String Me Along (Learning to Love Series), page 5
I knocked back the second drink Fran had silently handed me, my guardian angel sensing I’d need it. Meanwhile, Adrian’s deep, smooth voice sank into my skin until I wasn’t sure I’d ever get it out.
When his song ended, he let his guitar hang from its strap and wrapped his fingers around the mic, pulling it close to his mouth. “I’m going to take a short break, so make sure you see Fran for some drinks. Thanks, guys.”
A short burst of applause broke out, and then he leaned his guitar against a speaker and hopped off the stage. Oh, so he did know how to treat his fans decently. It’d just been me he was a jerk to then. Lovely.
I gripped my empty glass and watched him grab a water bottle from the small, square table to the side reserved for the musicians. His throat bobbed as he chugged it, but he immediately dropped it as people edged his way, wiping his stupidly perfect lips and thanking them as they tucked bills into his tip jar.
Doubt crept into my chest. Adrian didn’t look like an asshole right now. With his cheeks flushed, a sheen across his forehead from the overhead lights, and a spark of adrenaline in his eyes, he looked sexy and…normal. Nothing like the man I’d met here the other night.
Maybe there really was a chance he’d just been having a rough go of it the first time we met. It didn’t make how he’d treated me okay, but I could understand a bad night. Lord knew, I’d had plenty myself. I could give him one more chance and compliment his set.
That’s something a casual, I’m-not-trying-to-sleep-with-you, fellow musician would do. Right?
Squaring my shoulders, I worked my way through the crowd, forcing my face to relax so I wouldn’t ruin everything by accidentally glaring at him. But I froze a few feet away when I belatedly realized he wasn’t alone.
Someone else had beaten me to him and was already at his table, raving about his performance with a familiar string of fake ass compliments I knew all too well.
Larry fucking Bosenet.
“See? What’d I tell you, Adrian? With a voice like yours, I told you they’d eat it up. I’ve never seen a tip jar fill so fast by the first break. You’re by far the best musician they’ve seen here.”
Adrian, currently checking something on his phone and frowning, didn’t so much as look up to acknowledge him, but Larry’s words stuck in my head like super glue.
With a voice like yours…
You know I think you’re the best musician in town…
He’d lied to me. Jemmy’s had never double-booked. He’d double-booked. Purposefully, so he could squeeze me out and his new golden ticket in.
I wasn’t sure why it surprised me, why it hurt so much, but it did. I wasn’t Larry’s biggest fan, mostly because he annoyed me, but I never thought he’d just…replace me.
You had to have a thick skin in this profession, I knew that. I also knew that you could be replaced in an instant if you weren’t what people wanted any longer, but that hadn’t been the case at all.
My shows were always filled with fans, and my tip jar was never barren. Larry had simply found someone he thought would garner even more and lied about it.
And the truth of that fucking stung.
Besides Madison and Jamie, Larry was the only person I knew in this state. Hell, the entire eastern coast. I didn’t count Ken or the drivers at work since they knew nothing about my life outside of the office.
And I guess, I’d just thought, weaselly though he was, that Larry would at least have my back when it came to music.
The longer I stood there, staring at him gush over Adrian, the more the hurt sank away somewhere deep in my chest, and my anger rose to the surface.
And for a reason I couldn’t explain, it zeroed in on the back of Adrian’s head—not Larry’s. Because, in the end, it all boiled down to him. It was his fault Larry had booked him over me.
Had he taken my spot on purpose because I’d pissed him off, or had they already been talking about it that night before I’d approached him?
It was one thing for an agent to book whoever would make them the most money—business was business—but for a musician, especially a seasoned one, to knowingly steal a gig from another? It was shady as hell. But I guess professionalism was another thing this jackass lacked.
As I continued to glare at the back of his unruly blonde head, Adrian’s back tensed, and he straightened, spinning to look over his shoulder. And like he’d known I was there, his icy blue eyes locked with mine, not so much as blinking, even as patrons walked between us.
