Broken Records Page 4

  “We always are,” Veronica says, biting down on a celery stick. In the two months I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen her eat anything else. Though, I know what it’s like to be pressured to have a certain image. I broke free of those restrictions, and my heart aches a little for Veronica since she’s currently shackled to the same constraints.

  “Yeah, you have nothing to worry about,” Marcia says with a convincing smile, though I’m not convinced.

  Not at all.

  My afternoon consists of nothing but phone calls. As I pass Jerome on the way to my office, he stands and starts muttering off the messages he’s taken during my lunch hour.

  “Unadulterated wants to reschedule their studio session tomorrow for an earlier time. Alex needs your approval on moving things around to accommodate. Jennifer Row has a demo she’s demanding you listen to. And the manager at The Core called saying that Corrosive Bouquet is playing at the club, and your father had them on his schedule to listen to the day he…”

  Jerome’s voice cuts off. I raise an eyebrow to him as I ease myself into my desk chair. “Died?”

  “Uh… yeah.” His jaw ticks as he pushes the off button on his tablet. “Your one o’clock is here. I’ll send him in.”

  I shake my head. “Give me a minute, will you?”

  His eyes quickly turn to amusement, and I realize my error by making the statement sound more like a question. When he doesn’t budge, just gives me that look I was just getting used to living without, I wave a condescending hand at him.

  “You can leave now.”

  His arms drop, the weight of the tablet in his hand pulling them to his hips. “I’ve sent your to-do list via email. Open it with—”

  “I know how it works,” I cut in, peeved that he still thinks of me as an incapable idiot. I may not know much about running a business, but I know how to work my damn email. “Get out.”

  He turns and leaves with a muttered insult under his breath. I could fire him on the spot, send everyone a message, but that leaves the same sick taste in my mouth as the one I had when I’d considered doing that to Paige. It’s probably because I agree with him—I really don’t know what I’m doing. Losing my assistant would be more detrimental than helpful at this point.

  I turn toward the wall-length windows that look over the hustle and bustle of the lunch traffic. I’ve yet to sign a band since I took my spot behind this desk. Each day becomes more and more difficult to listen to the drivel ringing from my headphones. There was a moment while thumbing through flash drives that I’d wondered how my father did it. Then I remembered that it was all he ever did, and it made sense again.

  I tap my spacebar to get the screensaver off my computer, and then open the to-do list Jerome sent to my inbox. Corrosive Bouquet… interesting band name. Probably wouldn’t have to rename it, something Dad always said was the worst part of negotiations. A small grin pulls my mouth upward as I recall the time he gave my mother and me the rundown of a particular band’s attachment to their name, Fiery Assholes.

  A chuckle slips out from the memory, and I punch in The Core’s website. The nightclub’s usual clientele is around twenty-two to twenty-seven with the occasional just-turning-thirty crowd. I consider asking one of my old buddies to go check it out, but considering that I haven’t spoken to any of my “friends” since the funeral, it may not be the best idea. They’ll be more likely to get wasted and pass out than actually check out the band’s talent.

  I pull up the payroll and go over the names on the list. Unfortunately, I’m still rusty on putting names to faces and positions they hold in the office. Who would be jumping at the opportunity or who would rather tell me to stick it? Then an idea hits as I scroll past Alex’s name.

  Internally patting myself on the back, I reach over to the intercom and tell Jerome, “Get Alex on the line. Tell him to send one of the interns to my office.” I almost tell him which one I’d prefer, but I click off before I slip up. Really, any of them can do it.

  The clock over my door ticks over to twelve fifty-eight, and I push from the desk chair and smooth my purple tie. I forgo the jacket today, with it being a toasty ninety degrees outside, and start unbuttoning my cuffs and rolling them to my elbows. I think fondly of my t-shirts I wore for my first few weeks as CEO, how comfortable I was using the shag area rug as a work space. I kick my past self for treating the job so casually; it’s no wonder they all thought I was a clueless juvenile who wanted to play at Daddy’s music label. Sometimes I feel like I still am that person. Now I’m just better at faking it.

