Giving Chase (Incendiary Ink #1)

1. Imposter Syndrome – Eliza

Imposter Syndrome

ELIZA

The steady thrum of my fingernails on the polished mahogany desk fills my office. It's a habit I've never entirely kicked, much like my afternoon espresso or penchant for emotionally unavailable men. I glance at the clock: 2:45 PM. Fifteen minutes until the board meeting, and my mind is anywhere but on the Q4 projections I should be reviewing.

I stand, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my corner office. The Los Angeles skyline stretches out before me, a concrete jungle I've called home for the better part of three decades. At fifty-five, I still cut an impressive figure—tall, with a fuller silhouette that speaks of a life well-lived. My long platinum blonde hair cascades down my back, the ends a vibrant purple that catches the late afternoon sun.

The intercom buzzes, Jenna's voice filling the room. "Ms. Kerr, there's a call for you on line one. It's about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction."

My heart skips a beat. Damn. I'd hoped the email I'd received earlier was some sort of elaborate prank. "Thanks, Jenna. I'll take it."

I pick up the phone, my voice steady despite the sudden dryness in my throat. "Eliza Kerr speaking."

"Ms. Kerr, this is Daniel Greenblatt from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation. I'm calling to formally request your participation in this year's induction ceremony."

I listen as he outlines the details, my mind racing. Incendiary Ink. Hall of Fame. Induction speech. The words swirl in my head, each one carrying the weight of two decades of history, of triumphs and regrets, of stolen kisses and broken promises.

"Ms. Kerr? Are you still there?"

I realize I've been silent for too long. "Yes, Mr. Greenblatt. I'm here. It's just... unexpected news."

"I understand. The band was quite insistent that you be the one to induct them. Particularly Mr. Avery."

Mr. Avery - Chase . The name alone sends a jolt through my system, awakening feelings I'd thought long buried. I see him in my mind's eye: tousled dark hair, green eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, that damn dimple in his left cheek that always made my knees weak. Twenty years ago, he was the twenty-five-year-old rocker who turned my world upside down. Now, at forty-five, he's... what? A man I once knew? A mistake I can't seem to stop making?

"Ms. Kerr?"

I snap back to the present. "Thank you for the call, Mr. Greenblatt. I'll need some time to consider this request. As I'm sure you know, it's not typically done this way."

"Of course. Please let us know your decision by the end of the week."

I hang up, my mind reeling. My imposter syndrome starts to creep in, telling me I don’t deserve any of this. Despite the countless sacrifices I’ve made, especially personally, it feels like I’ve faked my entire rise into this position. Deep down, I know I’ve earned it, but that little nagging voice in the back of my head never truly goes away. And the mention of Chase just makes everything worse.

The intercom buzzes again. "Ms. Kerr, the board is ready for you in the conference room."

"Thanks, Jenna. I'll be right there." My voice is low, with a hint of gravel that comes from years of long nights and heated negotiations. And maybe a few too many cigarettes shared with a particular lead singer under starlit skies.

I smooth down my tailored black blazer and straighten my shoulders. Eliza Kerr never shrinks, not for anyone or anything. With one last glance in the mirror—perfect makeup, not a hair out of place—I stride out of my office, the heels of my boots clicking a staccato rhythm as I walk.

The conference room falls silent as I enter. Ten pairs of eyes turn to me, a mix of curiosity and anticipation evident in their gazes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I nod, taking my seat at the head of the table. "Let's get started with our quarterly review."

For the next hour and a half, we dive into financial reports, marketing strategies, and projections for the upcoming quarter. I force myself to focus, pushing thoughts of Chase and Incendiary Ink to the back of my mind. But as Richard wraps up his financial summary, I know I can't put it off any longer.

"Before we adjourn," I say, my voice cutting through the rustling of papers, "there's one more matter we need to discuss."

The room grows quiet, all eyes on me once again.

"I received a call just before this meeting. Incendiary Ink is being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame." I pause, letting the information sink in. "And apparently, they want me to give the induction speech."

The room erupts in excited chatter. Incendiary Ink had been one of Blackmore Records' most significant success stories, and their induction is a feather in the company's cap.

