Текст книги "So I Married a Rockstar: A Bad Boy Romance"

Автор книги: Marina Maddix

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

"Well, that's the last hospital in the area," Savory says, punching off his phone. "Lauren, any luck with the cops?"

I've been on hold for ten minutes, waiting for someone to help me. I'm about to answer Savory when a bored female voice comes on the line. I hold my finger up as I listen.

"What was the name again?"

"His legal name is Draymond Maxwell but he also goes by Drax."

I hear tapping. "Nope, he hasn't been booked in the last twenty-four hours."

"Okay, than–" She hangs up on me before I can finish thanking her. The rudeness doesn't even register on my radar. Every nerve in my body has been shredded over and over again today. I'm numb.

"Anyone try the morgue?" Jake is diddling on his guitar again, using an empty beer bottle as a slide. His tone doesn't suggest even a hint of concern for his bandmate but maybe the six beers he's had in the last two hours have dulled his senses.

"Wow," I breathe, amazed at his callousness. But I search on my phone for the number and call it anyway. My stomach is in knots dialing the number and I can feel myself blanching when I imagine the worst news.

After Savory told me I was the best thing to ever, kinda, possibly, maybe happen to Drax, I laughed him off. I mean, come on. How ridiculous is that? I'd had more conversations with Savory than Drax. How was it possible anyone could know so quickly that we'd be good together?

But I can't deny, as stupid as it sounds, the idea made me glow a little inside. And now I was calling police stations and morgues trying to locate his body.

Fun times.

"No one matching that description, ma'am. Hope you find him." I let out the breath I'd been holding and nearly laugh with relief. But this situation is far from funny.

Savory meets my eyes, dread finally registering in them. For all his talk earlier, I can see it all over his face that he's worried, and not just about Drax's safety. Marvin has been an absolute ass for the last two hours, popping his head in every fifteen minutes to let everyone know how much time they have left before they're set adrift without a lifeline in the vacuum of the music industry.

Oh, and here he is again, right on time. "Five more minutes, kids," he trills, a wicked grin making him look even crazier than before. Thank God he leaves.

I glance at the wall clock – 9:55. There's absolutely no way Drax can make it on stage in time to make Marvin's deadline, even if he walks in right now. We're all screwed.

"Guess I better go let the facility manager know it's official." It's the second to last thing I want to do. The last is what I have to do right after that: Call Harry.

I leave Savory and Jake in the green room and go off in search of the facility manager. Nice enough guy but he wasn't very happy when I told him earlier that we might have to issue about 8,000 refunds. Not that he won't get what he's owed – it's not his fault the show has to be canceled – but it's a major hassle, and his employees will be the ones to field most of the irate complaints.

The opening band was instructed to go long, and they're still screeching away out on stage, but everyone backstage looks like they're watching a funeral. In a way, they probably are.

Roadkill was the horse to beat in the 'up and coming' ranks, but this kind of screw up is likely to do more than simply hobble them. If word gets around they're unreliable and hard to work with – a threat Marvin's made plenty of times tonight – the band will be blackballed entirely. They'll be lucky to do bar mitzvahs and high school dances.

I'm sick to my stomach, and all I really want to do is curl up in my bed and cry myself to sleep, but I still have work to do. So what if I won't have a job for too much longer? I'm not going to slack off my responsibilities because of a little thing like unemployment. If anything, my impending departure from Harry Stephens Productions makes me want to finish this thing as professionally as possible.

I find the facility manager in a shadowy corner sipping from a flask. He takes the news well and only stumbles a little on his way to warn his security people. The opening act finishes and the crowd erupts. They're salivating in anticipation of seeing Roadkill live, and I wonder what they'll do when they hear the news.

"Boy, I feel sorry for the poor chump who has to break it to them," I mumble as I head back to the green room, but a noise stops me. It's hard to hear over the crowd chanting "Roadkill! Roadkill! Roadkill!" but I think I hear someone saying Drax's name from nearby.

I lean in close to a thick black curtain. Frank Swat, the drummer, is on the other side talking to someone. Why on earth would anyone come out here to make a phone call? Assuming they wanted to hear the person on the other end of the line, that is. I can't stop myself from listening in.

Yeah, I know. I'm too nosy for my own damn good. Sue me.