  I settle my hand on the door handle and push it open, only to find the intern I’d been hoping for standing with her knuckles poised to knock. My gut takes a dive at her outfit, at her porcelain skin, her lovely exposed neck, and the mouth-watering scent of peppermint that swirls in the air around us. The image of her had faded over the few days I hadn’t seen her around, and now that she’s here, she’s more breathtaking than I can remember, and I have to shake myself out of it quick before I completely lose my shit in front of not only her, but Jerome and my soon-to-be meeting.

  A grin tilts my lips as I take in the rise and fall of her chest from labored breathing, and I then force my eyes upward. “Mastered the staircase, I see.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I was told the boss has been pretty impatient lately.”

  I catch Jerome’s amused half grin, and my smile fades quickly. Her wit may get me in trouble, so I clear my throat to get Jerome’s attention, and when he looks my way, I order, “Send in my one o’clock.” My gaze drifts over Paige, lingering on the exposed curve of her hip that peeks from between her wavy top and tight bottoms. A rush of warmth runs under my skin—something I have to ignore with every ounce of strength I possess. “This won’t take long.”

  My shoulders grow heavy as I wave her into my office and shut the door. Her eyes take in the simplicity of my large office, the view outside my ceiling-to-floor windows, and they finally land on me as I pass her and rest on the edge of my desk.

  “Plans tonight?” I ask her, and she tilts her head, her brows deeply furrowed.

  “I’m not going to fetch your dry cleaning after hours if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I hold back a laugh, allowing myself to enjoy her sharp tongue in the few seconds we’ll be alone. “I’ll keep that to your daylight duties then,” I tease. I’m rewarded with an adorable wrinkle above her nose. Shaking my head, I reach around to the tickets I printed out. “So, am I hearing that you don’t want any extra workload outside of office hours?”

  She eyes the papers in my hands. “How long is that list? Bet I can finish it before the day is out.”

  I tilt an eyebrow at her. She likes to assume a lot, and I admit… I like hearing her unfiltered thoughts about me. Her gaze drifts over my exposed forearms, and I see a visible gulp in her pale neck. I wonder if she’s nervous around suits for a reason, or if she’s seen the pictures of me from a few months ago, donning anything—and sometimes nothing—that wasn’t a suit, and she wonders where that version of Ethan Davis is.

  “I’m sorry… this job is for after hours.” I turn the printed tickets around. “I need someone to scope out a set that I can’t make it to. But if you’re only here for the day job, I suppose I could give it to one of the other—”

  She whips the tickets from my hands and studies The Core VIP passes. Then she raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Why me?”

  I silently laugh and cross to the other side of my desk. “Don’t let it get to your head. I didn’t ask for you specifically; any of you fresh go-getters would’ve been enough.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I take that as a yes?” I ask, as my office door opens behind her, and Kevin, the manager of one the artists I want, quickly apologizes for interrupting. I wave him in, letting him know that he’s not interrupting anything, and he shuffles into the office.

  Paige turns to glimpse at the man behind her, and her entire body stiffens. Recognition flashes between the
two of them, and the guy’s eyes widen at first, but then a slow smile creeps from under his stubble. My brows pull in as his eyes roam over the top of her head, and he lets out a small, humorless laugh that I don’t understand. Paige’s breathing quickens, climbing up to the rhythm it was when I’d first opened my office door. The air around us gets sucked out like a vacuum, making everything under my skin crawl with discomfort. With nothing but pure instinct as an excuse, I circle around my desk and step into Paige’s personal space, between her and Kevin. Don’t ask me why the hell I do this; it just feels like the thing to do.

  Paige’s eyes slowly tear away from Kevin and drift up to meet mine.

  “Are you good?” I ask, then quickly add when I see her eyes circle wide with surprise, “For tonight?”

