Chapter Two
HOLLIS
Hendrix Creed is in my nightclub.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. I’ve known about Manic at Midnight’s visit for months.
Ever since their publicist reached out to us about booking the VIP lounge during their tour stop in Nashville, Jonas Ellery—my business partner and best friend—and I have been prepping for their arrival to make sure it goes off without a hitch.
Of course, back then, I had no idea Hendrix would be part of the equation. That bomb was dropped about two weeks ago after he took over for the band’s bass guitarist, and I’ve been dreading this day ever since.
“You gonna pop in and say hi?” Jonas asks as he steps into my office.
My eyes are glued to my monitor. I don’t even bother looking up to acknowledge him. He walks behind my desk, but he already knows what I’m looking at so intently.
“Fuck, no,” I answer, watching my former best friend toss back a drink with Asher Knight, one of the most famous rock stars in the world.
A mixture of emotions swirls around inside my gut. Sadness, regret, pride. A touch of jealousy.
“So you’re just going to sit back here and watch him all night like a stalker?”
“It’s not stalking. I’m making sure my VIP guests are well cared for.”
“That’s what we have employees for, Hollis.”
I lean back in my chair and run a hand through my unruly hair.
God, I need a haircut. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I say, “I told you I didn’t want to see him.
He’s touring with one of the biggest bands in the world.
I highly doubt he gives a shit about the poor kid he hung out with in high school. ”
I continue to watch the monitor feed. Although the video isn’t as detailed as if he were right in front of me, it’s enough that I can see just how much Hendrix has changed in the last twelve years.
Back in high school, he was always popular and good-looking, but now he looks like he belongs in that room.
I’m sure his dad is proud.
He laughs at something I’m assuming Asher said, but his blue eyes are set on a curvy brunette over by the blackout glass who’s chatting with one of the other band members.
“You were more than just some kid he hung out with,” Jonas reminds me, sitting on the edge of the desk.
He is dressed to the nines tonight in a fitted Dolce & Gabbana suit.
Jonas loves a good suit, and when he swaggered into my office in sapphire blue, bragging about how his wife was gonna devour him later, I just rolled my eyes and ignored him.
He smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle on his lapel.
“And who cares what he thinks? Don’t you think you deserve some…
I don’t know, closure after all this time? ”
I wince, sometimes regretting how much I’ve shared with Jonas over the past few years. But he’s someone I can be myself around, and for me, that’s rare.
I met Jonas right after I moved to Nashville. For most of my twenties, I hopped around from city to city, but when I started bartending for Jonas at one of his restaurants downtown, everything changed.
Within a year, I was managing several of his properties, and then when he decided to open Velvet, he offered me a partnership. We’ve been best friends since.
I’ve only ever had one other official best friend in my life, and he happens to be enjoying a single malt whiskey in my club at this very moment.
I shake my head, sadness seeping into my voice. “I’m not entirely sure I do.”
The brunette Hendrix is fixated on begins to walk toward the stairs with the band member she was speaking to. Hendrix watches her closely and then moves to position himself in front of the blackout glass.
“I think your boy has a crush.”
“He’s not my boy,” I snap, scrolling through the various cameras until I get the angle I need.
It’s not hard to find the brunette. The band member she’s with—the drummer, I think—is huge.
He must be six and a half feet tall and built like a fucking tank.
They’re in the middle of the dance floor, and his hands are all over her.
“Not anymore. And can you please focus? I don’t think we exactly prepared for the mayhem that will ensue once that guy is recognized on the dance floor. ”
Jonas leans down to get a better view. “Eh, seems like it’s fine.
When I did my research on the band, it seemed like Darius—that’s him.
” He points to the dude on the screen. “Doesn’t have as big a following as the two leads, so he probably won’t garner as much attention.
Plus, we handpicked most of these people. They’re used to seeing celebrities.”
“Most being the operative word. Some of them insisted on bringing guests.”
He blows out a breath. “Downside of having an exclusive club—it’s filled with a bunch of rich, entitled assholes.”
“Don’t you mean a bunch of rich, entitled asshole’s kids?”
He shrugs. “Oh, come on. I threw in a few tech bros and models to keep it interesting. Oh, shit—”
My eyes fly to the camera just as Hendrix comes onto the middle of the dance floor. Where the fuck did he come from?
“What is going on?”
“I have no clue, but I think it has something to do with that guy right there.” He points to some random guy on the dance floor.
“Where the fuck did Darren go?”
“Darius,” Jonas says.
“Huh?”
“The drummer. His name is Darius. Didn’t you research the band?”
“No,” I grumble. Hendrix looks pissed and appears to be yelling at the guy.
The brunette is visibly upset. “I was too busy making sure we had extra security and top-shelf booze. Shit, do you think we should get Matteo?” Matteo is in charge of our security and would be either in the security room or making rounds.
Before Jonas can answer, the guy who appears to be wasted quickly scurries off.
Hendrix’s gaze drifts and, for a split second, I swear he looks directly at me.
I freeze and watch him through the security feed, instantly feeling like I’ve been transported back in time.
I can practically smell the salt of the ocean, hear his mom’s musical laughter floating through the house, and see his sister’s shy smile as we walk side by side down the beach.
I clear my throat, feeling a bit embarrassed when I realize he was looking at the bar where Darius had taken up residence.
Some kind of emotion flickers across his face before he shifts his attention back to the brunette, and a moment later, they head toward the VIP suites near the back of the main floor.
“Looks like he took care of it all by himself,” Jonas says. “And he even got the girl.”
“Everything worked out then,” I mutter, rising from my seat. “It always does.”
Especially when your last name is Creed.