling plight to find an answer I don’t have. “Ah, London would be Miss Rockstar Cinderella herself.”

“She has a name.”

He shrugs and passes a glance to Nash. “I’d be happy to call her by that name. If you had actually manned up and talked to her when you had the chance then we might actually know her last name by now, and you’d have her phone number.” He almost chokes from laughing on the last words. “It’s a little too late for that now though, huh?”

Groan.

“Asshole,” I grumble under my breath. I’m pathetic right now. Love-sick and stuck to this booth because of my hellish contract with The Machine, and this lavender haired woman in front of me is pissing me off too. If she flips her hair and giggles one more time, I think I might flip this table over and do a dramatic cliché rockstar storm off. I am so sick of these people who think I’m just another notch on their belt. A quick step up the ladder toward whatever their goal is—usually money or a record deal of their own.

They can earn it. 

Just like we had to earn our spot on the charts and in the venues.

I’m not heartless.

One of my goals is to set up a program for new talent under our own Amaryllis branded label, but we’re not there yet and this is certainly not how people will apply. “You know…” I lean over and whisper in her ear. “Adair is very single.” I nod toward my brother and he gives me a go-to-hell look that might rival Nigel’s. 

Now we’re even. Almost.

Adair scrambles and stammers over his words. “Uh… we… uh…” He scowls and mouths Kicking your ass later as he waves his hand signaling the guys to wrap up.

“Right.” I nod. “I’m shaking in my combat boots.”

Nash doubles over from laughing at Adair’s misfortune. I don’t blame him. It’s everything I can do to keep a straight face. “Go get her while you’ve got the chance,” he manages to squeak out between laughs. He nods to Nigel and motions toward the backstage area. “We’re taking the stage now,” he says while giving the signal to file out through the narrow space between the two burly security guards at the opposite end of the booth.

Wait.

He’s a legend.

“Thank you, Nash.” I smack him on the back as I realize the opportunity, he’s just given me. “And thank you, Miss lavender hair, for scaring Adair off.” She looks confused, but still hopeful that she might get the coveted invitation to come backstage after the show.

Not going to happen.

“Great.” Nigel signals Carly to bring the mic back up to the front.

“Nah, man.” Nash shakes his head. “Griffin’ll handle it. He’s got a plan to meet us up there.”

“A plan?” Nigel’s round face distorts into something between a frown and a grimace. “No. That’s not how it works.” He’s obviously calculating all the ways this goes against protocol. Being on the road is almost militant in the rigidity of the routine, and tonight we are completely screwing with the routine.

Nash grabs his shoulder and gives it a friendly shake. “It’s how it works tonight, bro.” His southern drawl is almost hidden when he’s singing backup vocals, but off-stage it’s alive and well. “He’s got it. Don’t worry. When has Griffin Miller ever let you down?”

Nigel grits his teeth together and obviously hates that he has to concede to that point. I’ve never dropped the ball when it comes to Amaryllis. Not even once since we signed with The Machine have I failed to do my job.

Tonight? Tonight, is a giant flashing question mark.

I’ve never been one to play it safe though. I never would’ve made it to where I am if I had been.

“To echo Nash,” Adair says as he grabs his stuff from under the table, “go get her before you miss your chance, dumbass.” He looks thoroughly confused at why he has to say that. I don’t blame him. 

I should have been out of this spot about a half-minute ago.

It’s like I’m stuck in place.

Scared.

Christ.

“Go.” Nash and Adair yell in unison.

I have one chance to make this happen and, if I miss it, I might never… No. There’s no might about it. I’m certain that I would never forgive myself. I brace myself against the table and hop over the top bolting straight toward the door, which happens to be where she’s standing. I try to avoid knocking anyone down, but I’m pretty sure there’s a slew of waiting-line-casualties behind me.

“Griffin!” Our head security guard, Devon, yells from behind me as he tries to catch up. “Christ, man. Just stop already.”

I honestly expected him to keep up a little better. At six-foot-two my strides are just long enough that I can out pace him and keep him off my ass until I get to her. Hands and fingers are grabbing and twisting in the fabric of my shirt. I don’t even see their faces. I just push them away and keep moving forward.

