All The Right Notes

By C. McGrath

Milo Knox rocked Grace Morrison's world. Now he's going to rock yours.

Sexy, charismatic rock star Milo Knox is known for several things—his music, his excesses and not taking no for an answer. So when beautiful blonde college grad Grace Morrison steps into his life, only to tell him she's not interested, he offers her the one thing she can't refuse. Her dream job. Working as a publicist for her favorite band, which also happens to be his own, the Waywards.

The Waywards were the darlings of the '90s, before Milo's substance abuse issues and personal demons drove them into obscurity. Now clean and sober, he's determined to make a new start. Both with the band and with Grace, if she'll just let him—and let herself live her own life, free of the shadows of her past. But old sins cast long shadows and the past rarely stays buried. In their case, it threatens to tear them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: May 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781786862327

C. McGrath

C. McGrath is a proud California Girl with a Montana base (currently, though she’s always daydreaming about a beach). She’s the proud owner of a small record collection and more paper and journals then anyone could ever need in a lifetime. If she isn’t writing, you can find her binge-watching documentaries or crying over Parks and Rec for the millionth time. She writes because she found herself in books and wants to help do the same for others. These characters are bits of her, and the people she knows, or knows about. These are her and their stories. And she hopes you love reading them just as much as she did creating them.

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All The Right Notes

ISBN # 978-1-78686-232-7

©Copyright C. McGrath 2017

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2017

Edited by Rebecca Baker

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 3.

Waywards

ALL THE RIGHT NOTES

C. McGrath

Book one in the Waywards series

Milo Knox rocked Grace Morrison’s world. Now he’s going to rock yours.

Sexy, charismatic rock star Milo Knox is known for several things—his music, his excesses and not taking no for an answer. So when beautiful blonde college grad Grace Morrison steps into his life, only to tell him she’s not interested, he offers her the one thing she can’t refuse. Her dream job. Working as a publicist for her favorite band, which also happens to be his own, the Waywards.

The Waywards were the darlings of the ’90s, before Milo’s substance abuse issues and personal demons drove them into obscurity. Now clean and sober, he’s determined to make a new start. Both with the band and with Grace, if she’ll just let him—and let herself live her own life, free of the shadows of her past. But old sins cast long shadows and the past rarely stays buried. In their case, it threatens to tear them apart.

Dedication

This book only took me a few short months to write, but the process of getting from here to publication has been a long one.

I grew up with a supportive community of teachers, family and friends. I was always the writer girl. There are too many of you to name personally. I don’t recall ever coming across someone who said flat out don’t be a writer. Everyone I know has been incredibly encouraging on this long journey. Thank you for supporting me and never telling me I should get a real job. Or saying this wasn’t possible. If I listed everyone I wanted to thank, it would be longer than the end credits of a film.

Mom, for listening to every one of my crazy story ideas. For the writing classes. For the conferences. For the writing camps. For that first Harry Potter book you forced me to read. For the albums.

My sisters. Monique, Nicole, Sierra, Tara.

My friends. Sierra H., Jesi, China, Kaitlyn.

Nirvana, for the music that kept me going even when I didn’t want to. Taylor Swift for 1989.

And finally, the readers. If there are any.

Peace, Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland: Lewis Carrol

Almost Famous: DreamWorks Pictures

Behind The Music: Paramount Television

Boy Scouts: Boy Scouts of America

Caesars Palace: Caesars Entertainment Corporation

Etsy: Etsy, Inc.

Fifty Shades of Grey: E. L. James

Friends: Warner Bros. Television

Good Girls: Elle King, Dave Bassett

Good Morning America: ABC News Productions

Google: Google, Inc.

Holiday Inn: InterContinental Hotels Group PLC

I Put a Spell on You: Jay Hawkins, Herb Slotkin

Interview With The Vampire: Anne Rice

Macbeth: William Shakespeare

MTV: Viacom Media Networks

PAPYRUS: Schurman Retail Group

Pink’s Hot Dogs: Richard Pink

Red Vines: American Licorice Company

Rolling Stone magazine: Wenner Media LLC

San Francisco Chronicle: Hearst Communications Inc.