"No, I swear. Friday after the show." Long pause. "Man, I can't. Thanks to that dickmunch, we won't get a dime from this stop. I need a little more–" Another long pause. When he speaks again, I can barely hear him but there's no hiding the fear in his voice. "Yeah, got it."

"So long, fellas," Marvin Harmony shouts into the green room. "Good luck with your careers. You're gonna need it!"

I hid behind the curtain, waiting for Frank to leave, and lucky me, I'm just in time to see Marvin's grand exit. He spins around and spots me walking up. His hair is wilder than ever but he has an almost gleeful look on his haggard face.

"Ah, you." He hasn't once used my name. "You better get to it."

"Get to what?" As seems to be my habit today – most days, if I'm being really honest – I'm clueless. All I have left to do is call Harry so he can fire me. But Marvin is looking at me like I'm the town idiot. He's probably not wrong. Then he bursts out laughing.

I'm starting to get pretty pissed off. This buffoon bullies everyone, and now he's standing there pointing a finger at me and really yukking it up.

I move to walk past him – in a huff, of course – but he grabs my arm to stop me. All humor has left his eyes, replaced with a glint as cold as frozen steel. His teeth peel back in a frightening grin.

"My darling girl, there are 8,000 souls out there waiting for the famous Drax to come out and delight them."

"So?" I really try my hardest to sound indifferent, but I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. This isn't going to end well for me.

"So...someone needs to tell them. And that someone, my dear, is you. Ta ta!"

And with that, he leaves me standing in his wake, trying to make sense of the insane words that came out of his stupid mouth. I must have misheard. He's just trying to wind me up. I can't deny it's working.

I take a step toward the green room and then the full weight of it all crashes down on me. I understand. He's right. I'm the promoter. Not really, but for all intents and purposes. No one at the venue introduces shows, unless they're specifically hired for that purpose. I want to say it's Marvin's duty but, beside the fact he just slammed out the back door, I know in my heart it's not.

 It's my job. My job to tell an enormous crowd of angry teenage boys that the concert's cancelled. Go on home and kiss your mommies goodnight, kids. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!

At this very moment, there's no one else in the world I wouldn't rather be than me. I stagger into the green room, and Savory rushes over to catch me before I collapse.

"What's wrong? Have you heard any news?"

I shake my head and try to speak but all the moisture in my mouth has evaporated. Finally, I'm able to croak out, "I have to tell them all..."

Understanding settles on his face. He grimaces and looks to his bandmates, who shrug. Jake pours something amber into a big shot glass and passes it to me with a sympathetic look. My hand is trembling as I take it and some of the contents slosh down the sides, making the glass slippery.

I gaze into the liquid, looking for answers. I know they're not in there but it certainly can't hurt to steel my nerves. I toss it back and coughs wrack my body. I'm not used to the hard stuff. In fact, I rarely drink more than a glass of wine, if that. But a warmth spreads through me and I know I can do this thing.

I think.

"Short and sweet," Frank advises as I ghost past in a daze. My heart is beating so fast I think it's lapped itself, and my skin is slick with sweat. Somewhere in the deep recesses of what's left of my mind, I send up a little thanks for remembering my deodorant this morning.

Dozens of eyes follow my progress to the stage, I can feel them on me like annoying bugs. I want to glare them all down, but it's all I can do to keep my feet moving forward. And then I'm standing to the side of the stage.

I'm in the dark but the stage itself has lights as bright as a million suns shining down on it. At the edge of light, I can see ecstatic faces chanting "Drax! Drax! Drax!" A mosh pit has formed at the front and I see a young woman dive into the thick of it. The crowd lifts her stiff body above their heads and starts passing her along, hands groping various body parts.

They're animals!

I back away. I can't do it. How could I ever think I might be able to? I hate public speaking. Just thinking about it makes me want to yak all over, which I'm very close to doing at the moment. I glance behind me to find an escape route only to see a wall of scowling roadies with their arms crossed. They're not going to let me by. The only place I can go is forward, into the mouth of hell.

I look out at the stage again. How can Drax go out there night after night? The hatefire flares up again deep in my chest. This is all his fault. I wouldn't have to do this if it wasn't for him. If he's not in a hospital somewhere, he will be if I ever see him again.

The deep breath I take does nothing to calm my nerves, but I can't put it off any longer. I walk out to the microphone at center stage, my legs wobbling like Jello the entire way, and blow into it to make sure it's on. Feedback screeches through the amphitheater, bouncing off the walls. The crowd quiets and 8,000 sets of eyes focus on me.

