“Of course, I do! You passed on an opportunity to maximize your news.” Gus put his hands on his slender hips. “The next time you plan on making a public announcement, you run it by me first, got that?” He glared at Mike. “Who the hell is this? Some groupie you picked up on the road?” If looks could kill Mike would’ve dissolved into a puddle of goo on the expensive Berber rug.
Oh no, Gus didn’t! Killy stalked across the floor, bending at the waste to put himself nose to nose with the manager he’d avoided for the last three years. On the spur of the moment he made a decision. No new band for him. To honor his brother and his friend, Trickster would live again. “Trickster’s new bassist, that’s who!”
“Trickster’s what?” Gus peered around Killy to scowl at Mike. “Who is he? Has he ever even played with a band before? He’s a nobody.”
“Who the hell do you think you are, saying those things, and him standing right there?” Killy waved a hand to indicate the spot… Mike had fled. Damn it, this was not the way he wanted to introduce Mike to his world. Bad enough the man gripped the “oh, shit!” handle from the time they got close to L.A. until pulling into the driveway.
“I’m your manager, and the person responsible for your success.” Gus quieted, taking on a more rational tone. “Look, I know the business. Trickster made a name for themselves, can sell music on the name alone.” He blew out a breath and took a few steps back. “Fame can go away like that!” He snapped his fingers. “What you need are names fans know and trust, or even those they’ll tune in for simply to see if sparks will fly.”
“They had that with me and Rob Cassen. You saw how well that turned out.” In another hundred years Killy might be able to speak the bastard’s name without wanting to throw punches.
“Then how about tossing in some sexual tension, like we got from Rob and Elliot?” For somebody who thought he knew everything, he missed a hell of a fucking lot. Did he not see how Elliot died by inches with Rob? Until—
No. Killy couldn’t let that bubble up now. Not when he wanted to put a fist through a wall. Through gritted teeth he managed, “You know that podcast you’re so pissed off about?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a four-parter. You donotwant to miss the fourth one. Listen to it. Closely. Then come back and tell me how anything connected to that asshole is a good thing.” He stalked over the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out at the gardens he paid someone good money to maintain.
“You what?” Gus grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Killy glared at the offending hand until Gus shrank back. “I didn’t authorize any of those.” He tapped a finger against his chin and paced in a circle. “Let’s see. I can always say those weren’t really you…”
“What the fuck? You might be my business manager, but you have no business running my life!” Could Gus not have waited to come here? Killian was tired, needed food and a shower, and to make his man feel at home in a place even Killy didn’t feel comfortable.
Gus’s face took on a red hue. “Don’t I? Have you forgotten all the messes I’ve gotten you out of? The lies I told to get you out of events you didn’t want to do? Have you?”
Wait. What? Killy’s past formed a blur in his mind of booze, and sex, and music. “If you ran my life, you’re not going to now. I have the right to make choices.”
“Not at the expense of your career.”
Killy fought the urge to punch the wall. “What did you just say?”
“I said, ‘Not if you want to keep your career.’”
“The last two words.”
“Your career?”
“Yes.Mycareer. My career, my life, my choices. Now, Mike’s been playing damned near as long as I have, and you’re dismissing him without even giving him a chance.”
Gus threw his hands into the air. “He’s an unknown.”
“No, he fucking isn’t. He played for years with a band, just not one you’d know.” Not to mention the viral video of him back to back with Killy.
“Try me.”
Fuck. Killy should’ve known he’d push. He mumbled, “Raptured Roses.”
“What kind of name is that for a rock band?”
“Not rock. Gospel.”
“Gospel!” The deeply etched lines on Gus’s forehead relaxed. “Hmm… Former gospel singer takes a plunge into booze and alcohol, falls from grace, and now is finding his way again with the help of his understanding bandmates. This might work.”
“Gus! That lives thing again. You won’t run my life and you won’t run his.”
Gus crossed his arms across his chest. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
What? “That is none of your concern.”
