I’ve never been on a job interview, though not for a lack of trying. Jobs get offered to me like someone’s being paid off. It’s possible there is a payoff, but I’ll probably never know for sure. I wouldn’t put it past my mother. Ever since her music career slowed down, she’s tried everything to crawl back into my life. As if she knows me at all.
I haven’t seen Destiny Lane in years. Spoken to her, yes, but as infrequently as possible. I don’t want anything she has to offer. She had her chance to be a mother when it mattered, but her music career always came first. My father, Mitch Cassidy, on the other hand—he’s still got it. Still hot in the rock scene. Still touring internationally. Still pressuring me to “use my gifts,” as he calls them.
Not going to happen.
Less than an hour ago, my plane landed in San Diego. Now my driver, who introduces himself as Elmer—like the glue—is waiting for me at the curb to take my bags. As I climb in the back of the company’s gold Jaguar, I take the glass bottle of water from the cup holder and sip down the refreshing fizzy water before finally relaxing into my seat.
I turn down the folding table and place my cell phone on the leather surface, quickly pairing the Bluetooth and thumbing through my playlist. I set it on shuffle and let the rock tunes fill the empty spaces of the car. There’s too much pain in silence. Too many thoughts. Too many disappointments. At least when there’s music, I can keep my mind busy memorizing lyrics and melodies and drown out my reality. My memories of when it all went wrong.
Turning to face the window, I let the sights of the palms swaying against a cloudless blue background lift my mood. Roller bladers are flying down sidewalks, boats fill the harbor, and everyone seems to be smiling. I don’t blame them. If I had to choose a season to live in forever, spring would be it. When everything is bright and alive. And it’s the one time of year people can bask in endless outdoor entertainment without suffering through miserable heat or cold.
Feeling slightly more motivated to take on this new adventure, I face Elmer, who’s now turning down Ash Street, officially in Downtown San Diego territory. “Are we headed to the office or the hotel?” I ask. In the flurry of activity since the moment I signed the contract, I’ve had no time to think straight.
Elmer’s eyes flicker to mine in the rearview mirror. He must deal with uppity celebs all day because he looks surprised I’m acknowledging his existence. “The office for your two o’clock, Miss Cassidy.”
“Thank you, Elmer.”
He nods and his eyes return to the road. I turn back to the window. The always-present flutter of anxiety expands and contracts in my chest, effectively tormenting me. Formalities are not my thing, though I always seem to be surrounded by them. It’s the air of my parents that never seems to leave me. Others think they need to treat me delicately, as if I’m precious glass. It’s annoying, but I’ve given up correcting people to salvage whatever is left of my sanity.
We approach the all-brick exterior of Perform Live, the artist management company where I’ve worked since I was fifteen years old. I started as assistant to the assistant office manager and worked my way up from there. The moment I turned eighteen, the management team sent me to work in their Seattle office. After only a few months, I asked for a road job. I’d always loved the road. It was comfort. And I missed it.
So they started sending me on tours to manage the merch. Handling money came naturally, and I worked closely with the tour managers and road managers for three years before getting my first promotion.
Now I do what they do. And I’m damn good at it.
My new position is road manager for Wolf Chapman, rock’s ultimate bad boy and the hottest act out there right now. I’ve seen his type before. Drugs. Sex. Rock ’n’ roll. It’s not just a saying. It’s a way of life, and it’s real.
He won’t last. He got too hot too soon, which, in my experience, only means he’ll stumble and fall—hard. Chances are he won’t get up, at least not back up to the top of the charts where he stands right now. I take this as a challenge. I love a good challenge. I’m just here to do my job, even though everything about Wolf screams for me to run.
Talent.
Sex appeal.
Rocker hair.
Drop dead gorgeous smile.
Body of a seasoned linebacker.
Abs made of steel.
Totally not my type. At least, it shouldn’t be. Because all of that comes in one pretty little package labeled “ego.” The last thing I need after my embarrassing breakup is to be in the presence of another rock star with a massive hard-on for himself.
But I push all that out of my mind as I walk through the company’s main doors and toward the elevator, a familiar feeling of excitement beginning to bubble in my chest.
“Lyric, is that you?” A tan blonde with long legs and a Wolf shirt tucked into her short, red leather skirt enters through the opposite entrance and makes a beeline toward me.
Do I know this chick?
She’s inches from my face when it dawns on me. I smirk before throwing my hands out in delight. “Terese! No shit. You work here?” We do the girly thing and squeal, hug, and rock from side to side before letting each other go.
I know Terese from when Tony, my asshole ex, booked a three-month run in the Vegas hotel where she worked. We spent all our free time together because the ex, of course, was too busy to spend time with me.
“I do,” she says. “Moved from Vegas last August and haven’t looked back. Please tell me you’ll be in promotions with me. Can you imagine how much fun we’ll have?”
I shake my head, still beaming. “Road manager for Wolf.”
Her eyes, bright blue and sparkling from the stream of sunlight behind her, widen in surprise. “Oh, now I’m jealous. What I would give to be on that tour bus…” A sigh wafts into the air as she trails off into dreamland.
I roll my eyes quickly so she can’t see the annoyance and shrug. “Well, I doubt I’ll be on his tour bus, but the tour should be fun. We’ve got a show in San Diego before we leave. You working that one?”
Her face falls. “No. I’m only assigned to small local shows.”
“Then you should hang with me. I’m not working it, just getting familiar with the crew.”
Terese lights up again. “Count me in. How long until you take off for the tour?”
“Two weeks. I’m joining the team late. All the planning has been done, but I guess the last manager didn’t mesh well with Wolf.” I snort.
She winks. “I’m sure you won’t have that same problem.” There’s a flicker of something in her expression, and I know she’s about to ask the dreaded question. But she surprises me. “I always hated Tony. I’m glad you two broke up. He’s an ass for what he did, but it’s for the best.”
I like Terese a whole lot right now, but I don’t have time to respond. The ding of the elevator reminds me I’m headed for a meeting with the rock god himself.
“I need to get going,” I say reluctantly. “I’ll call you tonight, okay? We can do dinner.”
I practically run the few steps to the elevator and smash the button, trying to catch the closing door. Score. It reopens and I rush in, stumbling into the nearest figure. My hands reach out to catch my fall—on the chest of one of the elevator’s occupants.