I don’t know what he saw in mine, but something flickered across his gaze as we stared at one another. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t so much as want to say two words to him. Not even the insulting kind.
So instead, as he took a step toward me, I raised my hand straight out in front of me and flipped him off. He paused, surprise coating his expression before he blinked it away. He tipped his head, his eyes running down my form and back up, sparking when they landed on my face again.
But he said nothing, nor did he come closer before he twisted away from me. He hopped back on stage, animatedly talking to the crowd and meeting my gaze again as he picked up his guitar and slung the strap over his body.
I narrowed my eyes at his challenge, and I could’ve sworn the corner of his lips tipped into a smirk as he began playing. “All right, let’s get back at it, guys. I got a few good ones lined up for you, but this first one goes out to all the sore losers in the world…”
Then he opened his mouth and belted out a string of lyrics that had me seeing goddamn red.
I spun away, aiming for the bar and yanking out my phone. I’d settle my tab, schedule a car to come pick me up, and go straight home to bed.
Then tomorrow, after I’d rested and made Madison bring me back to pick up my car, I’d figure out what I wanted to do about Adrian jackass Waters.
Because what I wanted to do was bury him alive.
“He didn’t.”
“He did.”
“He looked right at you when he said it?”
I nodded.
Madison growled, her crochet hook going in and out of the green baby blanket she was working on with violent intensity. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have thrown a tomato at his arrogant face.”
I shot her a look over my glasses, resting my pen against my chin. “And just where would you have gotten the tomato, Mads?”
Her hands paused, and she huffed, yanking more yarn from the skein tucked next to her thigh. “I’m a mom. You’d be surprised what I carry in my purse.”
A low chuckle came from the floor, where Garrett leaned against the couch, rubbing her feet. I just shook my head and stared at the words I’d written in my notebook.
It was Saturday morning—well, early afternoon—and the only reason the three of us had shuffled out of our rooms when we did was to hold off the inevitable headaches we’d have had if we didn’t consume caffeine.
Me, because I had, in fact, not gone straight to bed, and had instead laid there picturing a multitude of scenarios that involved Adrian falling off the stage and breaking his perfectly straight nose. And Madison and Garrett because it’d been date night. Enough said.
Jamie had stayed the night at his grandparents and wouldn’t be home for another hour, so we’d all made our way into the living room to consume the holiness that was a first cup of coffee.
I’d snuggled next to Sadie with the intent of writing music, but I’d only gotten a few lines down before Madison asked me how the night had gone, and I’d let loose about the entire ordeal.
“Well, Adrian seems like a jerk,” she continued, setting her blanket down to comb her fingers through Garrett’s brown hair. “But maybe Larry really was just trying to give Jemmy’s whatever they wanted to keep them happy.”
I shot my head up, but she held up her free hand. “I’m not saying it was right. He should’ve been honest with you about it. My point is, maybe it was just a random chance. Jemmy’s wanted to offer a different voice, and Adrian happened to be in town.”
She shrugged, picking the blanket back up. Garrett stood smoothly from the floor and sat on the couch next to her, gathering up Rugsy and plopping her in his lap.
I ran my hand down Sadie’s back, giving her a few scratches behind her ears. “What I want to know is why he’s in town. It’s not like there’s anything special here. And if he was just visiting family or something, why would he want to work?”
It didn’t make sense. Considering what I made in a single night here, he had to be making extremely good money at the large venues he played at. So, unless he was extremely bad at budgeting his money, or had a drug addiction, I couldn’t imagine he needed the extra cash a random, small gig would bring in.
“Maybe he’s running from a crazy ex,” I mused, noticing Garrett’s arm tighten around Madison’s shoulder as I said it.
“Or from a city gang he owes money to,” she said. “I’d be an ass, too, if I was fearing for my life. That would certainly be your go-to,” she added, laughing.
