First Cut

By Sandra Alex

Their first hit single. His first betrayal. And two women that make Randy question everything he’s ever wanted.

Randy Jackson loves his life. He’s got a beautiful, hard-working celebrity wife, and a rising musical career as the lead guitarist in a band that just signed their first record deal. He has a great dog, and the best relationships with his band members, namely his stepbrother, who is the lead vocalist. Little clues pass by him that things aren’t quite as hunky-dorey as they may seem, but Randy’s rose-colored glasses currently blind him.

Darrell Tanner loves her job as a video editor for the music industry. She’s met all types of musicians that adorn the face of MTV, but none ever appreciate her hard work until the boys from Brave Face appear. Darrell is suddenly treated like royalty, and she basks in the accoutrements in a dream-like state, forgetting about her second-class boss who spends more time on vacation than he does in the office. But one day she realizes that she’s taken things too far, and it’s too late to do anything about it. Can she walk away and leave the best thing that’s ever happened to her?

Randy’s wake-up call comes like a bat out of hell, and when he least expects it. The only thing that has kept his focus in such a tumultuous industry is the one thing that he’s about to lose for good, and the worst part is, he has to be the one to walk away from it. Until someone he least expects breaks his fall, and everyone else sees it coming, including Randy...but is he too jaded to do anything about it?

A beautiful love story about survival in a tough industry that labels and points fingers in all directions at undeserving people, and the lies that they tell to get ahead under the spotlight. This is a rock star romance that underscores the betrayal that exists in Hollywood, and how stars either sink or swim through it, just like the rest of the world does.

HEA (Happily Ever After)
Rock star romance
Celebrity romance
Second chance romance
Office romance
Medium heat
Mild violence
Course language
Fifth book in a standalone series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Alex
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989427644

Sandra Alex

Meet your next book boyfriend.Love stories that could actually happen.About the AuthorSandra Alex introduces the Ford brothers. Five sexy, rich, swoon-worthy men that will make your toes curl. Each book features one sibling. This sizzling series will knock your socks off!Proceed with Caution:"White knight, prince charming romance. This book was an awesome read. I enjoyed every page. Who doesn't love a prince charming and white knight! I liked the story, the characters, how it was written, the hot scenes and the HEA. I'll be reading more from this author." -5 stars from M. Hebert on Goodreads and BookBubEnter at Your Own Risk:"This book was a great read! I loved the main characters and how they were able to deal with what life threw at them. Sexual situations that were steamy and hott! Relatable heroine. I wanted to cheer for them as a couple. Bridezilla was funny too!" - 5 stars from C. Kasner on GoodreadsHandle with Care:"This poignant story draws you in and touches your heart. Garrett and Nora are a testament that true love never dies." - 5 Stars from M. Jelks-Emmanuel on GoodreadsJoin Sandra's newsletter to get an exclusive prequel and an extended epilogue, plus other....treats.Visit https://www.sandraalexbooks.com to subscribe.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Darrell

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A sshole. I seethe as I unceremoniously engage the metal lock on the front door. It gives with ease, causing a pleasing clunk that matches the sound I’d like to hear if I ever punched that idiot in the face. The idiot is Max, the lead singer for the band ‘Swivel’ that was just here, slamming me for the video editing job I did on their latest work. They give me shit footage I give them shit output. That’s all there is to it. The videography was well done, but the premise of the video was so goddamn dry and flat, no amount of editing could fix it.

It’s sad, because the song is great, and thank God for that, because the video absolutely sucks. Nothing but Max and his narcissistic smile, pretentious and overly revealing clothing, wagging all but his cock on the screen while the rest of the band members play in the background, with downturned faces, as if avoiding watching the charade. This isn’t the first video I’ve edited for ‘Swivel’, but it will certainly be the last. Not to mention, Max is rude, insincere, and he tried to cop a feel of my ass when I bent down to adjust the phone cord while taking a call.

These MTV jerks will take the video for what it is, insult my technical and artistic abilities, and post the video, warts and all, just because it’ll get them screen time and ratings. Sure, female fans will love it, but none of the real fans will. They’ll see it as selling out. The song ‘Baby’ is about true love and Hemmy, the guitarist, who’s sadly only given co-writing credit for this tune, did a damn good job, but it’s ruined by the shallow and inappropriate video. So much more could have been accomplished with this, and I’ve seen it done with less powerful ballads.