On me!

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!"

Jake hands me a jar of peanut butter and tries not to snicker. Never in a million years would I have guessed this day would end with me sitting on the crazy-chaotic loading dock of the theater trying to get gum out of my hair.

Needless to say, the crowd didn't take the news well. Thank God spit doesn't seem to travel as far as gum or I'd be drenched. I'm just lucky none of the shoes managed to hit me. That would have hurt. Seriously, I'm pretty sure this day couldn't get much worse.

Oh wait. Is that Harry tearing up in his Caddy? Yeah, I think it's about to get a whole lot worse.

He screeches to a halt right in front of me. Even through the glare from the loading dock's bright lights reflecting off his windshield, I can see that his round face is bright red and his eyes are bulging with what I'm gonna guess is, um, rage. Perfect.

He starts screaming the instant his door is open and just gets more irate as he storms onto the dock, heedless of the hustle and bustle going on around him. He's got a good fifty pounds on the chubbiest roadie, and they wisely give him a wide berth.

"What the hell did you do, Lauren? For the life of me, I can't figure out how you screwed this up! Everything was set up and perfectly planned. What the ever-living fuck?!"

I scramble to my feet to face him, to face my punishment. I know what's coming so I'm not worried or anything, but getting yelled at is never fun. Especially then the yeller is looming over you like a giant grizzly, massive maw gaping in an eternal howl of anger. The only thing I can really do at this point is maintain my dignity and accept my termination with as much grace as I can muster. Not an easy thing to do with a big wad of Hubba Bubba stuck in your hair.

"Harry–"

He cuts me off. "Don't even speak my name, you useless pile of human garbage. You had one job. One! Get that piece of shit musician to the venue. That's it! And yet it was somehow beyond your abilities. Tell me, Miss Raines, how is that even possible? Explain it to me because I really want to know."

Uh oh, he was calling me Miss Raines. That's never good.

"We had a couple hours between the signing and the sound check, Harry. I didn't know I was supposed to stick to him like glue. When I got here, he...wasn't."

"Did you even bother to go looking for him? God, tell me you did at least that!"

"Um, yeah...I...uh..."

Oh boy. How am I supposed to tell him that I found Drax drunk in a bar and ran out because I have a stupid schoolgirl crush on a rockstar? Then I stood there like an idiot as he climbed into a car with the Groupie du Jour? The memory of it chokes me up, even now, after all that's happened.

"She did but she was too late." There's a hard edge to Savory's voice as he stands next to me and crosses his arms, as if to say, 'Back off, asshole.' "He was already driving off when she spotted him. We tried to call him about a thousand times but no joy."

"Fuckin' musicians," Harry mumbles as he drags a hand through his prematurely graying hair. "Whatever. I can't have this. Does your teeny, tiny brain have the slightest inkling of a clue how bad this is?"

Now he's just dragging it out. But I'm determined to maintain my composure. "I do, Harry. And if there's anything I can do–"

"Do? I think you've done enough for one day. Now I've got to do damage control, and that's after working my ass off at that stupid revival. I want you gone. I'll have your last check and personals messengered over tomorrow. Get out of here and never let me see your stupid, incompetent face again."

My ex-boss spins around and stalks into the facility, dodging busy roadies and giant equipment cases, and I'm standing here trying not to cry. Heck, I knew this was coming. I was completely prepared to get chewed up and spit out like a gristly piece of meat. But now that it's happened, my emotions threaten to overwhelm my noble intentions.

"Wow, he's an ass," observes Savory. "And you wanted to work for him?"

I shrug but don't speak. No way can I trust my voice right now. Instead I turn away and slather more peanut butter on my hair. At least I can keep my head ducked so no one can see the tears in my eyes. And the ruckus of truck engines and clattering equipment dollies will cover any choking sobs that come my way.

I want to tell him that working for Harry was only supposed to be a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Michelle was always wonderful to me, and she even sent me an email after she left to keep in touch. I was hoping to get some experience with Harry before applying at her national firm. Guess that plan's shot to hell. No one's going to hire me without references, and I'm guessing Harry wouldn't give me a glowing one.

"Wanna move your sweet ass, honey?"

I glance up to see a big, barrel-chested guy bearing down on me with a huge black rolling case. Standing around moping on a busy loading dock after the cancellation of a concert probably isn't the best idea ever.