A very large arm that looks like it could be attached to Hercules himself stretches out in front of me in an attempt to clothesline me.

Great. The reinforcements have arrived.

Nope.

Not today.

I spin around and dodge the incoming army of yellow shirts. ”London,” I yell, again. This has to look like one hell of a spectacle. I need to talk to her. I just hope she doesn’t want to kick my ass for being such an idiot.

Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Despite the barely controlled chaos surrounding me, my world stands still for a brief moment when her dark eyes meet mine.

She heard me.

Yes!

Her bright smile fades into a frown—then a scowl.

Uh oh.

Of course, she’s annoyed. She has a weird guy she’s only barely met, if you can call it that, yelling at her in a crowded theater with a security guard, several of them, actually, yelling at him. It’s got to be weird as hell. She didn’t run though. Pull it together. Get your words. “I… uh…”

Wow. I’m a regular playboy here, aren’t I?

Devon’s huffing and puffing next to me now and looks thoroughly pissed off. I don’t blame him, either. I set off his entire plan for how to do his job and all I got out was I… Uh. Luckily, he seems as distracted by London’s friend as I am with London.

He’ll be fine.

London’s delicate features strain as her eyes desperately search mine, no doubt for answers. Answers I honestly can’t give her because the truth is that I don’t know.

Why am I drawn to her? I don’t know.

Why did I just brush off my contractual obligations to The Machine like it was no big deal? I don’t know.

Why did I just plow over a slew of fans and a fair number of bodyguards. Because I had to be close to her.

“I saw you during the show,” I somehow manage to stammer. I grip the back of my neck and drag my hand down, pulling against the tension in my shoulders. This is off to a great start. Why didn’t I just start with, Hi! My name is Griffin, and I’ll be your stalker this evening?

“Um,” she shifts nervously on her feet. “You saw me?” Her face has been the most beautiful shade of pink for most of the time we’ve spent together tonight. Even though that’s been maybe two minutes, I hate that I’ve made her uncomfortable. 

I can already tell her heart is gentle and delicate from the depth in her eyes. She’s clearly someone special. “I don’t mean that in a creepy way.”

“Which is exactly what a creepy guy would have said.” She laughs and tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m…” I throw my hands in the air. There’s an overwhelming urge building deep inside of me.

She bites her bottom lip… and I am dead. “Well, thank you. I think.” Her eyebrows pinch together. “I’m not really a… What do you call it?” She looks to her friend for help.

“A groupie,” Devon offers. I feel every muscle in my body tense. I don’t want to punch him, but my fists are already balling up.

She waves a finger in the air like she’s just had an epiphany. “That’s the word I’m looking for. I’m not the groupie type.” She smiles and tries to brush me off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m flattered, but that’s just not—”

“No.” What the hell? “That’s not what I meant.” I’ve never been a ladies’ man, but I can’t fail this miserably. Maybe I’m just completely wasting her time. My stomach protests at the idea, but she doesn’t know me. I’m just some random creepy guy hitting on her at a concert. “I’m not really the way they paint me to be, you know?”

“Okay,” she said and fiddles with the adorable yellow thing in her hair. “Said every guy, ever.”

Yeah, this is going well.

“To be fair,” she says as she glances up at me, “I don’t really know what they say about you.” She shrugs and my lungs tighten. I can literally feel her sucking the oxygen from my body and I’m completely okay with it.

She starts to say something else, but her bubbly friend with the sweaty red curls stuck to her face interrupts. “London, what’s going on?”

I throw Devon a Dude, help me look and hope that the universal bro-code is still in effect. Luckily, it is. He grabs her friend’s hand and pulls her to the side whispering something in her ear. I hope he’s telling her that I’m a love-sick idiot and to give me a second to pull myself together before totally cutting my balls off. She’s still scowling at me, but she pauses to give me a moment to recover from my epic fail.

London’s hands are trembling as she stuffs them in her pockets.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” I reach out and want to wrap her in my arms, to comfort her, to be there for her. Instead, I settle for an awkward hand resting on her arm.

I suck at this.

She giggles and the sound makes my heart soar. “I’m not nervous.” She stands up a little taller and sticks out her chin defiantly.

Holy hell.

Lies.

Adorable lies, but still lies.