"That's fantastic news, Eliza!" exclaims Tom, already no doubt planning PR strategies in his head. He’s been filling in for our VP of Public Relations, Tess, who is currently on maternity leave. "Think of the publicity?—"

I hold up a hand, silencing him. "It's not that simple, Tom. The induction speech is typically given by a musical peer, or an actor or celebrity of some kind, not a label exec."

"But you're not just any label exec," interjects Bess, her curly red hair bouncing as she leans forward enthusiastically. "You discovered them, nurtured them. Hell, you practically midwifed their career. And so many others, too. You’re a legend in your own right."

My lips quirk in a sardonic smile. If only they knew just how involved I'd been in Incendiary Ink’s journey. Late-night studio sessions, heated arguments over creative direction, stolen moments in hotel rooms with Chase...

"Be that as it may," I continue, pushing the memories aside, "it's unprecedented. And… complicated."

Cassidy Townsend, our head of legal, leans forward, her sharp blue eyes narrowing. "Complicated how, Eliza? From a legal standpoint, I don't see any issues. Our contract with them is over, but that doesn't preclude you from participating in the ceremony."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, Cassidy would see it that way. As the wife of Jake Townsend, lead singer of Murderous Crows, another of our top-selling bands, she's used to the blurred lines between business and personal lives in the music industry.

"It's not about legalities, Cassidy," I say, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "It's about optics. Our relationship with Incendiary Ink wasn't exactly smooth sailing towards the end. Do we really want to dredge all that up again?"

The room grows quiet. Everyone remembers the scandals, rehab stints, and explosive arguments that occasionally spilled into the public eye.

Cassidy's lips twitch into a knowing smirk. "Sometimes, Eliza, dredging up the past is exactly what's needed to move forward. Look at Jake and me - we've weathered our share of storms, and Murderous Crows are stronger for it."

I bristle at the comparison. Cassidy might think she understands, but she has no idea about the complexity of my history with Chase and Incendiary Ink.

"With all due respect, Eliza," Richard chimes in, "I think you're letting personal feelings cloud your judgment here. This could be a huge opportunity for the label."

Before I can retort, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

"Mom, you can't be serious."

My head snaps up. My son, Justin, stands in the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. At thirty, he's the spitting image of his father—my first ex-husband—but with my steel grey eyes.

"Justin, what are you doing here? This is a closed meeting."

He shrugs, unrepentant. "Jenna let me in. Said it was important." He strolls into the room, perching on the edge of the conference table. "You have to do this, Mom. It's Incendiary Ink. It's Chase."

The name sends another jolt through my system. I keep my face impassive, but inside, a storm is brewing. Chase Avery. The one that got away. The man who has simultaneously been my greatest professional triumph and my most profound personal regret.

"I don't have to do anything," I reply, my tone clipped.

Justin leans in, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "You've been burying yourself in work since their farewell tour. Maybe it's time to face the music, don't you think?"

I glare at my son, but there's no real heat behind it. He knows me too well, damn him.

I turn back to the board, all of whom are watching the exchange with varying degrees of interest. "I'll think about it. That's all I can promise for now. I must let the Rock Hall know by the end of the week, so you’ll know when they know. Meeting adjourned."

As the board members file out, chattering excitedly among themselves, I remain seated, lost in thought. Justin squeezes my shoulder as he passes.

"For what it's worth," he says softly, "I think it's about time you and Chase figured your shit out."

With that parting shot, he's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a decision that threatens to upend the careful balance I've maintained for years.

Chase Avery. Incendiary Ink. The Hall of Fame.

"Well, fuck," I mutter to the empty room. I have a feeling my life is about to get a lot more complicated.

March 10, 2004

The thrum of bass vibrates through the soles of my Manolo Blahniks as I push through the doors of The Viper Room. At thirty-five, I feel almost ancient amid the sea of twenty-somethings, but I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I'm Eliza fucking Kerr, the youngest head of A I've been on both sides of that equation. Rising stars can’t always handle the heat, and shooting stars burn out. This business isn’t easy for anyone. Not everyone can handle the pressure involved in being a success.