  A watery wall raises in her green irises, and something fiercely protective rushes through my chest. For someone who seems so tough, there is a quiet vulnerability in those eyes. I almost cancel the meeting right then and there just to make that fear disappear, losing the potential—and much needed—business with Kevin’s well-known artist. All for this frustrating near-stranger.

  I stand helpless as her wide eyes blink, and I watch her mind slowly come back to the room instead of wherever her thoughts took her. She shakes her head, stepping back after realizing my proximity. The heated air evaporates instantly, the cold air between us knocking some sense back into me.

  “I got it,” she says. She spins on her heel and beelines to the door. I don’t get the chance to tell her that one of those passes is for whomever she’d like, but I’ll be the one assuming this time that she can figure that out for herself, and I quiet the part of me that wonders if she’ll bring a date.

  Kevin gives me an awkward grin as the door clicks shut.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s not every day you run into your long lost ex.”

  Something twists in my gut, and the protective beast starts to claw its way back out. “I take it things didn’t end well?”

  He lifts a nonchalant shoulder, apparently not interested in talking about it. Forcing my curiosity away, I allow myself a small smile and gesture to one of the seats. Time for business, and I’m going to try to ignore everything that just happened so that I can do this successfully. I clear my throat and when he takes a seat, I sit next to him, angled forward, resting my elbows on my knees instead of sitting behind my desk.

  My father taught me a lot of things, positive and negative, things I adhere to and things I flat out ignore, but I know this one works. When negotiating deals, make it seem like you’re on equal ground. This relaxes the other party, makes them think you won’t be moving things in your favor. I used it to pick up women—lots of them—and talk my way out of tickets, arrests, and the like. Since Kevin has one of the most up-and-coming Internet-sensations as his client and a vanity label that is determined to keep her on their list, I’m going to take my father’s advice. He may not have been around for his family, but the man knew how to run a business.

  “Now,” I say, putting my hands together, “let’s talk about Ruby Foxx.”

  ***

  It’s getting late, the sun slipping away and creating a navy glow into my office. I reach up and loosen my tie, slipping it from my neck. I let it sit in a crumpled heap on my desk next to a pile of demos and the first draft of a contract that Grant, our label’s lawyer, drafted up earlier.

  “We should go out,” Grant says, his thick thumb flicking through his phone. “Get a drink or something. You up for it?”

  It’s my first offer, so completely worth a celebration. Yet there’s a tight uneasiness in my chest, and I have to calm my breathing when my paranoia gets the better of me. My tie still feels like it’s near-strangling me, even though it’s now resting on my desk.

  I raise an eyebrow to Grant, wondering if he’s messing with me. It’s the first time someone who works in this building has invited me to anything. Gets lonely at the top, but… I think I was lonely before, just didn’t know it.

  I rock forward in my chair, reaching for my jacket. A night out sounds better right now than another with Pepper and Hulu.

  I moved three thousand miles across country so I never had to run into that pathetic excuse for a human being again. Yet somehow he winds up in my boss’s office at the exact same time as me. Did I do something in a past life and am being punished for it? Is someone up there looking down and laughing their ass off at my misfortune? Because it sure as hell feels like it.

  The only saving grace is the fact that I’m a mere intern wasn’t mentioned. I bet he and Rebecca would have a field day with that one. She moves on to be the next big thing with Kevin managing her the whole way, and I, the one who was supposed to make it, am bringing coffee to the people begging them to sign a contract.

  What makes matters worse is the first time my past catches up to me, Ethan is there to witness it. I can only imagine what my face looked like as the realization sunk into me. How pitiful I must have looked. God only knows what Kevin is telling him behind that door.

  A few months ago, something like this would have sent me into the bathroom crying and drowning myself in self-pity. Not anymore. I made a vow to myself when I got on that plane and flew out of JFK that I would never shed another tear for either of them again. They could die tomorrow, and I wouldn’t even sniffle.

  So I shoot a text to Jimmy, asking if he’d like to check out Corrosive Bouquet at The Core with VIP passes. I’m not exactly sure if Ethan meant to give me two, but there is no way I am going back into that office to find out.

