“Eventually. I probably would have thrown myself on Ruby’s mercy for coffee in the morning. Now you know my sordid story; tell me about you. How quickly should I expect everyone to know about my dirty laundry?”
Otis shook his head and nudged the pizza box toward me, waiting for me to take a slice before he spoke.
“The thing you need to know about our band is that we all have ‘dirty laundry’. No one will hear about your business from me unless it directly affects the band. As far as we’re concerned, do you really want the rundown?”
I nodded, keen to gain any insight he was willing to give on the guys.
“Okay then. Harvey’s a sex addict. He will definitely try to fuck you the first chance he gets. Toby’s a drug addict, which I think you could have guessed, and Calix is a control freak who hates to be touched.”
I raised a brow, thinking about Calix’s reaction in the parking lot earlier in the day. He certainly seemed to have his shit together, but running around after Toby would take a toll on anyone. Then again, there was probably a damn good reason Toby chose to get into drugs in the first place. No one picked up a substance and made a conscious decision to become addicted. For most people, it was the only way to escape a fucked-up world. I hadn’t spent any time with Harvey yet, but I certainly appreciated the heads up. That only left one more person.
“And you?”
Otis huffed a laugh as he toyed with the crust in his hand. “I thought that was obvious. I’m the one with the savior complex.”
I glanced at the greasy box sitting between us. It made sense. He knew how difficult Calix and Toby would have been today, and his first instinct was to check in on me. I suspected Ruby was involved in the plot, but he had still been the one to knock on my door.
“What else can you tell me?”
“The rest you’ll have to find out from the guys. It’s not my story to tell.”
I nodded. That was fair enough. The information he had given me would make my first week as their manager a lot easier.
“What about you? What’s your story?”
Otis hummed. Leaning back on his hands, he stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, a secret smile lifting the corner of his mouth. On the floor of an empty apartment, he managed to look like a god at rest, completely content with his surroundings.
“I was a bored private schoolboy who wanted an adventure. I had amazing parents, a great family, and opportunities galore. I was blessed to be in the position of wanting to find something to rebel against. Too spoiled to realize not everyone has the choice. Finding music, meeting the guys? They saved me from a life of self-sabotage. Now, instead of going out looking for a fight or destroying public property, I get to write edgy riffs and listen to true crime podcasts. The band is my family, and I think we need you as much as you need us. So this is me taking a chance onyou.” Otis locked his eyes on me, the need to trust me, to be right about me belonging with them written all over his face.
“Why are you so willing to trust me? Don’t get me wrong, you can. But I saw Calix kick Marisa out, and I doubt he’s going to open up any time soon.”
“He let you near Toby. He already trusts you more than Marisa. Besides, we have it on good authority that giving you a chance is in our best interests.”
“Ruby?”
“Ruby,” he agreed.
I smiled, imagining my best friend taking up for me against Calix and the others. “She’s the best.”
“She loves you. And in my experience, when someone is loved like that, it’s worth giving them a shot.”
I ducked my head as Otis’s form blurred, my throat tightening at the warmth in his gaze.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Pushing the pizza box aside, Otis shuffled around next to me, sliding my laptop between us so the screen was visible. “Now. Let’s make sure everything is set for us to roll out next week.”
The dim blushof dusk faded to twilight through my curtainless windows, and I found I almost missed the floor lamps as I debated standing up to turn on the overhead light. Otis didn’t seem to mind, despite the fact he was surely feeling the achein his muscles just as much as I was from having hunched over my laptop on the floor for the last… I checked the time at the bottom corner of the screen. Four hours. The time had flown in Otis’s easy company as he talked me through schedules and venue bookings, helping me make order of the mess my predecessor had left. I loved spreadsheets. Considered myself the queen of Excel, but Marisa’s notes had been more akin to a resentful stream of consciousness than any plans. We’d had to call several hotels and venues to confirm dates and times when the information was disjointed or, in some cases, completely missing.
Through it all, he hadn’t lost patience or spoken poorly of his ex-manager; he’d simply picked up his cell and placed a quick yet polite phone call, then continued with the schedule.
As he clicked the save icon and exited the spreadsheet, we both stretched our backs with a simultaneous groan.
“Nothing makes you feel old in your twenties like sitting on a hard floor for extended periods of time,” I groaned with a mock scowl.
His lips quirked in an amused smirk at my complaint.
“Wait until we’re on the road and sleep deprived. Your bones will creak, but you’ll be too tired to care.”
