This Is Our Song Read online

  “Okay. So do it.”

  “Seriously?” Riley asked with a bit of frustration. “You—who knows me better than anyone—think I need to quit?”

  “I don’t see it as quitting. I see it as moving on from a project that has proven not to work. We do it all the time in the labs. You test a theory and when it doesn’t work, you move on. You wanted to try this solo project and you did. It’s not working for you so stop forcing it.”

  Now Riley growled. “You know, I think I liked it better when you said stuff I couldn’t understand. This getting right to the point is kind of hurtful.”

  “I’m sorry!” Owen said quickly. “All I meant is—”

  “Don’t. It’s okay. You’re saying what everyone else has. And coming from you? Well, that tells me what I needed to know. It just doesn’t make me feel like any less of a failure.”

  “You’re not a failure, Ry. You’re a gifted musician. No one says you can’t try again in the future. You just need to let this project go.”

  Emotion clogged Riley’s throat and he nodded silently. And just as he suspected, his brother knew it.

  “You’re going to be okay, Riley,” Owen said softly.

  Normally Riley would agree simply because his brother was rarely wrong.

  Only right now, he was having a hard time keeping the faith.

  * * *

  As promised, Mick was back at three o’clock sharp. The man was a stickler for keeping a schedule. Well, he normally was. He’d been a little more than frustrated with Riley’s lack of one lately.

  As soon as Riley got a glimpse of his manager, he knew something was up. It was written all over his face. “Okay,” Riley began as soon as they sat down. “Out with it.”

  Luckily Mick wasn’t the type to play dumb. “I spoke to Rich Baskin earlier—that’s who called when I was here.”

  Rich was the head of Riley’s record label, and it was all Riley could do just to nod.

  “I told him you really weren’t on board with using outside writers to finish the album.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “What do you think he said? He’s pissed.”

  “Great.”

  “However,” Mick began, “he is willing to give a little.”

  Riley’s head shot up and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt hopeful. “Okay. How?”

  “Do you know Tommy Vaughn?”

  Riley’s eyes went wide. “Of course I do! Who doesn’t? The man is right up with Jagger, Mercury, Lennon, Bowie… I mean, the guy is a rock god. Why? Is…is he one of the song writers? Does he want back in on the music side rather than writing about it?”

  “Okay, so you’re aware of his magazine.”

  Reaching over the side of his sofa, Riley pulled a copy of Rock the World magazine. “Aware of it? I subscribe to it!”

  “That’s good,” Mick said. “Because you’re going to be in it.”

  Riley pulled back and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I don’t play dumb with you, don’t do it to me.” Mick paused. “Tommy wants to do a huge piece on you—possibly multi-issue. He doesn’t do it very often. He’s got someone lined up to work with you. Rich wants this. So if you’re hoping to get back in anyone’s favor, you’re going to do this.”

  “Mick, you know how I feel about interviews. Especially right now!”

  “Then you’re going to have to get over it. Fast. Because if this deal doesn’t happen, they’ll pull the plug on the album even sooner, and think of the lousy publicity that is going to cause. ‘Riley Shaughnessy cut loose because he didn’t want to talk and couldn’t write any songs.’”

  “That was pretty low,” Riley sneered. “Even for you.”

  “I’m not here to candy coat it for you. I’ve been doing it for too long and now look where we are.” He shifted in his seat. “You never asked for much and you were never complicated to work with—you were certainly never a diva—so when you started to struggle, I let it slide. Well, I’m done with it now. It’s time for some tough love. You need to stop with the pity party and get your ass back in the game.” His phone beeped and Mick looked at it and stood. “I’ve got another appointment to get to. You’re gonna get a call from the magazine. Take it and be thankful.” And he headed for the door.

  “Mick—”

  “I’m not kidding, Riley,” Mick interrupted. “Everyone’s done playing around. We want an album from you, and we wanted it six months ago. Don’t turn into a diva on me now. Do the interview. Hell, who knows, maybe talking to someone—even a magazine reporter—can be…what do you call it? Cathartic. Yeah, I think that’s the word. Maybe you’ll finally get out of your head and get the music down like you need to.” With a pat on Riley’s back, Mick walked to the door. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. Think about it—but don’t screw this up.”

  Riley stood and stared at the closed door for a solid five minutes before he could force himself to move. When he did, it was to go back to the couch and collapse.

  He’d sworn he wouldn’t do any interviews until the album was done and he knew it was perfect. Now what was he supposed to talk about? How he couldn’t write? Couldn’t play? Couldn’t sing?

  Yeah, the fans would love that.

  Unfortunately, he knew he was screwed and there was no way out. So he’d give the interview—a superficial one. No one said it had to be deep and meaningful. And it wasn’t written anywhere that he had to be sincere or enjoy it. The label wanted this? Fine. He’d do it. But Riley would do it on his own terms, not theirs.

  Jumping to his feet, he almost felt like some sort of evil genius. He’d say all the right things and smile at all the right times. They could take their pictures and think they were getting a glimpse into the real life of Riley Shaughnessy.

  But they wouldn’t.

  They never would.

