He reddens. “Sorry. I know you don’t like being called Rubes.”
“And yet you do it. Repeatedly,” I mutter not-so-quietly.
Besides sounding way too much likepubes,it’s not sexy. At all. What I also don’t get? People granting themselves the liberty to hand out nicknames.
“Okay, I think we’re straying from the important part.”
I stare back.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, so Carl Leebers—also known as Clipboard Carl—is the assistant to the assistant to Freddie Nova.”
He sits back, waiting for… something. Then his eyes widen. “Freddie Nova. Manager to the biggest rock band in the world?”
“Coldplay?” I had a medium-sized crush on the lead singer a handful of years back.
He has the audacity to look affronted. “No, not Coldplay.”
I shrug.
“Christ, I can’t believe you… Riot Saints, Ruby. Freddie Nova is the manager of Riot Saints!”
“Oh. Sure. Great. And what did Clipboard Carl want me to call him for?”
“He didn’t say. But word on the band boards is they’re auditioning for the new music video.”
I start to snort, then snippets of Staring Guy’s conversation trickle in. Greg latches onto my hesitation and slides the card across the table. “Call him, Rube—Ruby.”
I’m not going to, of course. Because it’s stupid. “Don’t see the point. I have zero music video experience and I can’t sing to save myself from a firing squad.”
“Well, he saw something he liked. Enough to promise me another five hundred just for giving you the card.”
“What? Seriously?”Welcome to LA. Where assholes toss out money like it’s water. Sadly, never my way without a sleazy proposition attached.
His head bobs again. “Seriously. Think about how much you could get if you land the gig.”
There are so many red flags planted in this plotline it could be a United Nations summit.
But…
I’m broke and in serious danger of falling behind on rent.
The reason I took an early break today is because Toby’s advances took a steep dive fromhow much longer before I knee him in the ballstohow much longer before I’m featured on Dateline as the barista who finally snapped.
It’s fucking déjà vu all over again, as the stupid joke goes.
I don’t want history to repeat itself. I don’t want to be unemployed or come within a whisker of being charged for assault like the last time I clawed another boss’s face when he grabbed my ass.
I’ve got a day off tomorrow. And maybe…if Clipboard Carl’s legit, maybe it’ll be a laugh to see how far this goes.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Greg says, eerily echoing my thoughts.
“Don’t answer that,” I mutter to myself.
He pushes the card at me and to my eternal shame, I pick it up and pocket it.
All day I swing betweennah, it’s too good to be trueandbut the money could solve a lot of problems.
The catalyst comes at midnight.
