Page 2 of Knot Their Opening Act

“Ooh, I know,” I say. “Is it a man with bottle of champers, because God knows I could really use one of those.”

“Nope. It’s even more explosive than that.” I raise an eyebrow. Viv’s green eyes are enormous as she grits her teeth in an excited, silent squeal. “Just wait, just wait,” she trills.

“Okay, waiting,” I say with an amused voice. After a few steps, I whip my head toward her and pull her hand down in excitement. “Oh my gosh. Did you meet Gav? You did, didn’t you?”

Gav Macallan was Viv’s favorite singer in the world, and since he’s headlining tonight on one of the two main stages, I figured Viv would try to sniff him out. My heart leaps in my ribs at the thought of her getting his number.

“No! Oh, God, no. Not yet, anyhow! This surprise isn’t about me! Well—” She picks up the pace across the grassy field. “I’m notnotpart of it, but it’s you I’m excited for.”

I wrack my brain. None of my favorite artists are performing here today, but Arcadia Echo is closing the festival on Sunday and they’ve been a huge inspiration of mine.

My style’s nothing like theirs, but I’ve always tried to write my country-flared acoustic indie pop to be nothing like my favorite artists’ styles. Of course I’m influenced, but I don’t ever want anyone to think I believe I could play those kinds of energized shows. Viv describes my music with ridiculous phrases like “playful shoe-gazing revenge heartbreak songs to the tune of a lullaby.”

I take in the sights and let out a breath I’ve been holding since Viv secured this gig. She graduated with a degree in arts management from the same school where I barely held a passing grade in marketing, but by that time I already had a catalog of over fifty songs. All my time was spent writing in my room, just me and my guitar, and after two years in the same Artists Guild in Bristol, we escaped with her connections and my first, hastily-recorded demo which led to the two-album deal I got from a small London label.

For a while at school, I felt like we were pushed together as partners because I wanted to perform and she wanted to manage, and whenever we’d pair up, instructors would put us together. I sometimes felt like a puppy she took under her wing. But she never once treated me that way. She’s only ever said she saw a light in me and wants the world to see it, too. I don’t know what I did to deserve her as a business partner, or as a friend.

We head into the VIP tent, which isn’t as teeming as I expected. It’s only gone 1 p.m. but lots of bigger up-and-coming names are out there about to start their various sets, and any of the headliners or bigger names of the early evening aren’t going to be slumming it in here. So with a small group sat around a table in the far corner, a woman behind a free bar just beside the door, and the five-piece folk band that played before me sitting on the ground in a circle over a box of pizza, it is impossible to not notice the man sitting with hands folded and earbuds in talking on his phone but staring at the tent door as we walk in.

Ash fucking Knightley. The head of the biggest artist management company in the UK. The manager of the award-winning Arcadia Echo. And the magician behind some of the most successful touring acts of the past five years, launching each one of his clients to stardom.

The security volunteers nods at us as he heads out but I barely notice. I grab Viv’s arm and yank. “Holy shit, are you seeing what I’m?—”

“That’s the surprise!”she hisses gleefully. “He wants to speak to you!” Viv then quickly rearranges her face in to a calm, even smile as she leads me by the hand to Ash’s table. He looks down at his phone set before him, mumbles a few words and then I hear, “Gotta run, I’ve got an artist here. Thanks, babe, see you tonight.”

Fuck me. Ash Knightley.

He’s not much taller than my 5’9, and his chiseled cheekbones and cool blue eyes are even more handsome in person, with his trademark thin cream-colored cowl scarf around his neck, even on this sunny day. But I’m not quaking in my literal boots because of some crush. His wanting to speak with me can only be about one thing.

I’ve never been good at hiding emotions and now’s no exception. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes but I will them away. I can’t even blink though. I’m just staring at his hand, held out to me. Viv leads me around the table and we stand inches away.

“Mr Knightley, I’ve snagged her from her throng of fans,” says Viv flippantly, though I alone can hear the undercurrent of insane delight and pride underneath. “I’m pleased to introduce you to my client, Jesamine Jacobs. Jez.”

Still not blinking and aware my eyeballs are about to dry out, I grab the end of my aqua-dyed blonde hair and twirl it around one shoulder as my right hand jabs out for his. He stands, shakes it, bows, and then, without a smile, says, “Ms Jacobs, pleasure. I’ve got twenty minutes. This festival is always so damn rammed with meetings, so I’m afraid I was only able to catch your first three songs, but I have a question for you. What are you doing for the next four months?”

CHAPTER2

Kai

“You did fuckingwhat?”

I shout this loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear, and most turn their heads toward me. Ian, the owner and bartender, is pulling a pint and just shakes his head, probably aware that my voice doesn’t get much quieter at the best of times.

He’s usually happy to see me, knowing that us hanging around this place like we do on any free weekend we get a break draws a crowd. But I can hear him grumbling about my language. He likes to call his place agastropuband charge higher prices than just a regular pub, but putting some flower boxes out and serving chips on slabs of Welsh granite isn’t enough to stop me from making a goddamned scene.

Ash is in my ear, explaining why his latest decision is the best for us and if we want to keep working with him and Steve, our manager, I need to keep my shit together and listen, because when have his ideas not worked in our favor?

Nico’s to my right, one knee dancing up and down under the table, making the whole thing shake and our cutlery rattle. Thomas is opposite him, his wire-rim glasses on thinking it keeps him from being recognized but he knows damn well it doesn’t, and anyhow, the rest of us are here too. Not exactly inconspicuous.

And our last bandmate, Holden, is leaning back with two chair legs off the floor and his elbow resting on the side of the brick fireplace behind him. He’s watching a video on his phone like a fucking twelve-year-old.

I’m a good-natured guy, easy with a laugh and a smile. I love people, and making small-talk with any stranger I meet. That’s part of the reason being in a touring rock band for the past decade has been so much fun. But it’s also the chance to do what I dreamed of as a ten-year-old in my parents’ sitting room, on the shag carpet surrounded by records with my grandpa’s hand-me-down cushion headphones, every afternoon after school. Singing and playing for people as a way of getting them off, so to speak, has always gottenmeoff.

But the tricky part is Ash Knightley and his unconventional approaches.

“I mean, damn, yes, Ash. Okay. We trust you. Yes, okay,Itrust you. Happy? But I am not, I repeat, NOT fucking letting that girl anywhere near our tour. Not even one date. What possessed you? Our fans would crush hers. She couldn’t warm up our crowds if she doused them in petrol and got out a blow-torch!”

Thomas raises a brow and then shoots a glance at Nico, who just shakes his head like Ian did. I try to take my volume down, but end up standing and walking for the back exit. As I pass the toilets, a bloke exits, sees me, pounds me on the shoulder and yells, “KAI HARTLEY, fuck yeah!” He carries on and for a second I think he’s going to ask for a photo, but I can hear him exclaim to his mates back in the bar,Guess who’s here?and one of them says,Yeah, mate, whole band’s in here a lot.

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