I jump out of the way and stumble, the low heel of my boot slipping off the edge of the dock. You know how people say something happened to them in slow-motion? Yeah, I always thought it was a line of B.S., too, but then I start falling backward and everything slows to half-speed.

The first thing that happens is the open jar of peanut butter flies out of my hand as my arms windmill in circles to maintain my balance. I pray no one is filming this because I know I look just like Wile E. Coyote as I flail around and try to stay upright.

The next thing that happens is that my foot slips off the platform completely and I know I'm going over. Is there equipment down there? I hope I don't break any bones. Where's my insurance card? Speaking of cards, Pepper's birthday is coming up and I need to buy her a card. Funny how your brain works when death and dismemberment are imminent.

The last thing that happens is I hit the ground. Somewhere in my brain, I register surprise that it's a lot softer than I thought it would be, and lumpier, too, but then all the air gets knocked out of my lungs and the world goes hot white. The only thing that matters is breathing and that ain't happening.

I think I hear shouts as I wheeze and struggle to catch my breath. A tiny wisp of air finally trickles in and my eyes pop open with surprise that I might not suffocate after all.

There's nothing at first, just fuzzy shapes moving around, but then a few things start to sharpen. Faces, I think. Then one swims into focus, leaning close into mine, ice blue eyes piercing through the panic enough for me to recognize him. I use up all my air to greet him.

"Asshole."

By the time I can breathe semi-normally again, a crowd has gathered around me. Drax is still leaning over me, and smiles when I blink up at him.

"Welcome back to the world of the living dead, Lola."

His voice wraps around me like a warm blanket on a chilly night. It reverberates down to my toes and, even in my dizzy state, does things to me. Things I don't want done to me. Not now, and certainly not by him.

He does help me to sit up, though, and I'm more than a little grateful as the world tips and spins around me. But a few more blinks and everything settles down.

"Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Now there's a cop hovering over me. What the heck? I could see calling an ambulance but the police? I cough out a 'yes'.

"Did you hit your head? Does anything feel broken? That was quite a nasty spill you took."

I groan as I flex all my body parts to see if everything is intact. It is.

"No, just got the wind knocked out of me. I'm okay. Wha–what happened?"

"You fell, don't you remember?"

Drax's big warm hand is rubbing circles on my back, just like Dad used to do when I was a kid. It's so comforting but confusing at the same time. Why is he even touching me? God, I hope he doesn't stop. No!

"I remember," I say, shrugging his hand off my back and turning to him. "What I want to know is what the hell happened to you?"

He doesn't look so good, like he's really hungover. I'm sure he is, considering how drunk he was this afternoon. But he doesn't look ashamed at all. It seems he could at least be a little sorry for getting me fired and losing the band's manager. Not to mention pissing off their fans. If anything, he looks angry. Exhausted, sick and angry.

"It's a long story..." he starts, but I'm not letting this asshat off the hook so easy.

"I have nothing but time now. Explain away." I tilt my chin up defiantly and cross my arms. Hopefully he doesn't laugh at the way I'm sort of swaying around. I'm trying to be stern here!

He sighs and glances up at the cops. "There's this woman, Kayla, who's been following us on this tour. She was even at the signing this morning. You might have noticed her. She doesn't really look like one of our typical fans. Sorta like a flamingo in a murder of crows."

He tries a smile on me but quickly sees it's not going to get him very far and continues. "When I got here after the signing, she was waiting at the bus."

"That pink girl?" Jake asks. "Man, she's hot."

"And psycho," Frank adds. Jake shrugs his ambivalence.

"That's the one. So she begs me to have a drink with her and, honestly, I was a little worried she was gonna cause trouble, so I agreed. One drink, then I was gonna ditch her. We walked over to that bar down the street and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in some random hotel room."

"Doesn't surprise me you blacked out," I say as I try to stand. Four sets of big hands help me up but I manage pretty well. "I saw you leave the bar and you were trashed. Totally snockered."

One of the cops steps up, flipping open a notebook. "You saw him leave, ma'am? Tell us what you saw."

Really? Is this for real? The cop is scribbling away like it somehow matters. But I tell him anyway, and when I'm done, he asks, "Can you remember the license plate of the car?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that will haunt me forever. Sparkles."

"Excuse me?"

"Sparkles. It was a California plate that read 'sparkles'. Why?"