  There was a time when Riley loved this part of his celebrity—the interviews, the press tours. But lately these things felt like a chore—just one more thing to piss him off and make him resentful toward the talent that had deserted him.

  He walked back over to the window and looked down at the city. Somewhere out there was some reporter thinking they’d struck gold by getting the chance to sit down with him. He had a reputation for being a great subject. Well, news flash, that guy was gone and no one had seen him in about a year.

  God, he was sounding morbid.

  Maybe it would work for him. Maybe—rather than being a phony during the interview he would be just…difficult. Morbid, depressing, angsty. Or maybe just indifferent.

  Well shit. Now he was more confused than he was a minute ago.

  There was only one thing for certain right now: he honestly felt sorry for whoever Tommy Vaughn was giving this interview to.

  * * *

  “Change of plans.”

  Savannah Daly looked up from her laptop to see her boss standing next to her desk. Before she could inquire about what plans specifically, Tommy continued.

  “You are interviewing Riley Shaughnessy.”

  Normally Savannah enjoyed a good challenge, but this was not one she was willing to take on. “You promised me the story on Coldplay. I’ve been researching and planning the whole thing for a month. I’ve talked to their people and I’m scheduled to go on the first three California stops of their upcoming tour with them—which starts in two weeks! I don’t have the time to deal with Riley Shaughnessy.”

  “Like I said, doll…change of plans. Blake’s taking the Coldplay story. I need you on Riley’s.” Tommy Vaughn was a rock and roll legend back in his time, and now at the age of sixty-two, he ran one of the biggest music magazines in the business. At six-foot-four, he wasn’t someone you would say no to.

  Or at least you shouldn’t say no to.

  Savannah chose to ignore the memo. �
�No,” she said firmly. “You promised me Coldplay. This was going to be my big piece. The cover!”

  “Riley’s story will be even bigger, I guarantee it. You’ll still get your cover…it will just be after Blake’s Coldplay one.”

  She let out a very unladylike whine. “Come on, Tommy,” she pleaded. “What’s the point in giving me your word if you’re just going to take it back?”

  He leaned in close. “Sweetheart, I didn’t give you my word. I offered you the story, you accepted. There’s nothing written in stone and you know it. Now, you can sit here and whine and complain and do the damn piece, or…” He paused and straightened. “You can pack your stuff and go back to cutting hair at the local salon for all those soccer moms who seem to be everywhere. Your choice.”

  She couldn’t believe it. He was threatening her? Seriously threatening to fire her if she didn’t take this stupid story? Unable to simply accept it, Savannah took a different approach. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why me? Why do you think it has to be me—specifically—who writes this story? You have dozens of reporters on staff, some who are real fans of the guy. Why would you think I’m the right fit?”

  Tommy studied her for a long minute before sitting down on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Savannah, when you and I first met, you were a journalism graduate who was paying her bills cutting hair, do you remember?”

  Seeing as how it was only a little over a year ago, she did. Rather than give him a snarky comeback, she simply nodded.

  “That day we were doing a story on some local band who had recently hit it big, and you happened to be one of the stylists on the set of the photoshoot. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but their usual stylist got the flu and you were called in. I remember watching you. You weren’t starstruck and you didn’t get overly chatty with the band, you just did your job.”

  “Tommy… I don’t…”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “When the guys walked away for the shoot, you and I stayed back and talked. It didn’t take long for me to realize you had a good head on your shoulders. You weren’t some naive chick and you weren’t easily impressed. I was the guy there to write the story, but you were the one who essentially gave me the interview.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean? You never said—”

  “I was there—just like you—because someone had called in sick. Another reporter was supposed to do the interview so I was there with very little prep time and wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted this piece to say. But you,” he said with a smile, “you seemed to hone in on these guys and figure out their personalities pretty quick. And you were spot-on. Had I not talked to you, I would have looked at them as four morons who happened to get lucky. What I had by the end of the interview was a pretty deep piece showing a side of a band no one had explored before.” He shrugged. “That’s why I hired you.”

  “Riley Shaughnessy has done dozens of interviews over the years, Tommy. Believe me, you’re not going to find anything deep about the guy. He’s a pretty-boy rock star. That’s it. You ask me? He got lucky.”

  “You don’t think he’s talented?”

  Now it was her turn to shrug. “It really doesn’t matter what I think. Obviously millions of people think he is.”

  “But you don’t,” Tommy concluded. “This is why I want you on this story.”

  “Because I don’t like the guy?”

  “Because you won’t be easily swayed.” He looked around the newsroom and lowered his voice when he focused on her again. “Riley Shaughnessy is one of those stories you have to be careful about who you send in there to do it. Some of the girls on staff? They’re going to go and flirt and write some bubblegum piece more suited for a teen magazine. Some of the guys on staff? They’ll go in there and make it a pissing contest and then I’ve got a story that is off-balance.” Then he smiled. “But you? You’ll go in there and try to figure him out because it’s what you do. You want to write a story that makes people think and will show off your skills. And you know you’re not going to get that if you write fluff.”