Max demanded that I have the video edited in record time, and he showed up personally, to review it with me and the band, forcing me to work serious overtime and even skip head-to-pillow time last night to finish it. Plus, he called me in the middle of the night, ordering me to have the video ready before the goddamn sun rose this morning, so he and the band could look at it after an all-nighter of performing and partying. The Los Angeles area where my office is…is shady. I’m not a fan of being here alone late at night, or early in the morning, but that doesn’t matter to a rock star who has round-the-clock security.

…I have a can of mace….and a double set of bolt locks on the front door.

I spent the last two hours going through this damn thing with him, while the rest of them either napped on the couches in the waiting room, or snorted coke out back, trying to stay awake while they waited for Max to tear me a new one. As I draw in a deep breath, trying to cleanse the unpleasant experience from myself, I look at the round-faced clock nailed to the wall behind the main desk, and realize that the sun is up, and the other band that I booked this morning, should be here any minute.

Their manager called me a few weeks ago to set up this meeting. I’ve never met this band before, but I’ve heard that their first single is climbing the charts. ‘Brave Face’ is an up-and-coming band, and I hope that the industry hasn’t clouded their egos yet, but it’s a futile hope. The footage that was couriered to me is well put together and clean, so it was relatively easy to do demos for them. With my newly designed digital equipment, I can all but recreate scenes in the footage, as long as the raw material isn’t half-assed or poorly directed.

Eyes burning from exhaustion, I walk over to the desk and begin setting up to present the demos to the band, and I see the message I left for myself last night, to call my boss this morning. You want to talk about assholes? Brian Banff, the owner of this production company, he’s a class act. He’s off in Mexico, on yet another vacation, and he expects me to keep him abreast of all the bands we sign on while he basks in the South American sunlight. Worst of it all, is that he makes me lie and tell clients that he’s expected in shortly, so they’re none the wiser. The call can wait. Better to have everything set up when a band arrives, in case they’re either strung out, pissed off and short-tempered, or so beat from performing that they can’t put a sentence together without effort.

The tap at the front door interrupts me turning the overhead televisions on. I place the remote on the desk and trot over to the front door, where four solemn faces appear, like lost puppies in a pound. As I turn the lock, one of the band members is watching me from the corner of his eye, almost as if trying to figure out what I’m doing. I open the door and step back. Morning. Sorry, guys…shady neighborhood…and I’m here alone.

No problem. the guy who was watching me says.

I’m Darrell. I say by way of introduction.

We were told that we had to ask for Brian Banff? Same guy says, holding his hand out for me to shake. I’m Randy, the guitarist. He points at his other band members. This is Wade, our lead singer, Corey, our drummer, and Gordon, our bassist.

I shake everyone’s hands, offering perfunctory smiles. They mirror my expression, almost seeming shy, and then I address Randy’s question. Err…Brian will be here later. He’s just running late…traffic. I lie.

That’s cool. Randy nods. Does he have the video?

"No, I’ve got some demos to show you, actually."

Did Brian do them? Corey asks.

No, I did. I say, refusing to tell a second lie.

Corey cranes his neck slightly. So, what does this Brian guy do then?

I sigh, walking towards the television monitor. That’s a really great question.

You want me to lock the door? Wade asks.

Sure, yes. Unless you guys brought a bodyguard.

Our manager is on his way. Wade supplies.

Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I chuckle. This your first video?

Randy bites his lip, as if embarrassed. Yeah. And I’m hoping it isn’t yours.

I smile, pinching my lips together. Fortunately, no. I’ve been producing videos since MTV was born, so, you’re in luck.

Gordon makes himself comfortable on the couch. You mind if I chill here for a while?

Make yourself at home. You guys want coffee?

Nah, we all have to sleep after this. Rehearsal is tonight. Randy states.

You guys have a performance? I ask, cueing up the first video demo.

No, we’re rehearsing to cut our second single.

So, why were you up all night then? I ask conversationally.

Randy explains with a shrug. Rehearsing.

Ah. I nod.

We have to rehearse at the recording studio. Wade adds. As if it makes such a big difference.