I scan the dimly lit room, my steel-grey eyes adjusting to the darkness. The crowd is a mix of industry types like myself, trying hard to look casual in their designer jeans and vintage band tees, and the genuine article – young, hungry music lovers with an edge that can't be bought at Barneys.

A flash of copper catches my eye. "Eliza! Over here!"

I spot Bess, my assistant, waving frantically from a table near the stage. Her wild red curls are impossible to miss, even in this lighting. I navigate my way over, nodding to a few familiar faces as I pass. Jerry from Sony, Mick from Universal – we're all here for the same reason. The hunt for the next big thing.

"You made it!" Bess grins, practically bouncing in her seat. At twenty-four, she's closer in age to the crowd around us, but her enthusiasm makes her seem even younger. "I was worried you might bail for that charity gala everyone wanted a ticket to."

I slide into the seat beside her, signaling the waitress for a drink. "And miss the chance to see the band you've been raving about for weeks? Not a chance." I don't mention that I've already been to three shows this week, each one a disappointment. In this industry, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince.

"Trust me, they're worth it. Incendiary Ink is going to blow you away."

I raise an eyebrow, accepting a glass of overpriced white wine from the waitress. "Big words, Bess. Let's hope they live up to the hype." I take a sip, savoring the crisp taste. It's my one indulgence tonight; I need to keep a clear head.

“Just wait until you see and hear the lead singer, Chase Avery. Then you’ll get it.”

My internal cynicism smirks. “If you say so…”

As the lights dim further, I feel a familiar surge of anticipation, tinged with a hint of something else. Wariness, perhaps. Or maybe it's just the echo of a lesson learned the hard way. The last time I felt this excited about a new act, it ended with a gold band on my finger and a crying baby in my arms. Don't get me wrong – Justin is the best thing that ever happened to me. But his father? Let's just say mixing business with pleasure in this industry rarely ends well.

The band takes the stage without fanfare, no dramatic entrance, or flashy effects. Just three guys with their instruments, looking for all the world like they've just rolled out of bed and onto the stage. But then the lead singer steps up to the mic, and I feel the air leave my lungs.

He's beautiful in that disheveled, rock-and-roll way that is infuriating and irresistible. Dark hair falls in his eyes, which are lined with just a hint of smudged kohl. His lean body is clad in torn jeans and a faded t-shirt that's seen better days. But it's his presence that captivates – an effortless charisma that draws all eyes to him.

I've seen a thousand singers just like him. I've signed a few, and broken the hearts of many more. I've learned the hard way not to mix business with pleasure, no matter how attractive the package. The diamond-less ring finger on my left hand is a constant reminder of that particular life lesson.

And then he starts to sing.

His voice cuts through my cynicism like a hot knife through butter. It's raw and powerful, with an emotional depth that belies his young age. The lyrics are sharp and clever, cutting through the noise with a clarity that's rare in the current music scene.

I find myself leaning forward, completely engrossed. For the first time in years, I feel that spark, that excitement that drew me to this industry in the first place. It's the same feeling that led me to Justin's father all those years ago. The thought should be a bucket of cold water, but somehow, it's not enough to douse the heat building inside me.

As the set progresses, I watch the other members too. The drummer, a big guy with arms like tree trunks, plays with an almost alarming ferocity. The tall guitarist, lanky with a shock of bright blue hair, provides a steady counterpoint to the lead singer's energy.

But it's the singer who plays bass so expertly, but it feels like an afterthought – Chase, if the screams from the audience are anything to go by – who holds my attention. There's something about him, a star quality that can't be manufactured or faked. The same quality made me fall for Justin's dad, but there's something different here. Something more.

I know I'm witnessing something special by the time they finish their set with a haunting ballad. The room erupts into thunderous applause, and I'm on my feet before I realize it, clapping along with everyone else.

I turn to Bess, not bothering to hide my excitement. "Find out everything you can about them. I’m going to try to get a meeting set up for tomorrow."

She grins, already tapping away on her Blackberry. "I told you they were good."

"Good doesn't begin to cover it," I mutter, my eyes still fixed on the stage where the band is packing up their gear.

