Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Tatum
A tickle under my nose dragged me up through alcohol-sodden layers of consciousness the next morning.
As the sensation irritated my poor nostril again, I winced against the glaring light that painted my closed eyelids red.
Slapping at my face did nothing to alleviate the discomfort, but the soft snicker gave me the strength to crack an eyelid and glare at the evil provider of wine.
She grinned, tickling my nose again with a fistful of the blonde tips of my hair.
“Let me die in peace,” I grumbled, burying my face in the sofa cushion beneath me.
Ruby laughed, a tinkling, joyful sound that made me hate her. She’d had as much to drink the night before as I had but showed no sign of a hangover.
“Can’t, babe, your new life is calling. Take a shower and raid my wardrobe, because you’re rank right now and in no shape for an interview.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, sitting up gingerly and praying my head wouldn’t explode.
“You got an email from the record company this morning. They want you to come in for an interview. You’re totally going to be our manager!”
I rubbed my eyes and grimaced at the smear of black gunk that came off on my hand. I must have looked like a frazzled raccoon, and the conversation wasn’t helping matters.
“How do you know I got an email?”
“Tatum. Tates. Babe. You have the worst security of anyone I’ve ever met. Your passcode is one, two, three, four, for God’s sake.”
“Everything needs a stupid password these days. If I didn’t use an easy one, I’d forget it.”
Ruby gave me a rueful look and headed toward the kitchen. It was then that I noticed she was freshly showered and dressed for the day. How long had she been up?
“Go shower. I’ll put on the coffeepot, but no caffeine for you until you’re clean. You stink of alcohol and regret.”
“Regret doesn’t come out in the wash, you know,” I called after her, but dutifully got off my ass and headed into the bathroom.
After scrubbing my face, body, and hair with Ruby’s overpriced products, I finally felt like I was somewhere in the vicinity of human.
I wished I could stay in the white-tiled slice of heaven.
The thought lasted half a second before Ruby burst through the door with two coffee mugs in hand.
She carefully placed one beside the sink and rested her ass on the counter, cradling the other.
“You know I’m naked,” I said.
“You know you can’t stay there forever. We have to leave in twenty minutes to get you to your interview.”
I groaned and reluctantly shut off the water.
“How the hell am I supposed to bluff my way through an interview for a position I’m not qualified for while nursing a hangover?”
“Easy. Tylenol. There’s some in the drug cabinet.
My hairdryer is under the sink, and makeup is in the second drawer.
I’ve laid out some clothes on the spare bed.
Don’t worry if you look a little unkempt, that’s rock and roll, baby.
” Holding up her index and pinkie fingers, she winked and sashayed out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
“I hate you!” I yelled.
“Wrong! You hate to love me.”
The bitch was right. I loved the shit out of her.
“Take a seat. Mr. Whelan will see you shortly.”
The woman behind the desk was what you could generously term ‘petite’, and I wondered if she was sitting on a stack of telephone books behind the granite counter.
Her face was all angles, exacerbated by the severe bun she had scraped her blonde hair into.
Tiny hands with wickedly long manicured nails tapped in irritation as I took my time looking around before moving to a bench seat along one wall.
Behind me, Ruby’s band was pictured in various poses of ‘rocking out’. It was a comfort to feel like she had my back, even if the real Ruby had squirreled straight through the looming red double doors at the other end of the room with a hasty thumbs up and good luck.
On the opposite wall was another band poster, and no offense to Ruby, but these guys were much more interesting to look at.
So this is Goats and Vandals.
Front and center was a dark-haired god of a man with piercing blue eyes and a wicked smirk on his stubbled face. In the image, his hands were tucked into tight dark jeans, loosely holding a microphone by the cord so it dangled suggestively in front of his zipper.
Calix Quinn, the nameplate read. I wondered if it was a stage name. Maybe his mother knew he was destined to be a rock god from birth.
Beside him was a slightly thinner man with similar coloring.
Full-length tattoo sleeves turned his arms into a living canvas beneath a torn tank.
Without crossing the room, I couldn’t see them well, and something about that seemed like a crime.
He held a drumstick between his teeth and his pierced tongue, one eye closed in a vicious wink. Tobias Quinn.
Damn. These guys had seriously good genes. The brothers were flanked by two more delicious specimens, but before I had the chance to give them the attention they deserved, a buzzing in my purse stole my attention.