“I know this is all really weird,” I admit. “But I just needed to talk to you. I’m sorry, I’m kind of an idiot,” I force the words through gritted teeth as I shake my head at my own awkwardness.

Devon slaps me on the back. “He’s also incredibly stubborn,” he chortles.

“He’s not wrong.” What I wouldn’t give to know what London is thinking as her face slowly shifts from complete confusion mixed with a little fear, which I feel terrible about causing her to feel, and then back into a genuinely sweet smile. ”I’m sorry about the scene, but he’s right. I am incredibly focused when I know what I want.” 

Her hand barely brushes my arm and that tiny touch sends a wave of chills and sparks through my body. It’s a hell of a mix. “I’m just not really used to… this.” She waves her hand around the circus that’s no doubt forming behind me, but I really have no idea because all I see is her and her pale pink lips sparkling under the lights.

The moment is interrupted by the auditorium doors being flung wide open and slammed into the walls. The loud noise makes her jump. I wrap my arms around her, instinctively wanting to protect her from anything… everything. She chuckles and steps away from me. I love her strength already, but my heart clenches in my chest as she pulls herself away from me. It feels like a gaping hole is left where she had just been standing, even though it was only for a fraction of a second.

“Griffin!” Nigel’s voice echoes through the building. He runs his fingers through his fake hair as he barrels through the doors. “We have a problem.” He glances between London and her friend. “Maybe we should talk backstage, in private.”

I shake my head and reach for London’s hand. I can’t stomach the thought of her walking away because Nigel interrupted before I could get to my point. I expect her to jerk away, but she wraps her small fingers around mine. Sigh. She might not think I’m a complete waste of oxygen. “Stone?”

“Yes.” Nigel nods and pinches the area between his eyebrows. “I knew he was trashed, but I expected him to get it together and make it to the stage for one song. One. Effing. Song.”

I shrug. “It’s not a huge surprise. We got through it in Dallas, we’ll get through it here.”

He shakes his head. “No.” He flicks the screen of his phone and pulls up a local music blog. “Look. This list outlines every band that has ever played the Tulsa Theater and did not perform an actual encore. Not one survived more than six months after their epic fail.”

“Fine,” I growl.

“Fine, what?” He throws his hands up and I think I see the vein on his forehead popping out of his skin. His blood pressure must be off the charts. “We need someone that can play the keys. You can’t just give them some random cover. They’ll destroy you before you even have a chance to record your second album,” he holds up a finger, “which is a discussion we need to have tomorrow.”

“I can’t fix that.” I shrug and completely ignore the added pressure to get back in the studio. “The song just doesn’t translate well to guitar and it’s the last one in our set.” When we get off tour, we’ll have time to write more songs and we’ll make sure they don’t require Stone.

“Let’s just tell Nash to play it acoustic.” Nigel nods and talks under his breath, probably telling himself how brilliant he is for coming up with such a solid plan.

“Sorry, big guy. We’ve tried it a bunch of times before in dive bars. Doesn’t work.” I don’t know what he expects me to do. “We can just play a cover like always.”

“Covers are fine during a set—not an encore, and not for Tulsa.” Nigel’s face turns expressionless and for the first time I think the guy might truly be terrified. The Machine will eat him alive if he screws up this tour. “The crowd wants Live Alone. They’re chanting for it now. You hear them?” He holds the door open, so the overwhelming roar of the crowd comes through loud and clear. “News of how you guys skipped out of Dallas without playing your number one hit didn’t sit so well with fans.”

“The crowd will have to be okay without it.” I have one focus right now. I need to find out more about London.

“We need to find someone to take over on the keys, Griffin.” Nigel looks sick at his own words. “Stone has screwed up enough for us.”

“Us?” I can’t help but scoff at Nigel’s assumption he’s one of us now just because he works for The Machine. If anything, that’s exactly why he isn’t one of us.

“Yes, us.” He shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “When you guys go down in flames, so do I. I’m not prepared to set Amaryllis aside as a failure. Are you?”

Christ. “I’m well aware of the stakes, Nigel.” Stone’s been with us since the start, but he’s never been with us.

“London is a classical pianist.” London’s friend pipes up. I really need to learn this girl’s name too. “Would that work?”