“Whatever,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes and burying my face into my coffee. I didn’t want to talk about his reasons. I didn’t want him to have one. I just wanted to hate his stupid, attractive guts. “Larry still lied, and Adrian still ignored me to my face and then said that shit on stage.”
“Yeah, well, men are cavemen—ow!”
I glanced up at her shriek to see Garrett’s hand pulling away from where he must’ve pinched her side.
She smacked his arm and said something about pinching his nipples just before he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. I shook my head, ignoring them, and set my coffee down, squinting at the lyrics I’d been playing around with.
They were good, something the crowd would like, but there was something about them I didn’t love. They just seemed so similar to every other sappy love song I played.
I wanted something different, something with more oomph to it. I just didn’t know what. Irritated, I tossed my notebook and pen onto the coffee table and leaned over my lap, rubbing my temples. It wasn’t a good sign that I already wanted to go back to bed.
My phone gave a quick staccato vibration on the cushion next to me, startling Sadie. I laughed, patting her side as I picked it up to check the text.
Larry: How do you feel about playing at Meg’s downtown martini and cigar bar next Friday?
My nostrils flared, and my fingers clasped my phone so hard I accidentally took a screenshot of the snake in the grass that was Larry’s text.
“What’s wrong?” Madison asked, tossing her bundle into Garrett’s arms, and scooting toward me to read over my shoulder.
I didn’t reply, my thumbs too busy flying across the screen.
Me: Can’t. I’m scheduled at Jemmy’s.
Larry: Not anymore. Jemmy’s liked changing things up last night and wants to do it again next weekend.
Me: Jemmy’s or you?
Larry: You know I love you.
Larry: Sorry, honey.
Larry: Let me know about the martini bar, though.
Larry: And don’t forget about the party on Sunday.
I watched each text pop up in our thread, Madison reading them along with me.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Adrian apparently hadn’t bothered telling Larry that I’d seen them last night. So, like an idiot, the lies just kept coming. It had nothing to do with Jemmy’s. Larry was the booking agent. He was the one working with Adrian, not them.
“What party is he talking about? A private event or something?” Madison asked, still looking at my phone.
I shook my head, speaking between gritted teeth. “No, it’s like a get-together for a bunch of musicians and agents. It happens every few months, usually around holidays. This one’s theme is Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, yeah. I vaguely remember you mentioning something about that. Are you going to go or tell Larry to shove it?”
I continued glaring at my phone, willing his messages to go away. “Both.” Free food and drinks and the possibility of finding a new agent? No way I’d turn down that opportunity.
Madison rested her chin on my shoulder, leaning her temple against mine. “Carrying an emergency tomato in my purse doesn’t sound like such a bad idea now after all, does it?”
“Better make it two of them.”
Chapter Five
The party was held downtown at a fancy, high-dollar venue with a red suit-clad gentleman offering valet parking to those who could afford it.
Since I was definitely not one of those who could afford it, I found the closest parking garage, parked my car in a crevice only motorcycles and tiny, red Miatas could fit into, and slipped on my Bad Bitch Shoes.
Tucking my parking ticket into my gold clutch, I buttoned up my favorite pale green, fur-cuffed coat that I’d snagged at a thrift shop and made my way to the event, the drone of traffic drowning out the sound of my heels on the sidewalk.
Besides the typical chill of the January breeze that made my breath puff out before me, it was a fairly nice night and still light enough out that I felt comfortable walking downtown alone. Madison would’ve strangled me, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.
The outside of the building was nothing to write home about. A plain, gray rectangle hidden behind bushes and trees with no visible windows. It looked more like a storage facility for cardboard boxes than anything else.
But when I gave my name at the door and stepped over the threshold, the inside made up for it in every way.
It was a large, warehouse-like room with one wall—the back one I hadn’t been able to see from the door—made of solid glass, while the others reflected an image of a sunset view from projectors on the ceiling.