Gordon cuts him a look from the couch. Man, not this shit again. It’s a different sound, man. We went through the same shit with the first single. You know the drill.

Randy slides a hand through his long, feathered hair, sighing. The glint from his wedding ring reflects off the fluorescent lights above his head. Will you guys fucking cut it out? he raises a hand to me. Sorry for the language.

I wave, giving him a look. Please.

Wade joins Gordon, on the couch on the other side, climbing on with a bounce. So, you don’t mind if we say things like shit, fuck, damn and cocksucker?

I laugh. No, not at all. I’m used to it. I’d actually be shocked if no expletives got fired today.

Take it easy. Randy says to Wade, with a ‘v’ forming between his eyes.

I look at him, and his face is apologetic. I smile. It’s okay, really. Believe me, when I’m at home, I swear a lot.

Let her rip here, then, too. Wade adds.

I can’t. I work here. I explain as the video pops up on the screen. The room is set up so that we have two monitors hung on either side, the way television sets are set up in a bar, and I have another one at the computer in front, so I can make changes as the artists request them, while we’re doing run-throughs of demos.

Randy sits in a chair by the computer and folds his arms over his chest. So, what’s your story? How long have you been working here?

About ten years.

He frowns, impressed. And you run the show while boss man is out screwing around?

You said it. Not me.

But you’re not refuting. He points out.

I pinch my lips into a smile again.

He starts fussing with buttons on the computer. Luckily, the screen is locked, so he can’t do any damage. Where’d you learn to do all this stuff?

School. I took graphic design and video editing, and I majored in Communications in University. I shrug noncommittally.

Wow, so you’ve got brains, huh.

I look at him, confused. And you’ve got talent, so I guess we’re even.

He smiles at me. He has honest eyes. Round like dinner plates. His irises change color; going from pale blue to green-blue depending on the light. His hair is a soft brown, and he keeps it longer, so the waves frame his face, but it feathers on top. Perfect hair. It’s the kind of hair that even girls would envy. With straight shoulders and good biceps, he’s an obvious guitarist, and his shirt sits flat on his stomach, mirroring the expected flat tone to his belly; another guitarist trademark.

Hey, do we need to come over there to see this shit? Corey asks.

It’s not shit, man, take it easy. Randy rebukes.

It’s okay, I’m assuming he means ‘shit’ as in ‘stuff’. I say, rescuing Corey. Why, I don’t know, but this band seems relatively benign compared to some of the ones I’ve done business with.

Yeah. Corey agrees, smiling sweetly at me. I wasn’t giving you a hard time.

And by the way, the monitors are all set up, so you don’t have to move. I clarify.

Corey gives me a thumbs up. Aces.

The screen comes to life, and I press ‘pause’ on the remote. I’ve created three demos, all based on the first thirty seconds of video, just to give you a feel for what I had in mind for the material. You choose what you like, we’ll remove what you don’t like, and I’ll show you what the rest of the video could potentially look like. I explain. Are you ready?

I have their undivided attention, which is nice, considering that I didn’t have to work for it. Corey and Gordon sit up, and Wade stands next to Randy, who is still seated next to me. Pressing the play button, I turn the volume up, and play the first version of the video. The video shows on all three screens, but for some reason, Randy chooses to watch on the bigger monitor, even though he’s sitting directly in front of the computer.

My strategy is to show them the shittier one first. The one that took the least work, and the one that is the rawest. This way I can wow them as we go along, until we get to the third video, which is normally the one that artists end up selecting. We watch the snippet of the video, and I observe Randy’s face from the corner of my eye. He’s impassive until we get to a part where the camera catches him strumming his hand up the guitar. The angle is beautiful, and it captures him in a certain light, which I highlighted, making the light actually sparkle with a subtle flicker, and Randy smiles.

That’s cool. He says, impressed.

Yeah, hey, can you do that to me when I sing that high part? Wade asks.

I grin at him. Just…watch.

He nods with a warm smile, half watching me and half watching the video. We get through to a part where they go into a harmony, and where I filtered out the background light, and highlighted the overhead lighting, plus zeroed in on their faces more, angling the shot slightly better, and as I observe their expressions, they’re all mesmerized. As the demo finishes, I hit the pause button.

That shit is awesome. Randy says. I really like that. It’s…natural, but you accentuated the good stuff.