Of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be an accomplished pianist who just happens to be beautiful enough to stop traffic and here at the exact moment I need her in my life?

“Casey!” London jabs her friend in the side with her elbow. “Stop it,” she whispers while her face is sheer terror.

I look down at this beautiful woman holding on tight to my hand, I think she might be cutting off circulation to my fingers at this point, and I can’t help but wonder how many secrets she has hidden from the rest of the world.

Nigel scowls and waves his hands dismissively at the idea, which has me about ready to knock that stupid toupee right off his head. 

“Nigel—” But before I can even finish my sentence, London pulls out her phone, which happens to have a sparkly unicorn case, coincidentally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and flips on a YouTube video.

“Here.” She taps the play button.

“I don’t have time for YouTube, girly.” Nigel turns to walk off, but I grab his arm and hold him in place as Devon becomes a human blockade on the other side. He tosses a slight wink to Casey.

Ah. I get it, my friend. I get it.

“Show some respect, Nigel,” I growl, and I don’t even know where it came from.

The video stops buffering, and the melody comes through the speakers.

Nigel’s eyes widen as the video zooms in on her fingers dancing across the keys. She glides effortlessly through one of the most difficult classical style songs I’ve ever heard. I have a feeling London could teach us all a thing or two about music. Her eyes stay closed as she plays a bright red grand piano in what looks like a living room. She’s not even watching her hands. She’s just feeling the music and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

“Where was this?” I ask as the next video starts to auto play.

She shrugs her shoulders and stuffs her phone back in her pocket. “It was at my parents’ house.” She swallows hard. “My entrance application for Julliard.”

“Julliard?” I’ve known her for all of five minutes and she’s already hitting me with one surprise and then another. “How long were you there?”

She blinks hard and I think I see a tear welling up in the corner of her eye. “I was 

accepted, but I didn’t go.”

Nigel throws his hands up in an overexaggerated fit. “Of course. I finally find someone with raw talent, and they can’t commit.” He shakes his head and stomps toward the doors, apparently forgetting the human blockade Devon has no intentions of letting him through.

“You gave it up?” What would possess her to give up this amount of talent? Now may not be the right time, but I make it my mission to find out.

Casey holds her hand up. “It’s not exactly like that.”

London gives her friend a STFU look and it just makes me want to find out what makes this girl tick even more. Casey clearly respects her though because she stops talking and let’s London handle it.

“I could play the song,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “The one that’s stressing you all out.” She flicks her hand back and forth between me and Nigel.

“Do you know their music though?” Nigel asks, flicking his thumb in my direction.

She looks down at the floor with a sheepish smile on her face. “No,” she admits. “I didn’t know they existed until Wednesday.”

I’m not going to lie. That stung. My ego needed the knock though.

Nigel’s laugh fills the corridor we’re currently blocking. I’m pretty sure we’re a fire hazard at this point. “I’m sorry. This is too much.” He starts to walk away.

“Give her a chance, Nigel.” I step in front of the door so he can’t bail. “Give her a chance, or no encore.”

He grits his teeth and looks behind him to the girl that I am literally risking my career for, and then back at me. “You better know what you’re doing Miller, because I sure don’t.” He puts his finger in my chest and pushes like that’s going to intimidate me. “I am done saving your ass from The Machine.”

I’m not even mad at him. I get it. The pressures laid on all of us by The Machine are enough to make us all act a little… stupid, sometimes. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” My tone is far more confident than I actually am in myself, but I believe in London. “Are you ready?” I ask her and offer my arm to lead her backstage.

“No.” She shrugs.

It’s the most adorable shrug I’ve ever seen in my life.

Does she know what she’s doing to me?

“I just need to know the melody and the key,” she says with a slight tremble in her voice.

“Not a problem. We’ll get you all filled in, just stick with me.” I smile hoping that I can ease at least some of her nerves. She’s going to teach us all something. I can feel it. Her arm timidly wraps around mine, so I can lead her to the stage. The warmth from her touch makes me feel complete. I don’t want this moment to end. I take a deep breath knowing I will never feel complete again without her hand in mine. It’s the most terrifying feeling I’ve ever experienced.

Get a grip, Griffin.