As I move through the crowd towards them, I can already hear the opening lines of my pitch forming in my head. But underneath the professional excitement, there's something else. A flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the way Chase's t-shirt clings to his lean frame as he bends to pack up his guitar.

I push the feeling aside. I'm here to sign a fucking band, not to fall for a pretty face and a voice that makes my knees weak. I've been down that road before, and I have the emotional scars and a precocious eight-year-old to show for it.

But as Chase looks up and our eyes meet, I have a feeling things aren't going to be that simple. Not this time. And despite every hard-learned lesson, every late night with a crying baby, every bitter argument with my ex, I can't bring myself to look away.

God help me. I think I'm in trouble.

As I approach the stage, I square my shoulders and put on my most professional smile. Up close, the band looks even younger, barely out of their twenties. The blue-haired bassist notices me first, nudging the drummer, who's busy breaking down his kit.

"Can we help you?" the guitarist asks, a hint of wariness in his voice.

"I hope so," I reply, pulling out my business card. "Eliza Kerr, Head of A&R at Blackmore Records. I'd love to set up a meeting with you guys."

Their eyes widen at the mention of Blackmore. It's a reaction I'm used to – we're not the biggest label out there, but we have a reputation for nurturing unique talent.

"Seriously?" The drummer abandons his cymbals, moving closer. "That would be amazing, right Chase?"

And there he is. The lead singer turns, and I find myself staring into eyes so green they put emeralds to shame. Up close, he's even more striking – all sharp cheekbones and full lips curved into a crooked smile.

"Chase Avery," he says, extending his hand. Even speaking, his voice has a musicality that sends a shiver down my spine. "These are Will and Mark. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kerr."

I take his hand, and it's like touching a live wire. There's a spark, an undeniable pull that catches me off guard. His hand is calloused from guitar strings, warm and strong around mine. For a moment, I forget to breathe.

"Eliza, please," I manage, withdrawing my hand perhaps a bit too quickly. "That was quite a performance. You guys have something special."

Chase's smile widens, revealing a dimple in his left cheek that should be illegal. "We like to think so. But it's nice to hear it from someone in the industry."

There's a flirtatious edge to his tone that I pointedly ignore. I've been in this business long enough to know better than to fall for the talent. It’s my number one rule. Well, it is now, anyway.

"Well, I'd like to discuss your future plans. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Say, 2 PM at our offices?"

The guys exchange excited glances. "We'll be there," Chase answers for all of them. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

I hand him my card, our fingers brushing again. I'm prepared for the spark this time, but it doesn't make it any less potent. "Great. Don't be late. And bring your demo, if you have one." My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t help but stare into Chase’s eyes. I can’t seem to look away. I find myself saying, “You’re either going to be the biggest band in the world or the biggest disaster I’ve ever seen.”

He stares back at me and arches a brow, his dimple making an unwelcome appearance. “At least we’ll be memorable.”

“See you tomorrow,” I mumble under my breath, forcing myself to look away and break our connection. My fingers are still sparking where they met his, and a shot of electricity winds down my spine.

As I turn to leave, I feel his eyes on me. I glance back over my shoulder, catching his gaze once more. A look in his eyes – part challenge, part invitation – sends a shiver through my entire body.

"Looking forward to it, Eliza," he calls after me, my name rolling off his tongue like a caress.

I manage a nod and head back to Bess, my heart pounding in a way it hasn't in years. Part of me is thrilled at the prospect of signing this talented band. But another part – the part I've kept locked away since my divorce – is terrified by the effect Chase Avery has on me.

As I collect Bess and head for the exit, my phone buzzes. It's a text from Mrs. Goldstein.

MRS. GOLDSTEIN: Justin had a nightmare. Asking for you.

Reality crashes back in, and I'm grateful for it. I have responsibilities, a son who needs me. I can't afford to get caught up in green eyes and dimpled smiles.

But as I hail a cab, I can't help but think about tomorrow's meeting. About seeing Chase again.

I have a feeling Incendiary Ink will be more than just my next big signing. They might just be the band that changes everything.

Little do I know just how right I am.