Southern Living: Time, Inc.

Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation

The Bluebird Café: The Nashville Songwriters Association International

The Cleavers: Universal Television

The Psychedelic Experience: Timothy Leary

The Ritz: Marriott International, Inc.

The Stepford Wives: Ira Levin

Total Request Live: Viacom Media Networks

Vans: VF Corporation

Victoria’s Secret: L Brands Inc.

Wrangler jeans: VF Corporation

YouTube: Google Inc.

Chapter One

Los Angeles, California

Milo Knox thumped the door to the dressing room Conner wouldn’t come out of. He’d dealt with his bandmates being temperamental before. It came with the territory of being in a rock band. Except this time, he couldn’t afford that kind of shit on the opening night of their first tour in years.

C’mon, man, Milo pleaded, "you agreed to do this tour. I need you. Zach needs you. The band needs you." He hated how pathetic his words sounded. He ran his hands through his shaggy black hair and waited, tapping his fingers on his hips.

The door opened and his bassist stood there, looking very much like the addict he used to be. Withdrawn, pale, with bags underneath his eyes. Despite years of rehab and ‘therapy,’ he still couldn’t fully kick his old habits. His hands were trembling, his blue hair a mess and his eyes wide.

I can’t do this, he rasped.

Milo grimaced, hating seeing his old friend worn so thin. He’d known the tour would bring back their painful past—he had hoped they could keep things together longer than one night.

Yeah, you can, Milo said, smiling as he patted him on the shoulder and pushed his way into the room, closing the door behind him.

I want to be someone else, Conner mumbled, anyone else. But me, as Conner Leery… I can’t go out there and perform. Because everyone is going to know what I did. There’s no way everyone’s forgotten.

Milo sighed. It always came back to their past mistakes. Can’t we ever leave the past behind? "Sooner or later, man, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. Because you did nothing wrong. You were protecting me from my bitch ex-wife. She was trying to kill me. You stopped her. You saved me. And you served your time. All twelve months of it. Rehab, jail…it’s all the same. Now stop punishing yourself."

Conner scratched his arm nervously. I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this. I know we don’t know exactly what happened—probably never will—but Virginia? I know what that girl meant to you. I know… He shook his head.

He hated talking about her. It made him feel as if he was coming out of his skin. Forget about it, man, Milo said, squeezing Conner on the shoulder. It’s all in the past. The only person responsible is Aria. She got you hooked on drugs, too. I believe she wanted to kill me and you stopped her. It happened, and there’s nothing we can do to change that. Only accept it and move on.

Have you accepted it? Conner asked, his brow furrowed in worry. Because if you blame me, even for a second, I won’t do this tour. I won’t perform with you again until we’re okay.

Milo clenched his hands into fists. "Dude, I swear. I know you’re trying to make amends and shit because that’s part of your process. But we are good. You never mention this again. I’ll never mention it again. You’re my brother, man."

Brother… Things only worked in our favor because my bitch of a politician mother ‘intervened,’ Conner muttered, his tone bitter. Anything to save face with her beloved Conservative party. I’m telling you, we shouldn’t do this. It’s not going to end well. Someone’s going to bring it up again and it’s only going to cause more trouble.

"We’re not canceling the tour, Milo hissed. Now, look, you want to make this up to me?"

You know I would do anything it takes, Conner answered. "Anything."

Good! Then get your fucking ass out on that stage, all right? Put all of this bullshit behind us.

I don’t deserve this, Conner said, hanging his head. And Zach…what if I fuck things up again with him?

You won’t, Milo assured him. Zach’s happy with Nigel. You two keep it professional and everything will be fine. Find yourself a guy. Find yourself a girl. I don’t care. But right now, we’ve got to go out there and put on the best concert we possibly can, all right?

I don’t deserve this, Conner insisted again. I shouldn’t get a second chance.