"Because the woman driving that car is suspected of drugging and kidnapping Mr. Maxwell here, and you're the only witness."

You know how I compared myself to Wile E. Coyote earlier? Well, now I feel like every cartoon character ever drawn whose jaw drops to the floor. I'm completely dumbfounded. All I can do is gape at Drax.

"Really, man?" Jake asks. "That's what happened to you?"

Drax grimaces. "I guess. I wasn't drunk, that much I know. She must have roofied me when I wasn't looking."

Frank scratches his head. "I don't get it, bro. I mean, it's not like she could, ya know, do stuff to ya if you're passed out."

"I dunno. When I came to, she was gone. I was fully clothed and nothing was missing from my wallet. Called the cops right away, though. Been at the hospital for hours getting blood drawn and evaluated. Checked myself out against their recommendation so I could get down here."

"Why didn't you call one of us, too?" Savory asks. I'm wondering the same thing.

"Left my phone on the bus and I was too groggy to remember any numbers. Never have to. Just have to punch a button and it calls you." It's the truth. If the cop were to ask for my best friend's number, I'd have to think pretty hard. "Besides, I couldn't have gone on anyway. I'm just starting to feel normal again."

Savory slaps a hand on Drax's shoulder and gives him a grimace. "Marvin's gone."

Drax nods at the news. "He always hated me. Probably glad for the excuse to dump us. Sorry, guys."

They all shrug but I know they're worried. A rock band without a manager is basically dead in the water. I don't know much of anything but I know that much.

Then Drax turns his gaze on me, and it's like the first time I saw him. I want to attribute my suddenly weak knees to the fall but I know better. It's him. It's always him.

"I'm just glad I got here in time to break your fall."

That was him?

"That was you?"

"Yup. Just wish I'd had about five more seconds and I could have caught you. How bad-ass would that have been?"

"Did I hurt you?" I'm not a tiny wisp of a thing and my full weight hurtling off a four-foot loading dock is bound to do some damage.

He laughs. "Are you kidding me? A little thing like you? Woman, I could break your fall a hundred times a day and still be able to fling you over my shoulder and carry you to the back bedroom of that bus."

I flush at the suggestion and heat suffuses every nook and cranny. Especially the nooks and crannies.

"You know Lauren lost her job over this."

I shoot a dark look at Savory. Mind your own beeswax, that look says.

Storm clouds flash across Drax's face. "What the hell? It's not her fault! Where's Harry? I wanna talk to Harry!"

He's getting riled up, which can't be good for someone who's recovering from being drugged. "No, it's done. He's a jerk anyway, right, Save?"

Savory agrees. "Totally. She shouldn't be working for someone like him." He pauses a beat, then ads, "Should she, Drax?"

My gaze bounces between the two men as they have a silent conversation with their eyes. I'm not liking this one teensy bit. My spidey-senses are tingling, and not in the fun way.

After an eternity of meaningful looks, an evil grin forms on Drax's perfect lips. "I couldn't agree more. And isn't it convenient that we find ourselves without a manager? Lauren, how would you like to join our team?"

What on earth is he talking about? "I think the roofies made you loopy. I don't know the first thing about managing a band."

"It would just be temporary, till we find a permanent replacement. Besides, you didn't know anything about producing a rock show this morning."

"And look how well that turned out!" Then something clicks in my head. "Wait, how did you know that?"

His evil grin turns even more evil. "I have my sources. Now whaddaya say? We gotta get on the road if we're gonna make the Vegas show, and we need to make that show. You in or are you out?"

I'm floored. One of the hottest bands on the west coast is asking me to be their manager. Anyone else in my position would jump at the chance, but I'm not so sure. I can't just hop on the bus and leave town without saying goodbye to my dads, can I? Papi would probably wail for a week. Pepper would understand, probably encourage it, but still...

Drax's smile softens. Taking my hand in his, he pulls me into his arms. Right there in front of God, the band and every roadie in town! The weirdest part is that it feels like coming home. I sigh and rest my cheek on his chest.

"Come on, Lola," he whispers into the top of my head, just loud enough for me to hear. "What do you have to lose?"

Oh, maybe just a little thing called my heart, but how can I say no? Especially when every cell in my body is screaming DO IT!

At my nod, he squeezes me tighter and buries his face in my hair.

"Lola?"

"Hmm?" I reply, deliriously happy.

"Why do you smell like peanut butter?"