“Run through it again,” she called to Len, her lighting guy. Everything had to be perfect. She’d invested a fortune in this event. She needed to bring some new blood into the club if she was ever going to cover the cost of the unnecessary sound-proofing of the London club. It had all been fucking faked, she thought bitterly. Queen’s Rock Bar was well within legal sound limits but just because she’d turned down the inspector’s advances, he’d made up some bullshit about the club causing noise pollution. And now she was seriously out of pocket after having the walls soundproofed. The club had only been running a few years and she’d invested all her savings in it. Now she was in the damned red and falling further. The bar did well, but not good enough to cover the interest on her debt. If tonight didn’t bring in some new clientele then she was thoroughly screwed. A last ditch bid to save her club. And it just happened to involve Jackson Wilde. She ground her teeth just thinking about him.