Milo rolled his eyes. What do you want to do? Spend the rest of your life rotting in prison? Because I could tell the cops about the weed you’ve got. Though it probably won’t be life they put you in for.

Conner locked eyes with him. I only want to feel happy, man. Doing this again…it feels like everything could fall apart at any moment. I know everything’s been taken care of. I know it’s been years. I know Aria’s in prison and can’t hurt us again. But being back here…it’s like I’m a circus elephant and everyone’s waiting for me to mess up.

You won’t, Milo insisted. I’ll make sure of it. Now, you are not a killer, do you hear me? Aria used you the way she used everyone. Let’s go play, all right?

Conner nodded. Okay, okay.

Good. He patted his bassist on the shoulder. Now, what do you say we stop thinking about the past and start thinking about music, yeah?

Yeah, sounds all right to me, Conner agreed. What’s the worst that can happen?

That’s the kind of attitude I like to hear! Milo pushed him out of the dressing room. Anyway, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Remember, I made sure we’d be protected. I’ll always protect the people I care about.

Conner smiled, the first genuine smile Milo had seen on him since they’d started working together again. Then Zach, their drummer, appeared, looking furious. "Where the hell have you two been? We’ve got a show to perform, in case you’ve fucking forgotten, and I am not here so we can be fuck-ups again. If I have to read another fucking tabloid story about how we’re vintage, I’ll punch a fucking journalist."

Milo laughed. Well, at least that’ll get interest. But if you’re going to punch someone, make sure we get a good picture. That’s a few thousand tweets right there, and we could use all the publicity we can get.

What were you two idiots doing in there anyway? I swear, if either of you shits is wasted or stoned, I’ll fucking kill you, Zach threatened, glaring at them.

Only a pep talk, man, Conner assured him. A little pep talk.

Zach shot narrowed-eyed glances from Conner to Milo. Suspicion clouded his old friend’s gaze, and Milo felt almost guilty for not having brought him in on the pep talk. All it took was for the two to be in the same room and the tension became almost a living, breathing thing.

You know, you could have asked me to help you. Things might not be like they used to be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care, all right? Zach said.

Conner shot Milo a look, and Milo shrugged.

I know, man. I know. But we gotta be cool, yeah? Conner told Zach.

Yeah, right.

Zach sounded almost bitter in his reply, and Milo knew he’d have to talk to him later. The last thing he needed was Zach being temperamental too.

C’mon, men, he said, rubbing his hands together, let’s go rock.

On a different night, Milo might have been worried about the fact that Zach’s gaze never left Conner’s back as he walked ahead of them. Or that he was on God knows what, and the last time the two men had seen each other in a non-band-related capacity it hadn’t ended well. Instead, all he could think about was whether or not he could remember the chords to songs he hadn’t played in years. Or if they’d actually have an audience to play them for…

Chapter Two

Going to the gig had been a bad idea. As much as Grace wanted to see the Waywards, her stomach tangled in knots at the thought of it and she shivered in the cool of the Los Angeles night. The last time she’d been in a club, she’d kissed a stranger and woken up in a hotel room with no memory of having gotten there. Or what happened in between. I should be studying, she insisted. I have one more final left to take.

Phoebe pinched her on the arm, making her wince in pain.

Ow! What the hell was that for? Grace demanded, rubbing the spot.

That was for breaking the first rule of the evening, the tall, skinny freckle-faced redhead said.

I thought you didn’t like rules, Grace commented. I thought that was the entire point of tonight.

Yes, but you’re the person who doesn’t break the rules. So, I’m making rules for you, because this evening is going to be fun. Do you understand me? You’ve been obsessing about this band for as long as I’ve known you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Okay, so your mom was a former groupie. Double okay, you’ve worked hard to not be associated with that lifestyle. But you need to relax, Grace. You need to have fun. It won’t kill you if you do it for one night.

Grace adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse that had started to slide. Oooh. Structure. I can do structure. What are the rules?

Her roommate gave a catlike smile. The rules are these. No talking about school. No talking about the future. You’re going to live in the moment, so help me! If I hear you talking about your job interviews or grad school, I will pinch you. It’s okay to let loose every now and then.

