Guess I can cross orgy off the bucket list.
That’s when I notice one of the girls is still lingering.
Dammit. There’s always a stage-five clinger.
“That,” Chandler says while pointing to the girl with a sheepish expression on her face. “Is the issue.”
“Can you be more specific?”
His face turns red with anger and Memphis snorts. “You have no clue who she is, do you?”
None.
“She,” Chandler bellows. “Was supposed to be your sober companion.”
Squinting, I look the girl up and down. Come to think of it, she does look familiar.
“Am I fired?” the girl whispers.
“Do bears shit in the goddamn woods?” Chandler shouts and the girl scurries to the elevators.
“Bye, Phoenix,” she calls out. “Text me later.”
I don’t even know her name.
“Wasn’t she the counselor who came highly recommended?” Storm questions.
Chandler nods before narrowing his eyes.
“We’ve gone through ten sober companions in the two months you’ve been on tour, and you’ve fucked all of them.”
“That’s not true,” I defend. “I never fucked the dude.”
I had my groupies do that for me.
This way, he’d get off my case and have some fun.
Worked like a charm, too. Turns out the guy was almost a bigger party animal than me.
“It doesn’t matter,” Chandler gripes. “What matters is that everyone I hire lets you get away with too much.”
“Not my problem—”
“Yes, it is,” Storm interjects. “Vic’s pissed. You need to cut this shit out before he drops us.”
Not a chance.
Because when I’m drunk and high, I can’t feel shit.
Like guilt.
Josh might have been the one driving, but I’m equally responsible.
And everyone here knows it.
“You’ll just have to keep looking and hire someone better,” Memphis says, coming to my defense, even though he’s the last person who should.
Because I killed his brother.
“I’ve been trying,” Chandler claims. “But every guy wants to be his best friend, and every chick wants to fuck him.” Walking over, he peers down at me. “Everyone out there loves this asshole. I need to find someone who hates him.”
“Oh, there’s someone who hates him all right,” Storm mutters under his breath.
Closing my eyes, I nod off again.
Yeah, there is.
CHAPTER 23
LENNON
“How’s my favorite bartender?”
I glance up at a familiar face. Brian might not be the biggest tipper, but he’s a friendly regular.
“I’m doing good. How about yourself?” I set an empty glass on the bar. “Jack and Coke tonight?”
He grins. “You know me so well.”
Sadly, he’s not wrong. Most of my social interaction these days consists of talking to the patrons at Obsidian.
After filling the glass with ice, I reach for the soda gun. “How’s that merger coming along?”
Brian starts to answer, but a man marches up to the bar and interrupts. “Are you Lennon?”
I’m seriously regretting not using an alias.
“That depends. Who’s asking?”
“Me.”
I pass Brian his drink. “Gee, that really clears things up.”
Brian hikes a thumb at the intruder wearing cargo pants and a crisp white button-down. “Want me to take care of this guy?”
Cargo pants looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “You needn’t embarrass yourself. I’ll have you sprawled out on the floor, begging for your mother.” He turns his attention to me again. “I—”
“Better be ordering a drink if you intend to stay.” I gesture to the sign behind me that clearly states it’s a two-drink minimum. “Club rules.”
Grumbling, he fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “Fine. I’ll take two Manhattans.”
Bit of an odd choice, but this guy seems a bit odd himself, so I guess it fits.
I give Brian a smile as I fix up the first Manhattan. “I’ll be okay.” I gesture to the stage where Fantasia is currently dancing. “Go enjoy the show, sweetie.”
He places a five down on the bar. “I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.”
I give cargo pants his drink. “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Chandler Dicky. I’m—”
“Wow. What an unfortunate last name.”
Now I’m just fucking with the guy. Although the surname is pretty funny.
His irritation grows. “I can see why you and Phoenix dated, you’re both giant pains in the asses.”
I nearly drop the glass in my hand. “I’m sorry…what?”
Who the hell is this guy? And why is he talking about Phoenix and I dating?
Ignoring me, he keeps talking. “I’m the manager of Sharp Objects.”
For a moment, I get my hopes up that Phoenix did the right thing and came clean, but they come crashing down when I hear the next words out of Dicky’s mouth.
“I’m here to offer you an opportunity to help Phoenix.”
A maniacal laugh flies out of me.
And then I give him a look that makes it clear he can shove this opportunity up his ass.
“After what he did to me, he can fuck off for eternity.”
So can this guy.
Seemingly pleased by this, he smiles. “And that is precisely why I’m here. Storm told me about your volatile relationship. Or should I say, the way it ended.” He takes a sip of his drink. “You’re the perfect one for the job.”
He’s lucky I’m not throwing the second Manhattan I’m making in his face.
“What the hell are you talking about? What job?”
“I’d like to hire you to look after Phoenix while he’s on tour.”
“There’s a day care down the street,” I inform him, because what the actual fuck?
He’s not amused. “What I mean is, I’d like you to be his sober companion and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. Our tour starts in two days. I’ll pay you one hundred thousand dollars for eight weeks, with a bonus at the end. Provided you make it to the end, that is.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Something tells me you will.”
I’m seriously regretting not asking Brian to handle this guy now.
“Hate to break it to you, but your crystal ball is broken because I’m not interested.”
I recently overheard someone in town mention that Phoenix was spiraling out of control ever since the accident that killed his bandmate three months ago, but it’s worse than I thought if this guy is willing to come here and offer me that much money to be his personal babysitter.
Not that it matters. I’m not budging.
He blinks in confusion, like he wasn’t prepared for me to turn him down. “There must be some way I can change your mind.”
I look him right in the eyes. “Trust me. There isn’t.”
“Lennon—”