Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Tatum
“I don’t like you.”
If I’d thought I’d made any progress with my new lead singer yesterday, his attitude since I walked into the studio had dispelled the illusion.
I was only halfway through my cooling cup of coffee, but I had thought a team meeting was a good way to start our new working relationship, seeing as everyone was present and accounted for, unlike the previous day.
Otis closed the door to the writing room, passing close enough to give my hand a squeeze of encouragement before he took a seat beside Harvey, whose hair was freshly dyed purple.
“You don’t have to like me; you just have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and counted backward from ten, thinking of all the reasons I couldn’t kill the obnoxiously good-looking man child in front of me before the tour even started. Money. I needed money. Think of the money.
“I should have let Ruby castrate you when she wanted to,” I grumbled, matching the icy glare Calix aimed at me.
“Is there a reason you’re thinking about my junk? That’s sexual harassment, Miss King.”
Harvey’s hand shot into the air, as though he were a schoolboy hoping for good grades.
“You can sexually harass me whenever you want. I actively encourage you to think about my junk. Feel free to really visualize it. Maybe fondle it a little—Oof.” He doubled over the arm Otis slammed into his belly, and I cast a look of thanks at the only person in the room who felt friendly.
After the awkward moment the night before, I half expected to be throwing myself at Ruby’s mercy again for coffee and a ride to work, but true to his word, Otis had been at my door at nine a.m. with two takeout cups of real coffee.
He really was an angel. Or maybe he hadn’t been lying about his savior complex.
I hoped this meant we could build a good working friendship in the days to come.
I was going to need all the help I could get with the other three.
“Let’s get this meeting done, shall we? I want to talk set lists for the first few shows. After that, we’ll discuss targets for the next album. I want to see what you have so far, and you can talk me through your process.”
“I’m not talking you through my process,” Calix said.
This whole thing was going just swimmingly.
How the hell could I manage a band that didn’t want to be managed?
Who would even sign up for something like that?
Oh. Right. I did. My cell beeped in my pocket, announcing an incoming email, and I took the distraction it offered.
It was from payroll, informing me that my first payslip had been submitted.
I was officially not broke.
Turning away from the combination of surly, lustful, apologetic, and blank stares of the band, I pulled up my banking app and sent through the payment to the nurse for Ma and Dad.
Relief vibrated through me as the payment confirmation flashed across my screen, and it was with a renewed sense of purpose that I turned back to the men who were going to toe the line whether they wanted to or not.
“We’re going out,” I announced, ignoring both Calix’s immediate refusal and the way Toby jumped up like he was ready to party.
I’d googled resources for dealing with addiction the night before, after Otis left, and downloaded an audiobook by some guy called Gabor Mate.
I hadn’t completely ruled out the idea of going to a Nar-Anon meeting, either.
The image of Toby the way I’d met him the day before had haunted my sleep when I wasn’t stressing that I’d fucked up with Otis already.
The logical part of my brain told me I’d done the right thing.
Getting into a relationship with the bassist of the band I’d just been hired to work with had trouble written all over it.
But the emotional part of my brain, which still felt the sting of everything Adam put me through, wondered if I shouldn’t have just taken the opportunity to see what it felt like to be desired.
Shaking off the thoughts, I led the band out to their van and held my hand out for the keys.
“No chance,” Calix said, skirting around me so he could slide into the driver’s seat. “Sit shotgun and give me directions, if you have to, but I’m driving.”
I shrugged and did as he asked. If this was going to work, we needed to find a way to do a little give and take. He might fight me at every turn, but if I was going to get all four of them through the tour, I’d have to learn to pick my battles.
As we navigated through downtown, Calix cast me increasingly distrustful looks until I insisted we pull over in a rundown part of the city.
I knew how it looked, and I could have immediately set their minds at ease.
Despite appearances, it was a relatively safe area.
Instead, I gave Calix a shit-eating grin and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Toby followed first, his eyes fixed on me as he scratched absently at his arm.
His hair was a mess, and a slight sheen of sweat glistened on his brow despite the cool breeze.
Otis came next, his golden curls appearing in the open car doorway.
Harvey was slower to emerge, his eyes darting around the street like he was prepared for anything from paparazzi to assassins.
As soon as Harvey straightened, I strode off.
I wouldn’t wait for Calix to grace us with his presence, nor was I going to listen to him tell me how much he didn’t trust me.
I’d prove my worth in time. For now, I would make them participate in a team-building exercise that would give me a sense of their performing styles.
Whether they wanted to or not.