Yeah. I like that. Corey agrees.

I added some elements to the second demo if you’d like to see that next. I explain.

Sure. Randy nods, sitting up more, as if really getting into this.

I smile, relieved, and hit ‘play’ to air the second demo.

They watch, as I added color and zeroed in on other spots in the footage, giving a slightly different feel. On the third demo, I added an effect, making some of the spots appear softer, while others appear more rugged, with filters and elements, plus moving footage or cutting out things to make the frame sharper. When we’re finished, I pause the tape, and lean on the counter, under the monitor.

Well? Tell me what you liked or what you didn’t like, whatever is easiest. I say, getting ready for the shredding, as I’m used to. In fact, this is the part that I like, because sometimes feedback is very helpful in teaching me to hone my editing skills. There have been some very useful hints some artists have offered me, just sometimes the delivery isn’t so kind.

I love it. All of it. Randy says. I can’t even make up my mind which one I like better.

Another problem, rare, but this can hold up polishing, too. Well, what parts do you like best?

I really like that part where you zoomed in on Randy’s playing there. Gordon states. I’d like to see you do that when he does his solo.

Would you like me to do that on your part, too? I ask.

Sure. Yeah. This all looks great. Gordon frowns.

I like it how you gave each of us a spotlight. That was cool. Corey adds.

A unanimous ‘yeah’ comes from all four boys.

I nod and look at Randy. I can do some changes to the raw footage now if you like, so you can see it.

Sure. Randy says encouragingly.

I smile at him. Do you mind if I sit in the hot seat?

He looks down at the chair. Oh, shit, am I sitting in your spot? Sorry.

That’s okay.

He moves to let me sit, giving me a gallant gesture with his hand, and moving the chair out more for me, being polite. I’m deeply impressed. Usually artists just say. Oh, fuck. And grunt as they rise, mostly irritated.

Why, thank you, kind sir.

My lady. He says in a low, British accent, playing along. He even rolls his hand for emphasis, and I chuckle.

Cueing up my editing screen, I pull up demo one, and mirror the edits in the same spot, panning over to both Gordon and Corey’s parts, and I take a guess, and add edits to more of the footage, placing the same features in that they showed interest for, giving the video a more uniform look. Randy watches me in awe, saying nothing, and I’m guessing it’s so he won’t break my concentration. The boys have surrounded me, observing my quick work, and I even hear one of them murmur ‘wow’ under their breath.

As I pull the semi-finished video up on the screens, we run it through, and I make notes on a piece of scrap paper next to me, which frames need adjusting. When it’s finished, I look at Randy, who is staring at the monitor. Any other feedback? What do you like and what don’t you like?

They share some thoughts, and we work on more edits, until we’re at a point where I can polish it on my own. The phone rings. Shoot, sorry. I have to get that. I say. Perks of working alone. Feel free to play them over again if you like. Just hit the play button.

No trouble, sweetheart. Randy says, shifting aside so I can rise without effort.

Thanks. I trot over to the phone and pick it up, cradling the receiver between my shoulder and ear, as I scramble to grab the pen and note pad I keep close to the phone. Lightning Video Editing. Darrell speaking. I answer in my phone voice, which sounds like I’m more singing than talking. It’s a band’s PR person, looking for info on what we do. I take down the number and explain that I’m with a client, and that I’ll call back later, and although impatient, the person on the other end tells me what hours he is keeping, and I agree to call back ASAP.

Sorry about that. I say as I rejoin the boys. They’ve been looking at the screens, reviewing the footage again, like I suggested.

That’s okay. Corey says. You could have finished the convo, man. You didn’t have to flake on our account.

Yeah, it’s cool. Randy agrees, frowning.

No, those are house rules. I never leave a client hanging, especially when they’re here to review a demo, it’s our policy.

Well, thanks, but it’s cool. Randy says, patting my chair for me to sit down again.

Did you guys come up with anything more?

Err…yeah. We like the idea of panning out at the end, so we can see the fireworks coming off the back of the stage, instead of in the first demo, where it’s just us finishing our song together up close.

What venue was this where you performed? I love it. The stage is phenomenal. I comment and guess where they were.

Yeah, they finished upgrading that place. Randy explains. It looks really good. We’re there twice a week still.

