“Don’t go there,” said Rory. “She’s right. You know it. Shit got too deep.”
“You’re right, Rory,” I said. “Take a look at this.”
I picked up the remote sitting on the edge of my father’s desk and clicked on the collection of YouTube and Twitter feed with the hashtag #rockerruckus. The team put together the worst of them to drive home a point. I had the video cued, and the sound pushed up high to grab their attention.
“You fucking asshole,” screamed Cole. “Get the fuck out of this restaurant. I don’t want to see your ugly face while I’m trying to eat, you sick fuck.”
“Fuck you!” yelled Jersey. “It’s a fucking public restaurant.”
“Guys,” said Rory.
“Shut up!” retorted Cole and Jersey in unison.
“Leave him alone,” snorted Cole.
“I don’t need your protection, Cole,” said Rory. He raised his hands and backed away.
“Enough,” said Jersey. “I get the point.”
“Do you?” I said. I wasn’t willing to stop my tutorial. I fast forward past the part where Cole chased Jersey through the restaurant with a raised chair, and when Rory convinced Cole to put it down, Jersey smashed him in the face. The Twitter feed came up and some of the worst popped up in animation all under the hashtag #rockstarruckus
Grow the fuck up!
I can’t let my teen listen to you now.
Do you kiss your mama with your potty mouth?
On it went, displaying the overwhelming number of fans disgusted with the three grown men’s action.
“We’ve got to get control of this,” I said.
“Yeah, you can control it,” snapped Cole. “Get rid of these other two fuckers.”
“You’re nuts,” said Jersey. “You’re the one that needs to go.”
“Fuck that,” said Rory. “You two were the biggest asses.”
“No,” I said firmly. “You don’t seem to understand. This problem now belongs to the three of you. You need to handle it together, or you’ll all be box office poison.”
They all stared at me as if I asked them to climb the Matterhorn naked. But then Jersey nodded.
“And what do you want us to do?” he said.
“I have an idea, and my team is working on it right now. But I want to spin last night as a publicity stunt gone wrong for a battle of the bands concert and your bands are the featured players.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Cole
Boss lady is hot.
Her blonde hair betray dark roots, but I like that look. So much better than the groupies with wild colors like neon pink or goth purple. And her body is kicking, with shapely legs that go on forever and crowned with generous hips that make me drool. I’m a hip man, though I appreciate her slim waist and round breasts. She packaged all of this in a gray skintight sheath with elbow-length sleeves and a short stand-up collar that cut in a “v” thatbarely reached her ample cleavage. The dress clings to every screaming curve like a race car navigating the Grand Prix that showcased her to be all woman beneath her business veneer. But call me kinky. Put that hair up into a bun and settle some thick black glasses on her nose andI could do the librarian all night long. There is something about uptight that coils my springs, and I can tell this lady needs to unwind—big time.
I keep my jacket on my lap because the big guy in my jeans likes Ms. Uptight faster than my hungover brain registers. He’s ready to go, while my brain, in my half-hungover state, held my head upright out of spite. I still wore my sunglasses, because the light in the room was too bright, and the peppermint schnapps I used as a mouthwash didn’t do the job of cleansing the whiskey from my breath. My head pounded enough to make me cranky as fuck, and I was ready to throw a punch at Jersey Dys just on general principles. The only thing that held back my natural inclination to pound his smug pretty boy smile was my first observation.
Boss lady was hot.
Concentrating on her was job one.
