Translation: lie your ass off. When it comes to earning a living, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
“Absolutely, I could. I’ve spent most of my life around musicians. Including some signed to your label. Goats and Vandals are puppies by comparison.”
“Even Calix Quinn?”
I thought back to the scene in the foyer before.
“I’ve met him. I could definitely keep him on a leash.”
On a leash?I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.
He could verify these claims, idiot!
I smiled tightly at him, praying he changed the subject before I dug my grave any deeper.
Mr. Whelan steepled his fingers, tapping them against his lips as his eyes narrowed on me. A bead of sweat crawled down my spine, and I wondered if he had kids. The laser look he was giving me hadlie detector dadwritten all over it.
Show no fear, Tatum.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Miss King,” he said, sitting back with a sigh. “I hired Red String Riot’s new manager this morning.”
My heart stumbled as effectively as a racehorse whose hoof caught a rabbit hole in the final stretch, and just as devastating. I imagined calling Ma and telling her there would be no nurse. Hell, maybe I’d have to bite the bullet and move home to help out. It wasn’t like I had a job to keep me here anymore. Maybe I could find a bookkeeping job somewhere close to Ma’s place. IfI hadn’t been blacklisted, that was. And if they didn’t mind the fact that I had no reference from my previous employer.
Basically, I was screwed.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I stood and straightened my shoulders so he wouldn’t see the cracks that were spider-webbing across my composure.
“Thank you for your—”
“As it turns out, I have another band in need of management.”
“Another…?”
“And seeing as you’re already acquainted with the lead singer, I’m sure they’ll be keen to have you on as their new manager.If they know what’s good for them.”The last was muttered under his breath, seemingly more of a promise to the band not in attendance than for my ears.
With one hand cradling my elbow, he guided me from his office, across the foyer, and through the red double doors that held the secrets of the music industry. Maybe.
Chapter
Four
Calix
“Where the hell could he be?”Harvey, our lead guitarist asked, shaking his mohawked head.
The stupid ass landing strip was a mess of brassy bleach and faded blue spots because he hadn’t bothered to maintain it, but he refused to shave the thing off. He insisted it made him edgy. I thought anything except his natural mousy brown would be considered edgy. He had options that wouldn’t piss me off, for fuck’s sake.
I knew I was focusing on the wrong thing, but God knew where Tobias was. It wasn’t like he was my…okay, so he was my twin, but we hadn’t been able to do the twin psychic thing since we were kids. Drugs tended to fuck with the connection.
“He’ll be here. Try his cell again,” I growled, pacing to the door of the break room and back again, nerves making it impossible to settle.
What a shit-show of a day. Marisa had finally had enough of us and bailed, which put our tour in jeopardy, and Tobias was MIA. Again. Add onto that the fact that Ruby Dearlove, lead singer of Red String Riot, had just put her head in and threatened to cut my dick off if I wasn’t nice—whatever that was about—and I was ready to say ‘fuck today’ and go hide in my writing room. I really didn’t need this shit.
“Incoming,” Otis muttered from his seat beside the door, his hands not missing a beat of the riff he was toying with on his bass.
A moment later, my ears picked up the telltale clip of James Whelan’s signature Lucchese boots. A second, lighter set of footsteps beat double-time to our boss’s stride, and I wondered if he had the reception-bitch in tow. I sent a quick glare at Harvey just in case, which he flat out ignored. I knew he had fucked her and probably would again, but if he wasn’t more subtle about that shit, we’d get booted from the label. There was a fraternization clause in our contract. I’d checked. We were adults, and James was generally good about that stuff, as long as it didn’t become his problem. Unfortunately, Harvey had a habit of making his shit everyone’s problem.
“My favorite boys. How are we today? Writing new tracks for the tour?” James asked with a broad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. We were definitely in deep shit for Marisa.