I didn’t even know they upgraded it. You can’t even recognize it now. It looks great. I add.

You should come to the show tomorrow night. Randy suggests. I’ll put you on the V.I.P. list if you want.

Really? I smile. No artist has ever offered for me to come and see them perform before. Then I remember that these guys haven’t even gone on tour yet.

Of course. Randy says with a ‘v’ between his brows, as if it’s ridiculous that I’d question the opportunity.

Sure, thanks. I’d love to come see you guys. When do you go out on tour?

As soon as the record’s cut. Randy answers. A couple of months max.

Oh yeah? Are you guys nervous?

I shit my pants every day thinking about it. Corey scoffs, laying back down on the couch.

But you’re used to performing, no?

For like five hundred people, yeah. Randy says. But not a whole concert theatre. We’re opening for ‘Swivel’, and I’ve heard that they’re tough as nails.

My eyes widen. Oh yeah. Tough doesn’t cover it. He just left, actually, before you showed up.

Fuck…me. Gordon says, scraping a hand down his face. We’re going to get eaten alive.

Suddenly, clear from my vantage point, a large black man comes to the door, wearing a black trench coat, holding a gun in his hand. He bangs on the door aggressively while pointing his firearm straight at Corey, who raises his hands in the air.

….and I scream.

Chapter 2

Randy

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Wrapping another Band-Aid around my finger, I wonder if this wound will ever heal. The lick that I’ve perfected for this new tune we’re about to record is so awesome, but every time I do it, it makes my goddamn finger bleed in a spot where it’s never bled before. Bleeding fingers is something that I’m so accustomed to, that I keep a box of bandages in the same place where I keep my guitar picks, and I’m not sure which ones I go through faster.

Yo, let’s run through that one again, man. Wade suggests. Just in the spot where my solo is. I don’t think I have that one licked yet.

You sounded good, man. Corey argues kindly. I think you’re just second-guessing yourself.

You think so? I say, teasingly. I thought you sucked. I chuckle, and my comment receives a playful chuck on the back of my head from Wade.

I hope you fucking bleed to death, man. Wade adds with a scoff.

I just smile. Wade is my half-brother. My brother from another mother, as we call it. We both come from a musical background. Wade’s mom was a famous jazz singer back in the sixties, which is where he gets his amazing pipes from, and our dad was a studio musician, recording for blockbuster movies in the same era, which is probably where we both inherited our musical prowess. Wade’s mom and our dad had an affair together, producing Wade, and when Wade’s mom died from a car crash in his infancy, he came to live with us. My mom left our dad about ten years ago, and dad married another musician, and they still do studio recordings together to this day.

I chuckle, shoving my foot out, trying to trip him, but instead he steps on my foot forcefully, and we both snort out laughs as we tackle each other on the floor. Gordon and Corey ditch their instruments and join us, as we wrestle on my basement floor, blowing off steam from rehearsing together all night. Corey grabs hold of my hair, which he always does, shouting. You should cut your fucking hair, man! Easy target!

Always the hair, man. I grunt, smacking his face enough to get his attention. Why don’t you grow your own and quit drooling over mine. Corey has sickly thin hair, so he shaves his head, and it’s the only thing that I can needle him about, because his body is akin to military standard, and the chicks go nuts over his bright green eyes. Also, he’s about as nice of a dude as you can find. On most days, he’s even nicer than Wade, and that’s saying a lot, because our dad is strict and raised respectful men.

Hey, get your fucking foot out of my face! Gordon chuckles, grabbing my foot. He’s got the longest hair out of all of us; thick, dark, and he’s got an Italian background, so he’s got that European look to him with a tan skin tone and under the California sun, I’ve seen chicks refer to him as ‘The Adonis’.

Get your hand off my foot! I snuffle, wrestling my way out of his grasp. We play around, scrapping it out all over the floor, until I hear a distinct throat clear from the stairwell leading upstairs to the main floor.

Oh…hi, hun. I say to my wife, standing on the stairs, looking none too pleased with her arms crossed over her ample chest.

Busy at work, I see. She says sarcastically. The chill in her voice is palpable, and we retract, dusting ourselves off.

We were just taking a break.