Grace brushed back a strand of her blonde hair. "Oh, puh-lease. You’re not going to pinch me because I talk about my future—"

Phoebe pinched her for the second time that evening.

Grace held on to her arm. Ow! You weren’t kidding.

Of course I wasn’t kidding! Phoebe said. Do you realize this is the last ever weekend we’re going to spend together before we graduate? We have to have fun while we still can.

Her face fell. She’d been trying hard not to get nostalgic, but she couldn’t help it as she teared up a little. She wiped them away with her hands. Well, when you put it like that.

A few tears started trickling down Phoebe’s cheeks, too. Jeez, woman, pull yourself together, she ordered.

Hey, you’re crying, too!

But you started it!

A tall man near them cleared his throat to get their attention. The girls turned to him. He had tattoos up and down his face and muscles that seemed to curve around every inch of his body. In a deep, rumbling voice, he asked, You ladies coming in or not?

Oh, yeah. Hang on for one second. Let me get the tickets. Grace rummaged through her purse. Which meant searching through note cards, highlighters and snacks. Finals time was a little bit stressful. As a habit, she’d started carrying her notes with her everywhere.

Only, the tickets to the concert weren’t anywhere to be found.

"Shit."

Phoebe stared at her, wide-eyed. Don’t tell me you remembered to bring your damn study snacks but you forgot to bring the tickets?

She winced then looked at the doorman of the club, taking out a pack of gummy bears from her bag. I don’t suppose you’d let us in for one of these?

He shook his head. I’m more of a Red Vines man.

Phoebe sighed. Okay. I wasn’t going to do this, but I paid good money for those. So, Grace, don’t judge me for what I’m about to do.

Grace shoved the gummy bears back inside her purse. What do you mean? What are you about to do?

Her jaw dropped open as her best friend flashed her boobs at the bouncer.

The man grinned. That’ll work. He opened up the door for them.

The girls exchanged smiles as they headed inside.

A sense of familiarity hit Grace upon entering the club. With its dim lighting and cigarette smell, it was like every other similar bar-type venue in America. She’d spent years in them even when she hadn’t been old enough to set foot inside one. Her mom’d had no qualms taking a three-year-old inside seedy places if it meant seeing one of her favorite bands perform. Bars had been Grace’s playgrounds, and it was like she’d come home.

So, this is a Los Angeles nightclub, Grace mused, through the din.

Phoebe chuckled. I can’t believe you’ve lived in LA for four years and this is the first time you’ve been to one here.

She shrugged. I wasn’t exactly legal the first two and I didn’t come to Los Angeles to party. I came to Los Angeles to study. Besides, I’m not like you. I didn’t have a rich film producer dad paying my college tuition. I had a scholarship I couldn’t afford to lose.

That doesn’t mean you couldn’t afford to have some fun. Besides, you’re the one who wants to be a publicist. If anyone should have been hanging out in clubs, it should have been you, Phoebe almost shouted against the rising noise.

You forget I did hang out in nightclubs, for years. Famous groupie mother, remember? Grace said. Clubs are the last place I need to be if I’m going to be taken seriously in the entertainment industry.

"But it’s one little night! And you’ve been obsessing over this band for years."

They’re so brilliant! Grace smiled. "The Waywards. God, that one song? Hell is Earth, and Earth is Hell, but when I’m with you, it’s Heaven."

Phoebe shuddered. I’m not drunk enough to listen to you sing yet. Here, let’s get something to drink.

They pushed their way through the growing crowd of people.

Let me get the drinks, Grace offered. It’s the least I could do since I forgot the tickets. Bartender!

A girl with short black hair and a nose ring looked up at them. Hello, girls. Pick your poison.

Two beers, please, Grace ordered.

Sure. The bartender grabbed two ice-cold bottles, knocked off the caps and slammed them on the bar.

Phoebe took a sip of hers as Grace paid. You know what we should do tonight? We should try to meet the band.

Grace laughed. "You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s never going to happen."

