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shoot I had done four years ago. Now, if it was just that, I would’ve shrugged it off, but the funny thing was what was written on the banner in big, bold letters. I believe it was something along the lines of, ‘Available now! The digitally enhanced edition of Evan Arden’s masterpiece album, One More Time , with two never before released bonus tracks and new liner art. Experience the elegance of Evan Arden, one more time!’ That’s pretty funny, don’t you think? I mean, how in the world could something like that happen when I own all the rights to my songs and no one is to touch my material without my explicit, unambiguous, unequivocal, precise, permission.”
    Greg noticed how Evan’s tone sharpened as the speech wore on. He held his breath, trying to think of the best way to proceed without instigating Evan’s rage. “You have to admit, Evan, getting your permission was more than a challenge when no one knew where in the world you were.”
    Evan bolted upright on the couch and tore off his sunglasses. “Since you couldn’t get it, you shouldn’t have done it!” He lay back down. “And you would choose two of my lamest ballads. Honestly Greg, ‘Far Away’ and ‘No Longer Mine’? What were you thinking?”
“They’re good songs. Nothing you’ve ever done is lame.”
    Evan let out a snort expressing he thought otherwise. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s just going to ruin my good mood.”
    Greg nodded, glad to let the matter go. If that was the worst scolding Evan gave him for releasing his material without his consent, then he would count this among his luckiest of days. “So where is it you want me to go with you tonight?”
    A smile rose to Evan’s lips. “To see a band. They’re called Conquest. As a whole they’re a little rough, but the guitarist is slick as hell, and the singer, he’s got a voice that will knock you on your ass. His name is Jesse Alexander, the guitarist is Kenny Cooper. I don’t know much about the drummer and keyboardist, they’re not worth my time, but you’ve got to see Jesse perform.”
    Greg stared at Evan. He took a breath to pull himself out of his shock. “If he’s getting an endorsement like that from you, he must be good.”
    “He’s amazing.” Evan stood and walked to Greg. “I’m going to head home so I can take a nap and be fresh for tonight.” Reaching around Greg, he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper off the desk. “Here’s my cell and house number. I’ll leave making dinner reservations up to you, just call and let me know when and where. Conquest takes the stage at ten and they’re playing at a little joint down south of The Loop. I’d like to be there when they start.”
    “Okay. I’ll call you later then.”
Evan turned for the door.
“Evan,” Greg called. “Welcome back.”
Evan nodded his head once and disappeared out the door.
C
HAPTER
F
OUR
    Evan stood outside the bar, his arms folded across his chest, the fingers of his right hand tapping an annoyed beat on his left bicep. “That’s it. I’m going in.”
    Greg glanced down at his wristwatch. “He’s only five minutes late.”
“Five minutes means we’ve already missed one song. I’m not going to miss the whole set because you decided to invite your assistant who clearly isn’t competent enough to show up on time.”
Greg sighed. “With the cutbacks Phoenix has had to do, we couldn’t be picky about who was willing to stay on the smaller salaries. All the A&R reps took off, so I need to get Tim some experience dealing with bands in the field.”
“That’s fine, but don’t do it with this band.” Evan whirled around and reached for the door.
“Here he is,” Greg said, waving to a heavyset man coming toward them.
    Evan tipped up the rim of his Yankees cap to get a better look at Greg’s assistant. Tim walked with all the speed his stubby legs could carry him, the pudginess hanging over his belt jiggled with his rapid strides, his small dark eyes