Emily, my wife of two years, is an actress. We’ve known each other since high school, but we didn’t start dating until she saw us playing at a club once, and came backstage, drunk and horny as a fucking toad. She and I screwed in the broom closet out back that night, which she denies to this day, but I swear she was too drunk to remember. We got married really fast, like, six months later, and between her acting stints and me rehearsing, it’s been a rocky road to say the least.

Carter, my golden retriever, comes scurrying in behind her, racing his way down the steps to get to me, and he can’t resist a good wrestle when he sees the potential for one, so we all begin wrestling again, this time with my pooch. You should walk your dog, Randy. He pissed upstairs again. Emily says flatly. And I have to go for an audition, so I don’t have time. And thanks for the bags under my eyes, by the way.

Emily calls Carter my dog because I brought him home without her permission. We were out back at a venue once, having a smoke after a performance, and he was wandering the streets in the middle of the night. No collar, nothing, and I did my due diligence, trying to find his owners, but after a couple of weeks, he was mine. She hates him with a passion. Carter has a bladder problem, which is probably why his previous owners let him roam away, and if he doesn’t relieve himself regularly, he has accidents. We keep a towel in a cat’s litterbox upstairs, but it doesn’t help. He’s a boy. He pisses on Emily’s Ficus tree by the door instead.

With me rehearsing all night, I forgot to let him out. He won’t go out through the dog door, and I haven’t been able to figure that one out, but he’s fast if you go out with him. Aside from that he’s the best dog ever. He protects me and the boys, and he can smell a rat from a mile away, and he growls to let me know. I’ll let him out, babe. Sorry. I chuckle as Carter nips the bottom of my shirt, dragging me towards him.

Oh, Randy, would you not let him bite you like that? What happens if he starts biting guests?

He’s not biting me, babe, he’s playing. He never bites anyone he likes.

"Well, he’ll ruin your shirt, and then you’ll be buying me another Ficus and a shirt."

I walk over to her and kiss her on the lips. I’m sorry for keeping you up all night.

It’s okay. I bought ear plugs. They work well. She says, pinching her lips together into a smile.

You look nice. I say honestly. Emily always dresses well, and she has makeup artists but doesn’t need them. She’s naturally beautiful with long blonde hair and the California skin that most women have to pay for.

Thanks. Are you going to see your video this morning?

Yep. We’re leaving in an hour or so.

You better shower before you go. She reminds.

I lift my arm and give it the sniff test, looking at her in a mock ‘what are you talking about’ sort of way. What are you saying? I smell like roses, babe.

She lifts her brows. Snort coke lately?

I gave up coke after we got married and that’s the truth, but she still needles me about it sometimes. No. Here. I lift my arm, pulling myself to her. She plays along, pushing me away.

Thanks, I’m good.

I lean in and kiss her again. Good luck at your audition.

Thanks. She kisses me back. And Randy, seriously, take the poor dog out. That can’t be good for him.

I will. I whistle at Carter. Come on, boy! Let’s go!

He runs to me and I pat Emily’s bottom. I’ll walk you out.

As soon as I open the back door, Carter runs for the nearest tree. See? He was busting, Randy.

I know, I know. I’d bring him downstairs while we rehearse, but he barks like a son of a bitch.

Then set an alarm or something. He was scratching at the bedroom door at like three o’clock this morning because you forgot to let him out last night.

I did let him out.

Well…maybe you should take him back to the vet.

Or hire someone to let him out.

When you go on tour, you’ll have to do that. Emily advises.

Okay. That’s the plan then.

Fine. I have to go.

Okay, babe. Good luck. I love you.

Love you, too. She says, and I walk out back with Carter, as he sniffs around, looking for a spot to make in. Corey appears from the back of the house.

Yo, dude. We’re going to head home and get ready. Meet you back here in forty-five? All the guys live within ten minutes of my house, so it’s really convenient to practice and rehearse. Corey used to live further away, but once we got a record deal, he moved closer.

Sure. I nod.

Carter does his business and I play with him for a bit, and then head into the shower. We flip for it and decide to take my car to the video place, knowing that Bobby, our manager, will be joining us later, and we can split up then if we want to. So, why are we going to look at this video, man? Isn’t that our PR person’s job? Corey asks.

Well, yeah, but I want to see it, too…don’t you? I ask, as we hit a red light. "I