  Jimmy texts back, telling me he’d love to. I probably could have been nice and asked one of the other interns like Nora or Josh, but after coming face-to-face with Kevin, all I care about is a night out with someone who understands why I’m ordering a martini.

  After work I make a quick stop to freshen up and brush my teeth at my apartment, reenacting a game of Frogger as my roommates dance around the living room celebrating again. This time for Sasha because she landed a diet pill commercial. She will be the after results.

  I let her spin me around a few times before spinning my way toward the door.

  “Congratulations again,” I say as I close the door behind me and hurry on my way.

  I pop my earbuds in and I listen to my top twenty playlist. It consists of songs that range from the 1920s to present day and represents what I believe to be the best of the best. Listening to these songs before going to check out new talent really helps me put things in perspective. All of the musicians on my playlist have that little something that makes them stand out from the rest. That makes them special. Not everybody has it. Not even the most famous musicians. But the ones that do are timeless, perfect, and they propel me to keep going after my dreams.

  The club comes into view, and I scan the crowd looking for Jimmy. I spot him by the front doors wearing a bold striped t-shirt of red, orange, and teal and a pair of ripped jean shorts that fit snug and stop above his knee. I give him a wave as I approach. He gives me a nod of acknowledgement and runs a hand through his blond hair, pushing it back into place. There’s a line snaking around the building and a massive man checking IDs.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Jimmy says as I approach, and he kisses both of my cheeks. “I was going to get in line, but it’s a far walk back there, so I figured I’d wait for you.”

  “We don’t have to wait in line,” I say, and Jimmy cocks a curious eyebrow.

  I hold up the passes. “VIP, baby.”

  He rips them out of my hand and smiles. “Who’d you sleep with to get these?” he asks with a knowing smirk.

  I pluck them out of his hold. “Do I look like a whore who sleeps her way to the top?”

  I would never, but if there is ever a guy who can make me drop my panties, it would be Ethan Davis. With those big strong hands and narrow hips that I know for a fact, thanks to the tabloids, form those sexy indents that are basically a runway to his most desirable part. Then there are those intense gray eyes
so full of mystery. I imagine, staring into them, holding his gaze as he takes me over the edge, sending me spiraling into the most delicious orgasm I’ve ever had.

  Where the heck did that come from? I almost smack my head to rid myself of the visions. Though, I’m not sure if it will do any good. Visuals as hot as that don’t just vanish so easily.

  Those hands and those eyes. No. Ethan is my boss, and that’s it. I refuse to mix business and pleasure even if it is in my mind.

  Jimmy holds his hands up in front of him. I almost forgot he was there, too lost in those erotic thoughts.

  “No judgment.” He scratches at the light stubble on his chin and I roll my eyes. “What exactly would someone like that look like?”

  “Not this,” I say, gesturing to my black skinny jeans and Ramones t-shirt that I cut into a crop top, and walk toward the bouncer at the door.

  “Back of the line,” the bouncer barks as if he’s been saying it to people all night.

  I wave the tickets at him and smile. “We have VIP passes.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” he says and unclips the red velvet rope to let us through. “Donny inside will show you to your table.”

  “Table?” Jimmy repeats and raises his eyebrows. “You sure you didn’t sleep with anyone?”

  “No!” I give him a good smack to his shoulder, and he laughs.

  Jimmy has impeccable taste in music, and I swear we’re kindred spirits. It’s such a shame he’s gay. We could’ve made beautiful, musically gifted babies together. Maybe if neither one of us finds anyone by the time we’re in our mid-thirties, I’ll throw the offer out there.

  I wonder what Ethan’s musical taste leans toward. What type of music really speaks to him? Reaches into his very soul and consumes him completely?

  A tall guy in a tailored navy blue suit with just the slightest bit of shine greets us, knocking me out of my thoughts. “You must be guests of Mr. Davis,” he says.

  “That’s us,” I answer.

  “Your table is to the left of the stage. Please follow me.”