Half a block away was a sign I couldn’t read. It was written in Mandarin, that was all I knew, but the language barrier had never mattered. It was the best Chinese restaurant in the state, in my opinion, and on Tuesdays there was another drawcard.
“I challenge you to Cringe Karaoke,” I announced as we were shown to a large round table in the middle of the room.
The restaurant was quiet at this time of day, staff milling about chatting or cleaning in preparation for the lunch rush. Near the door that led into the kitchen, a small, raised area of flooring had been set up as a stage with an old karaoke system for customers to show off their skills.
“What the hell is cringe karaoke?” Harvey asked, eyeing the setup like it might be carrying disease.
I snorted, thinking of what Otis had told me about his extracurricular activities. Harvey was definitely not a germaphobe.
“We take turns deciding on a karaoke song for each person. When your song comes up, you need to give the best performance you can. Extra points for cringiness. After everyone’s turn, the winner will be decided by popular opinion.”
Calix snorted, fingering a red Chinese lantern that hung above the table.
He was so freaking tall, he could have walked into it if he wasn’t paying attention.
But he was always paying attention, and his expression said he was less than impressed with the turn the day had taken.
Well, screw him. He hadn’t tried the sweet and sour pork.
Actually, maybe it would improve his mood a little.
“There’s no point in the competition. We all know who will win.”
His smirk said everything about his opinion on the others’ chances.
“We’ll ask the staff to vote. That way there’s no bias. Also, don’t get too cocky. You haven’t heard me sing yet.”
It was a bluff. My singing had been compared to a dying cat in the past. Thanks, Ruby. But he was so damn smug.
“We’ll see,” was all he said as he wandered up to the stage and returned with a binder full of song options.
A waiter came to take our order, and despite the language barrier, I managed to request their services as judge while also securing fried rice and egg rolls.
We acquired a book of matches to draw straws for the first performance, and then we began.
Otis drew the short straw and started us off with a really freaking good rendition of Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me”.
His voice didn’t have the same quality that Calix’s did, but he was pitch perfect, and he carried the notes with a quiet confidence.
I felt a small pang of guilt listening to the lyrics, but how arrogant would it be to assume he was pining for me after one afternoon together?
Besides, Harvey had picked the song for him.
Harvey was up next, and it was immediately apparent he was more comfortable in the spotlight. He took the microphone from his best friend and stood center stage as he waited to find out what song Tobias had picked for him. As soon as the synthesized drum beat started, he barked a laugh.
“You fucking Rick Rolled me, Toby?” He shook his head at the tatted twin as he sang the first line, strutting across the mini stage like it was Madison Square Garden.
Unlike Otis, Harvey missed some notes, more caught up in showing off for the kitchen staff who had come out to watch than he was concerned about singing well. When he finished, the growing crowd clapped and cheered as Harvey tried to pass the mic on to Toby.
“Nah, I’m going to sit this game out,” he said, waving Harvey away.
“Come on, man. We’re all doing it. Even Tatum.”
“I’ll go.”
Calix snatched the microphone from Harvey and strode toward the stage like he owned the whole damn place.
Arrogance didn’t begin to describe the look on his face as he turned around and glanced toward the guy operating the karaoke machine.
Like the poor man had any idea he was dealing with a rock god.
The music started with a blast of trumpets, and the smirk on his face melted into the biggest, fakest grin I’d ever seen.
Donny Osmond had nothing on the charisma that oozed from Calix.
He put his all into bopping and strutting across the stage, putting Katrina and the Waves to shame as he made everyone in the restaurant believe he was the only one who ever walked on sunshine.
What. The. Hell.
That was the moment I realized how truly dangerous Calix Quinn was.
He wasn’t just a talented musician. He was a chameleon.
An actor who could pull people to him in a way that not many performers could without the support of voice modulators and visual effects.
Using only a shitty karaoke system in a small, rundown Chinese restaurant, he convinced everyone—even those who couldn’t speak English—that he was a sweet, charming man singing to his love.
My heart thumped as he turned his megawatt grin on me, belting out the last line of the song, and I raised a brow in response, pretending he hadn’t just melted my panties right off me. Because that would be highly unprofessional.
And he would absolutely use the knowledge against me.
As soon as the music ended, the smile dropped off his face. He slid the microphone into the stand and returned to our table.
“I think it’s your turn, Tater-tots.”
I slid him a look that I hoped conveyed all the not going to happen that I was feeling.
“Now that I’ve got a sense of your stage presence, let’s talk set lists.”
Calix sighed and reached for a fortune cookie as I pulled out a notebook and forced the band to do some business.