And I was not too hungover to recognize the utter shit we were all in from the fiasco at Angelo’s.
My business manager called me this morning and quit. Something about not wanting to get sued because he had a fiduciary responsibility for the actions of any member of the band. I made a mental note to call the accountants to make sure that the asshole didn’t steal my money because that would be the first job of a business manager, as happens so often in this industry. But I realize I don’t have a clue about the state of the band finances and I had to get a handle on that. Maybe boss lady had a line on one or two reputable dudes that could take the business manager position. I made a mental note to hang back to ask her.
Rory made a rude noise at boss lady’s suggestion that we hold a battle of the bands concert.
“I don’t do anything without discussing it with band management.”
Her red lips parted in a half-evil smile that went straight to my cock, and her eyes glittered.
“Proof one of the total mess you made of this, Mr. Holmes. Your manager quit.”
Oh ho, so I’m not the only one. And then I wondered how the lovely Jacine knew this. And if she knew about my manager.
“In fact,” she said. “The management of all three bands quit.”
That answered that question. This chick is good.
But, yeah. Franklin Alexander’s daughter. She would be, pumped full of Ivy League education and schooled in the business since before she could walk.
“And Attorney Marshall,” she nodded toward lawyer man, “will have to send letters to all of them reminding them of their contractual obligations to keep their mouths shut. Which will be difficult considering the publishers who probably called them this morning looking for tell-all book deals.”
“Already done, Jacine,” said the attorney. Shit, he did look like a lawyer too. How did I miss that?
“I should have known,” she said with a slight upturn of her lips. Wait. Did she gaze at the attorney with affection? Was Miss Uptight unwinding with Mr. Lawyer Man?
Oh, no. Not on my watch. Because it does not escape my attention that I follow every movement of Ms. Jacine Alexander with attention I reserved for my guitar. If my mouth weren’t so dry from my morning ablution of peppermint schnapps, I would drool with every graceful gesture of that oh-so-fuckable body.
Nope. There was one thing I was sure of is that I would have Ms. Jacine Alexander under me, and the sooner, the better.
“I like the idea,” I said.
“What?” snapped dickhead Dys. “When did you get agreeable?”
“Along about the time when you threatened me with a chair.”
“That was you, asshole, threatening me,” snorted Dys.
“Enough,” said Jacine. I even like the stern way she speaks. It sends a kinky shiver through me. I wonder if she was into whips.
Oh, the possibilities.
“On second thought, I agree,” said Rory. But then Rory would agree to a ham sandwich when he wanted caviar. He could pound out the drums like he was the god of thunder, but what the man truly wanted was peace and harmony.
Dickhead.
But now I like that Rory was agreeing with me, which would surely piss off Dys.
Good.
“What about it, Mr. Dys?” said Jacine laser focusing her eyes on him. Oh, yes. Like that old Queen lyric, "Dynamite with a laser beam." Yeah. That was Ms. Jacine Alexander.
For a microsecond, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Then he caught me shooting a lustful glance at boss lady, and his lips curled. What evil thought did that fuck gestate now?
“Okay,” he said. It was too easy. Dys never gave up anything easily, not even his precious body while touring. He looked around the room appraising everyone’s reaction and stood.
“Apparently I have a lot of band business to straighten out. Send me the details through email, or call if you wish, Miss Alexander.”
“I’ll get going too,” said Rory.