  “So basically you’re saying I’m the only writer on staff who can be trusted to write a story on this guy?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m not buying it. You can try and stroke my ego all you want, Tommy, but I don’t believe you.”

  With a huff, he stood and motioned for Savannah to follow him. When they reached his office, she stepped inside and watched him as he shut the door. “A year ago, Riley got turned down for some legends of rock documentary. Word around town is it messed with him. He can’t finish his album, he’s in a funk.”

  “So he’s pouting,” Savannah stated.

  But Tommy shook his head. “I think there’s more to it. I think it’s something deeper. The guy’s been spewing out hits for years. Technically, he’s too young to be considered a legend and he didn’t really belong in the documentary—you know it. I know it. Hell, even his record label and agent know it. So what’s his deal? Why the retreat?”

  “Like I said, he’s pouting. It’s ego. He wanted something and he didn’t get it. End of story.”

  “No, Riley Shaughnessy was a publicity machine. The guy knows how to work the paparazzi, reporters, the late-night talk show hosts…everybody loves him. Then a year ago, he just clams up? I’m telling you, there’s a bigger story here and I want you to get it. Call it ego stroking or whatever you want, but you and I both know you’re the only one on this staff who is going to give this piece the kind of in-depth attention it needs.”

  “But…but…Coldplay. Chris Martin…”

  Tommy patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll still get you backstage for one of the shows, but Blake’s doing the piece, Savannah. That’s final.”

  She crossed her arms and frowned.

  “Now who’s pouting?”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” she grumbled.

  “Hey, it’s not like I’m sending you on tour with some boy band or something.”

  Just the thought of it made her stomach clench. She’d been there, done that, and had the heartache to prove it. Not that she’d ever share that bit of information with Tommy.

  Or anyone.

  “You might as well be.” She sighed and sat down in the chair closest to him. She took a minute to get her thoughts together. “Okay, say I decide to take this on.”

  Tommy’s bark of laughter almost shook the walls. “Seriously? Did you just make it sound like there’s a possibility you won’t?”

  Savannah shrugged. “Maybe I miss cutting hair.”

  “Yeah, okay. And I miss eating ramen noodles ten times a week. Cut the crap, Savannah. You and I both know you’re going to do it.”

  She acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “If I agree to this piece, how do you propose I get Riley to agree to an interview? He’s been turning down people left and right for a year. I heard he turned down Ellen! And you really think I’m going to be the one to convince him to sit down for a conversation? You’re crazy!”

  Tommy smirked as he slowly walked around his office and sat down behind his desk. Then he took his time getting comfortable and folding his hands in front of him. “Sometimes it amazes me how little you think of me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He held up a hand dramatically. “No…no. It’s all right. Let me enlighten you on how I make things happen. For starters, I know everyone in this business. Everyone. Secondly, Riley’s people are just as anxious to get him back out in the spotlight as his fans are. So much so they’re guaranteeing he’ll agree to this interview.”

  “You mean…”

  Tommy grinned. “They’re probably breaking the news to him as we speak.”

  “He’ll never agree to this,” Savannah said hopefully.

  Tommy shook his head at her. “We nailed the
exclusive. You’ve got an all-access, monthlong pass to work with Riley Shaughnessy.”

  “A month? Tommy, I’m writing a piece for the magazine, not his autobiography.”

  “Yeah, well…from the way I understood it, Riley may be a little gun-shy so this isn’t something you’re going to accomplish in a couple of sit-downs. Hell, for all I know, you may get enough information to make it a multi-edition story, and I’m okay with it. But we’ve got a basic timeline. All you have to do is reach out to him.” He handed her Riley’s number.

  Stuffing the paper in her pocket as she stood, she glared down at him. “You know, you can be a real jackass sometimes, Tommy.”

  He stood and chuckled. “Only sometimes? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Dread filled Savannah as she walked to the door. Turning around, she pleaded one last time. “Come on, Tommy. Seriously. Someone—anyone—else would do a better job on this story. Please reconsider.”

  He leveled her with a hard stare. “I hear there’s a sale on hair dye at Walmart this week. You won’t even need a coupon. You interested?”

  Heat crept up her cheeks at his implication. She was screwed. There was no way out of this nightmare of a story no matter what she tried to do. Without another word, she walked out of Tommy’s office. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the defeat in her eyes.

  Back at her desk, she sank down in her chair and sighed. In the past year, she’d done more than her share of lackluster interviews. It was supposed to build character, Tommy had told her. Only she had hoped by building her character, she’d start getting the assignments she really wanted. Better yet, she’d get first choice of incoming assignments.

  No such luck.

  While she knew she owed a lot to Tommy Vaughn—hell, she probably would still be cutting hair if it weren’t for him—it didn’t mean she had to like him.

  And right now, she didn’t.

  The decision to stay and work or leave and vent warred in her head. Tapping her keyboard, she watched her computer come back to life and immediately began a Google search on Riley. Instantly there were dozens, if not hundreds, of pictures, links, and blurbs about him. Not that it was surprising, but Savannah wasn’t one who subscribed to the motto of more is better. Her first hit went to Wikipedia.