An irritated tsk and matching glare came from the mini tyrant guarding the interview room.
“Hey, Ma,” I answered my cell with a grimace, though I was thankful for the distraction.
“How are you this morning, sweetie? You’re sounding a little hoarse.”
“Just had a late night with Ruby, Ma. She got a big tour opportunity.” My head throbbed, as though reminding me that my hangover was muted, not gone, and I dug through my purse to reassure myself Tylenol was close at hand if needed. Pulling out my water bottle, I drank deeply.
Ma made impressed noises on the other end of the line. “Such a clever girl. I knew she’d go far. Give her my best, won’t you?”
“I will, Ma. Hey, is everything all right? I’m just—”
“Oh! Everything is fine. I had a call from that lovely girl at the nursing agency. I just wanted to check if the invoice had made it to your virtual mailbox.”
“It’s called an inbox, Ma.”
“I don’t want you to feel pressured if you’re busy. I know you have so many important clients who trust you with their money, and they have to come first, but if the letter didn’t make it to you, I can check your address and have them send it again.”
I flipped my cell to speaker and brought up my inbox while assuring Ma it was no problem. I felt a twinge of guilt about not having mentioned my current bankrupt status, but it would be a non-issue in an hour or so…provided I didn’t screw up this interview.
At the other end of the room, the huge red double doors crashed open. I jumped and fumbled my cell.
“Fuck you! Fuck this place, I’m done! You couldn’t pay me enough to make me stay on this sinking ship.
Enjoy your trip to Hell, fuckers.” A tall woman, built like a ballerina and dressed in Prada, stormed through the doors, turned, and started walking backward, flipping a double bird as she continued to scream obscenities.
Her face was almost as red as her perfectly coiffed hair, and I watched shamelessly as this goddess of a human being lost her mind.
My own brain melted into mush as the object of her ire came into view.
His hair is brown, not black, was my first thought as one of the Quinn brothers appeared in the open doorway.
Calix, I decided, as I eyed his tattoo-free forearms.
He watched the whole scene play out with cool detachment.
“Say something, you selfish prick!”
His tongue came out in a slow sweep, as though the louder she got, the less inclined he seemed to engage.
But God, I wanted him to. I wondered if his voice was as hypnotic in real life as it had been on the radio, or maybe what had held me captive had been synthesized.
They could do amazing things with technology.
Despite that, or perhaps because of it, I held my breath as his lips parted.
“I’m redeeming your card. From this moment onward, you do not know the name Goats and Vandals. If I see you again, I’m not responsible for what happens.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as the bluster drained out of the woman all at once.
Her arms coiled around her thin frame as though trying to hold herself together, and she stared at his impassive face for a long moment.
When nothing altered in his posture, she crumbled, then she turned and strode out the front door.
“Holy smokes, Tater-tots, please tell me that boy looks as good as he sounds.”
With a guilty startle, I rushed out a call you later to Ma and shoved my cell into my purse as a pair of steel-blue eyes swung toward me.
One perfectly shaped brow arched as he took his gaze on a lazy up and down, assessing whether I was of interest. On completion of his sweep, he smirked, full lips twisting into something not quite warm enough to be amusement.
Heat pooled low in my gut, and I prayed for the continued integrity of my panties. So I did the adult thing and flipped him a double bird.
He barked a laugh that made my clit pulse and flashed a full set of pearly whites, then disappeared back behind the red doors.
“I think he likes me,” I told the receptionist and received an eye roll for my trouble. Clearly, we weren’t destined to be best friends.
Her loss.
I clicked my tongue, feeling awkward as the silence grew stifling.
Click
Click
Click
Clock
Surveying the band posters around the room, I wondered if all of them were represented by the record label. It seemed like a lot, but who was I to judge? Despite what my resume said, I knew nothing about the music business except what I could find on Google during the car ride over here.
Clock
Clock
Click
The receptionist cleared her throat loudly, and I paused, mid-clock.
Oops.
Pursing my lips to keep from falling back into the tongue-clicking, I retrieved my cell from my purse and noticed the invoice Ma had sent was on the screen.
That’s a lot of zeros.
Who knew live-in nurses were so expensive? Shit, there was no other option. I needed to get this job.
“Ms. King.”