I glance up as it dawns on me that this person is talking to me just as I recognize Julia, the band’s manager.
I grimace. “Sorry about that. I’ve been trying to lie low and you’re the first person to track me down like that.”
“Because of the whole weird cult connection, I get it,” she replies airily.
Fuck’s sake. “Can you keep your voice down?” I hiss at her.
“Ooh, because there are so many people listening in.” She snorts, glancing around at the empty bar area. “They’re hiding behind the potted ferns with listening devices, just waiting for you to slip up. I bet this entire place has been mic'd up by your cult leader guy and they’re tracking the surveillance cameras as we speak.”
She’s right, the bar is deserted apart from the two of us. But old habits die hard and I’ve been hiding for a long time.
“You were a lot less snarky earlier,” I comment, forcing my shoulders to relax.
“And you were a lot more interesting, even though you have zero customer service skills.” She taps the bar with one perfectly manicured fingernail and I tuck my fingers under my butt so she can’t see the state of my own fingernails. They’re kept short but are probably still covered in random stains. I’m not typically self conscious about my appearance, since I spend most of my days alone in my workshop. But compared to Julia’s sleek style, I feel like a troll that’s just emerged from my cave.
“I’m exhausted,” she says. “We’re gearing up for the tour and really didn’t have time for an overnight pit stop in the ass end of nowhere. But Iri had one of his gut feelings about you and we all had to go along with it. No offense.” She doesn’t look at me as she says it, which adds to the lack of sincerity in her tone. “I love that guy, but seriously, sometimes I could just strangle him.”
I don’t know what to say. Do I apologize for living my life and being an inconvenience to hers?
I’m thinking no, I’m not gonna do that.
“So, are we celebrating? You don’t look like you are, but maybe you just have one of those faces.”
I shrug. “I was planning on heading home, but it seems my ride has disappeared.”
“Ah.” She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Were they the drunk girls hanging around the lobby? Or were they the party bus that turned up and wouldn’t stop screaming?”
“Uh, the first one, I think.”
“Well, everyone got turfed out. They were practically jumping on Dorian when he was trying to get in the elevator, and he hates that. Security got rid of all non-residents, so they probably headed to the bar down the street.” She eyes me before rummaging in her bag. “I can arrange a car for you, though. You should have said something when we were texting earlier and I would have gotten one of our people to pick you up.”
“Probably.” That would have been a lot easier than trusting Ally and Lila. “It just felt weirdly serendipitous they were already coming here. I should have known they were going to flake as soon as I got in the car, though.”
“Serendipitous, huh? You’ll get on with Iri if you start spouting all that nonsense.” Another eyebrow raise. “Didyou get along with Iri?”
“He seems... nice.”
She cackles. “No. He doesn’t. He scares the shit out of most people and he’s single-minded to a fault. What did you tell him?”
“That I’d think about it.”
“Boo.” She continues to rummage through her giant purse until she finds her phone. “Lame. So, shall I order you a car?”
I nod. Better than having to rustle up money for the cab fare.
“Great.” She’s already tapping away at her phone, not looking at me. “Chris will be here in ten minutes. You want a drink while we wait?”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she’s leaning across the bar and is ordering two shots of something that’s a weird navy blue color. Sliding one over to me once they’re poured, she shrugs.
“We’re either celebrating or you’re commiserating that I wasted three days and am going to have to put up with Iri’s grumpy ass if he doesn’t get his way.”
I take a sip and shudder at the burn as it slides over my tongue and down my throat. It tastes kind of like a weird mix between aniseed and vanilla. Not half bad.
“How long have you worked with the band?”
“Too long.” She slams her own shot and mimics my shudder. “About ten years. Ten years of touring and recording and writing and releasing. You know, they’ve done nine albums within that time. Nine tours and that’s just in the time I’ve been with them. No wonder they need a break. It’s just too bad the world doesn’t stop turning, and the label isn’t interested in any of that. They just don’t have another forty or fifty date tour in them.” She slips off her four-inch heels and groans, rubbing her feet. “I probably shouldn’t have told you any of that, but my guess is you’re good with secrets and I doubt you have anyone to tell mine to.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
