“Hey, short stuff.” His voice was weak and sluggish. “You’re looking gorgeous.”
I slowed my pace.
The compliment didn’t go unnoticed. Hannah Montana wannabe grabbed his shirt and attempted to pull him back to her. He didn’t budge.
I stopped and tried not to laugh at the scene in front of me. “Thank you.”
“Is Frankie-boy here?” Dante drew the girl’s hand from his jeans and shooed her away. She strode off with a sour expression.
“He’s not coming.”
“What? Why?” Brows knitted, he moved closer. The unbuttoned top of his black shirt revealed a good portion of his chest. He wasn’t as finely cut as Frank, but he had something even better—the dark, bad boy sex appeal that made women crazy.
“Are you seriously asking me this question after you put up a billboard-sized photo of Marshall Burns next to the album artwork Frank created?”
The space between us shrank to a couple of feet. I caught the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath.
“Cassy, darlin’.” Dante rested his hand on my shoulder. “I did the best I could. I called. I emailed. I came over. You know what he did? He told me to go to hell. I guess we’ll be meeting again there then.”
“You do know the age of consent in California is eighteen?”
Confused, he lifted his brow.
“How old is the girl?”
His face relaxed. “She’s legal.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why are you so worried about me, darlin’? Don’t you have a man to be worried about?”
“Because you’re drunk and because you need someone to tell you this shit.”
Dante slid his palm down my shoulder. “Frankie-boy is a lucky guy. If he hadn’t asked you out first, I would have asked you out myself.” A lopsided grin touched his lips.
A nervous laugh escaped my throat. “When was the last time you actually asked someone out?”
With a potent expression in his eyes, he took his hand off my elbow and raked it over his dark, messy hair. “Umm, maybe 2009.”
“You really are out of practice.”
“I don’t need to chase women. They usually chase me.”
“Spoken like a true douchebag.”
“Why do you hate me so much, Cassy?”
“Okay, you’re way off here, buddy.” I held up my palm. “I don’t hate you. Hate is a very strong word, but I don’t like what you did to Frank and how you did it.”
“You know I had no say in it.”
“I know you, Johnny, and Carter didn’t fight back when KBC decided to fire Frank. You just stood and watched the label tear him apart.”
“You know nothing about our contracts.”
“I don’t need to know about contracts. You’re a coward.”
“I’m here to play a fucking guitar, darlin’. I don’t want to play with fucking fire and wait for some asshole in a suit to decide my future.”
“You won’t have a future if you keep burning through your present like you’re some immortal god.”
“Tell that to Frankie-boy. He was the one who pulled the plug on your charity project. Where is he now that I’m trying to save this fucking sinking ship?”
“You know what, Dante? Fuck you.”
My heart hammered and my pulse raced. I brushed past him and hurried to the restroom. He was drunk and there was no point in continuing this conversation. Besides, I hadn’t come here to fight Frank’s battles. I’d come here to conduct interviews for Rewired.
On the way back, I noticed Marshall’s perfectly styled blond hair swimming through the crowd near the bar. Shaking off my unease, I marched upstairs and found Levi and Ashton taking goofy selfies against the city backdrop. They’d bonded over the course of the past few months, but seeing them work together was still strange. Once upon a time, Levi had hated my brother. Hell, I’d hated my brother. Now he was everyone’s favorite. Even Linda had a soft spot for him.
Of course, nothing went according to plan. Dante was too busy. Dean Foster, bassist of the band who’d frequently toured with Hall Affinity before Frank’s accident, was too high to understand my questions. Tommy Bryce from Black Rain Coming politely refused to be interviewed.
We took a break at around eight when the party shifted toward the stage. Armed with a new bottle of beer, possibly his tenth, Dante staggered over to the microphone and rattled off a quick thank you speech, then asked for Marshall to come up. I watched them from the patio. They seemed at ease with each other, like old friends who’d been through thick and thin, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the label wanted a singer that had the same features as the original front man so the audience wouldn’t feel overly cheated.
Dante finished monopolizing the microphone and let Marshall speak. The man had a nice deep and raspy voice that soared across the ballroom and danced against the walls, and from what I’d heard from Linda, he’d nailed all the Hall Affinity classics during the audition. His range wasn’t as wide as Frank’s. He lost at least an octave, but the label probably didn’t care and most fans wouldn’t notice since Frank had hardly employed his higher pitches.
The crowd cheered.
Johnny and Carter jumped on stage and the four of them ripped through the intro of “Adrenaline Lane.” Marshall was great. Sexy, confident, young, and sharp. The full package.
I knew despising him wasn’t going to make me or Frank feel better, but I couldn’t will myself to enjoy what I saw.
That was the moment I understood that everything I’d been working on all these years was no longer valid. My personal life had completely taken over my professional and the notion terrified me because I couldn’t be objective anymore. And as a reporter, I needed to be objective.
This performance happening in the ballroom, no matter how messy, was good. Marshall Burns was good. He had the right chemistry with the rest of the band members. Sure, Johnny looked a little fazed, but Dante was having the time of his life, which was important since he essentially called the shots.
Objectively speaking, this was a great jam. Subjectively speaking, I wanted to throw a dozen raw eggs at them for having a good time while Frank spent his evening at home alone, struggling with depression.
The band played two songs and stepped down. The party went on. A couple of minutes later, Linda showed up upstairs with Marshall in tow.
“Look who I’ve got here.” Smiling, she nudged him in my direction.
He extended his hand for a shake. We locked gazes. His eyes were the color of mocha. Wide, bright, and looking for a challenge.
Swallowing down my emotions, I slid my palm into his and said, “Marshall. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Cassy with Rewired. Congratulations.” My voice sounded foreign. Mechanical. I tuned out all my Frank thoughts and tried to think about interview questions and things to discuss.
“Likewise.” His grip on my hand was strong. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Yes. A couple of times. Last summer. During the Walk the Dark campaign.”
“That’s right.” The spark in his eyes and the slight tilt of his head told me he remembered me. Did he know I was seeing the man he’d replaced? “Backstage at the Palladium?”