Page 3 of First Moon

“Did you hear about Knox’s escapades last month?” Madeleine asked Ivy.

Ivy made a face and shook her head, obviously uncomfortable.

“No, you didn’t. Because of my work,” Madeleine said. “The story of Knox live-streaming himself throwing the entire tour’s merch into a fire pit? Nowhere to be found. Because of me.”

“They were printing that junk in an overseas sweatshop,” Knox said. “Kids, Ivy. Think about that. Not what we stand for.”

“And the time last year he smashed a label exec’s vintage guitar against a brick wall.”

“That worm got what he deserved. He humiliated our opening act. And he doesn’t even know how to play, so why was that guitar hanging on his wall in the first place?”

Madeleine rolled her eyes. “It’s easy for you to have judgment and act like a child, but someone has to clean it up. Me. Which I do. Over and over.”

“Clean it up, huh? You want to talk clean up? That kid, Roman Murphy. That’s his name, in case you never bothered to learn it, Price. Audiences loved him. People started showing up early just for his set. And the worm Dunmore pulled his mic three songs in because he wanted the slot for some girl he was sleeping with. Had security walk a twenty-year-old kid out the loading dock past the whole crew like he’d stolen something. And, he gave one of the kid’s songs to one of his other darlings, and she got a hit from it. The worm signed the credit as the co-writer too. Like it was nothing. Like the kid was nothing.”

“I knew his name,” Madeleine said, tight. “I helped get him on that stage. You and your hot head have conveniently forgotten that part.”

“So you say.” Knox lifted a shoulder. “Anyway. I broke the worm’s guitar. Should’ve broke his nose.” He finally looked at her, and there was no grin left in it. “But no worries, right? You made it disappear. Protected the worm. Heck, you probably sent him a gift basket and an apology. Is that what I should thank you for?” He picked a low, sour note and let it ring. “I didn’t want it to disappear, Price. I wanted it to cost somebody. For once. Instead, it cost the only person who did nothing wrong. Roman’s tour still ended early. The worm kept his job. Wrong writer’s still got credit for a hit that should’ve been Roman’s.”

“Shame about that guitar, though,” Grant said to nobody, turning a stick over. “Vintage. Worth a small fortune.”

“Shame about Roman too,” Ivy said. “But it’s hardly Madeleine’s fault.”

For once, Knox didn’t say anything.

Beck ran an easy line up the keys. “I’m hungry. Let’s get to work.” He smiled at Knox, then at Madeleine.

It almost worked. Knox’s shoulders dropped half an inch.

Then I saw Ivy.

A communication of some kind passed between her and Madeleine, just like Rhett and I could speak whole sentences to each other without a single word.

“What happened to Roman?” Ivy asked.

“Back home in Kentucky,” Knox said. “Tending bar.”

“Well, that won’t do.” Ivy planted her hands on her hips. “I’ll have my assistant call him. See if he wants to open for me next month. I start the tour for the new album.”

Knox blinked. “You can do that?”

“I can now, and I’ll tell you why.” Ivy spoke with ease and authority, which was undeniably attractive. “You can’t imagine the guff I’ve taken over the years from music executives, treating me like a little girl, undermining my confidence. In general, being real buttholes. Telling me who to be and what to sing. I was over it.”

Knox laughed.

“Knox, I’ve wanted to break a few things or pull a punch myself over the years, but I don’t because Mama would die of shame if I got myself arrested. But I’d had enough. So I did something about it. I recorded this last album independently with Wes Callahan. I sing what I want. Hire the band I want. Design my own tour. And I do it knowing that no one cares as much as I do about my success. Plus, I get to be the person my mama and daddy expect me to be, like offering a hand up to your kid Roman.”

“Well, okay, then,” Knox said.

She was something else. A force of nature, stronger than any hurricane I’d ever seen, in a petite frame and gobs of blonde hair. She was even prettier when all fired up too.

I couldn’t be sure. But I strongly suspected I’d just fallen in love with Ivy James.

2

IVY

The room had gone quiet after my little speech. My cheeks flamed red. I never was too good at staying in my own lane. Mama often says I dive head first into a situation with even a hint of injustice. She is always on me about my impulsivity. Has been since I was a little girl. Later, after the school counselor had me tested for Attention Deficit Disorder, I found out impulsivity was a common characteristic in those afflicted. They also told me I had dyslexia, which explained why I had so much trouble learning to read.