A combination of couches and tables were sporadically situated throughout the room, with the bar tucked into the back, right corner, and the catering tables a few feet from there. Soft orchestra music played through the speakers, and the serving staff smoothly sailed past, prepping the tables for the incoming meal.
The event was funded by several agents, restaurants, and other businesses in the area, and was decorated as gag-worthy, lovey-dovey as I’d feared. Various shades of pink, roses, and heart cutouts were everywhere I looked. I wasn’t sure who the actual coordinator was, but he or she needed to be replaced, pronto.
However, once I could swallow my disgust and see past the cupid barf, the venue was gorgeous. I could only imagine what the actual sunset would look like coming in through the large glass wall.
Sliding off my coat, I folded it in half and draped it over my arm while I made my way toward the bar, where they had rows of bubbly champagne flutes.
Tonight, I’d opted for showstopper and had chosen a midnight blue, fitted dress that hugged the wide flare of my hips and ass, paired with glittery, four-inch heels. My hair was piled on top of my head in a messy updo with rogue strands framing my face, and I was rocking my usual smokey eyes and red lipstick.
If Adrian and Larry thought they could dim my shine, make me hide in a corner, and accept anything less than what I deserved, they’d be sadly mistaken.
There were at least three other agents I’d recognized so far, and even a few well-dressed business owners I was determined to introduce myself to. Connections, connections, connections. That’s what I was here for.
Well, that and the free booze. I didn’t even care that it was dry champagne. Anything was a step up from the boxed wine I’d be drinking if I’d stayed home.
Grabbing two half-filled flutes, I topped one off with the other, so it was filled to the rim, and tucked the empty one back among the others. It wasn’t my classiest moment, but I certainly wasn’t going to hike across the room every time I wanted another half-empty glass.
I took a sip, grimacing at the flavor, and twisted toward the hors d’oeuvre spread to take a peek at what they had. As I meandered past tables and people, I nodded at two musicians I recognized, Keith and Shawnie, but didn’t bother stopping to chat.
Keith was knocking on forty and was a full-time musician, and Shawnie was in her first year of teaching kindergarten, post-college. They were both nice—to my face, at least—but they weren’t the ones I needed to buddy up to tonight. Both sang strictly country music and played at very different events than I did. And although Madison often said my voice was made for country, it just wasn’t my thing.
Reaching my goal, I grabbed a white plate and loaded it with a handful of strawberries, eyeing the chocolate fountain next to them. Ninety-eight percent of my mind knew chocolate fountains were filled with the germs of a multitude of strangers, but the other two percent of me ignored that fact and shoved a berry into the waterfall of deliciousness anyway. The party had just started, and ignorance was bliss sometimes.
Trying not to moan over the chocolate strawberry explosion on my tongue, I caught sight of Larry a few yards away, running his mouth to a thin, older woman rocking a purple pantsuit.
He met my eyes over her shoulder and waved eagerly, only to falter when I did nothing but glare in return and turn my back to him. If he was too stupid to realize I was onto him, he was too stupid to represent me. Good riddance.
Drink in one hand, a plate of strawberries in the other, I wandered around, searching the nameplates for my spot. Besides the delectable berries, I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and I was more than ready to drop into a chair, get a little tipsy, and stuff my face with fancy food.
The smells alone were making my stomach cave in on itself. Some kind of baked chicken with a plethora of side dishes, from what I’d heard some people around me saying.
Finally finding my name scrawled in loopy cursive on a folded piece of cardstock, I hooked my coat over the back and slid into my seat. The table was tucked close to the back wall, and my designated seat put my back to the room, which was fine by me for the moment. I’d network after food when everyone was full and relaxed.
Setting my drink and clutch down, I shook my head at the center display. The table was covered in a pale pink tablecloth with an enormous pink and white flower display in the center. Little heart-shaped confetti littered every inch, and tiny bottles of cheap rosé adorned the plates.