Hey, it could! The same way I got us into the show in the first place. You’ve got to have faith. Be a little crazy sometimes. There’s this girl in my history class. She has a blog about being a groupie and she says flashing can get you lots of things at rock concerts.

Grace took a drink of her beer, letting Phoebe steer her through the throng toward the front. Wait. There’s a girl in your history class who has a blog about being a groupie?

She’s an anthropology major. It’s something to do with studying groups in their natural habitat. Also, she happens to like sex with famous people. Says it’s better than getting high.

Grace raised an eyebrow. And how would you know what that’s like?

Phoebe patted her on the shoulder. Oh, sweets, you remember those brownies I made for our study sessions?

Grace took a step back. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Her friend rolled her eyes and took another drink. Of course I am. If I made you weed brownies, you’d murder me.

The lights in the bar dimmed more, revealing a lone spotlight. Grace turned to the stage—the concert was starting.

No opening band? Phoebe asked, staring.

I don’t think they could find one to headline with them, Grace said. They are known for being a little dramatic, I guess.

Huh.

God, the Waywards! There, in person. Flesh and blood instead of mere pictures in a magazine or on TV. Okay, the band hadn’t done anything in years. She’d thought she’d never get to see them perform. But then the tour had been announced last year and Phoebe had insisted on getting her tickets. It was the best gift anyone could have gotten her.

One of the many grunge bands of the nineties, the band had faded away into obscurity. There’d been a scandal involving the crazy ex-wife of the lead singer and some incident. Album sales had dropped and no one had thought there was any chance they’d come back. But they were performing again and supposedly putting out a new record, riding the wave of ’90s nostalgia.

Grace watched as the bassist, Conner Leery, did his tuning, surprised at the blue hair color he had. It’d gone through red, then pink, then orange, she remembered. It looked good against his black Foo Fighters T-shirt and tight jeans. On his arm, she could almost see the tattoo of a mermaid skeleton.

Zach Frampton took his seat behind his drum kit. He hadn’t changed much, he still had curly bleach-blond hair and a lip ring. She craned to see his arm tattoo—Veni Vidi Amavi. ‘We came. We saw. We loved.’ Not that Grace had Googled the meaning or anything.

Then there, right there, right in front of her, was the lead singer, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. Everything seemed to slow down, her focus solely on him.

There he is, Gracie, Phoebe prodded. Your celebrity crush in action. The one and only Milo Knox. Are you wet yet?

Grace blushed. Oh, shut up. You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.

C’mon, you’re the one with their lyrics tattooed onto your wrists. You’re the one who bought an Etsy blanket with their logo on it. Get excited, at least a little. Milo Knox is standing before you! He’s hot. Like, fuck-me-on-a-table hot.

Hey, I’m not one of those girls who likes the band for their damn looks, Phoebe. I like them because they’re artists. Their music is what is important to me. I’m an audiophile, not a groupie.

Phoebe smirked. And the fact he has a nice ass, stunning green eyes and shaggy black hair you really want to run your hands through has nothing to do with the obsession at all?

Grace eyed Milo, standing there in the spotlight, strumming his guitar. His forearms stood out as he played a few practice chords. They were almost too perfect, like they had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and, yeah, he had tattoos, too. Lots of them. One on his left forearm, the goddess Athena. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to touch it.

She shook her head. That was a dangerous daydream she shouldn’t have even thought of. Phoebe had been right. He was hot. Devil-in-a-rock-star-persona hot. And talented as hell. But she knew rock stars. Guys like Milo Knox didn’t call girls back. Guys like Milo Knox kissed girls in London nightclubs then left them alone in hotel rooms. With no memory of what had happened.

When you grow up like I did, you learn to recognize guys like him. He’ll ruin you before you know he’s done it. With a song and a smile. I’m never going to be that girl. Never again. Now, be quiet. They’re starting!

She re-focused on Milo as he began playing. The stage lights started to blink, Zach struck a drum and Conner hit the bass in counterpoint to Milo’s guitar playing.

Are you ready? Milo shrieked into