I sucked in a breath.
The entire restaurant, which had been tittering uneasily during our exchange, went silent. My body went from icy panic to fiery rage. I sucked in air through my flared nostrils.
“I am nothing like Pamela,” I said, my voice quiet but quaking in anger.
Fiorella opened her mouth to respond, but Rafe interrupted her.
“I think you’ve said enough, Fiorella.”
I dropped my eyes to my feet. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Humiliation leached into my body. I was incompetent. I mean, I couldn’t even clean up after people! These were demanding, terrible people, granted. But still! What the hell was wrong with me?
I felt Rafe’s firm hand press against my back, and I slumped against it.
“Come on, Beanpole,” he said. “You deserve better than this.”
9
“Now you’re looking for a job on Craigslist?” Rafe scoffed at my open web browser.
I shivered in response, my back cold from my shower-wet hair soaking through Rafe’s flannel shirt, the one I’d borrowed from him the night before.
After the debacle at Parma, Rafe had dropped me at his apartment and taken off to God knows where. Which meant I’d had the place to myself, which was fine with me. I’d needed some alone time to lick my wounds.
After washing off the sting of Parma in the shower, I’d fired up my computer, determined to finesse a resume that would land me a job. An hour later, I was looking up job search sites. When I’d given up on those, I moved on to Craigslist, only to find I wasn’t even qualified to be an exotic dancer. You needed experience for that too, and I assumed the three Zumba classes I’d attempted with Presley didn’t qualify.
Tired of striking out on the job front, I’d dug out my well-worn copy of Devil in a Blue Dress and escaped into some Walter Mosley. By the time Rafe had gotten home, I was hungry and tired. All I wanted to do was eat a pizza on my makeshift bed and then fall asleep.
But Rafe was just getting started. He’d ordered two pizzas—one with meat, one without—and then changed into a pair of baggy sweats, his tats peeking out from under his loose-fitting T-shirt. Now, he stretched his legs out, his bare feet kicked up on the barstool next to him. The only rock star thing about him was the way he chugged one of his expensive wines straight out of the bottle.
I remedied that quickly, taking two glasses out of the cabinet. I poured the wine, then settled onto the barstool next to his feet and watched his chiseled face as he squinted at my monitor. This was the Rafe I’d found on the tour. The one who didn’t peacock around, flirting and womanizing. When he was like this, I almost felt… well… never mind.
“You don’t need Craigslist when you’ve got Rafe’s List,” he said, pecking at the keyboard.
“Yes, because that worked out so well for me today,” I said dryly.
Ignoring me, he turned the computer toward me. His grin was ear to ear.
I glanced at the screen, and then blinked at him. “I don’t get it. Why are you showing me the En Fuego Records website?” My eyes widened, and I let out a small gasp. “Oh my God. Are you leaving Grimm?”
“For En Fuego? No. Contract,” he said with a shrug. “But I hooked you up with an interview with Bobby Gee.”
“Wait,” I said, pushing my damp hair off my face. “What do you mean Bobby Gee?”
It was his turn to blink at me. “Are you thick, college girl? Bobby Gee? Head of En Fuego Records?”
“I know who Bobby Gee is,” I snapped, snatching up my glass of wine and taking a good-sized swallow. “What I don’t get is why you arranged for me to meet with him.”
He picked up his own glass and sighed in exasperation. “You need bank, right?” I nodded. “So, how’s Craigslist working out for you?” I opened my mouth to argue, but he kept talking. “The only job you’ll find on Craigslist is one turning tricks. If you’re gonna do that, you just slip out of those joggers, and I’ll kick some cash your way.” He smiled as my face flushed. His gap-toothed grin almost made the tawdry comment charming. Almost.
I scowled and took another sip of my wine, ignoring my impulse to take him up on that offer. “How did you conjure this up on a Thursday night?”
He shrugged. “Bobby’s a friend. I popped by his place. Honestly, I’m pretty bent at myself for not coming up with the idea sooner. I mean, Parma? What the hell was I thinking?”
I had wondered that too while he was gone.
“So, what is this meeting about?” I raised a single eyebrow at him, one of the few useless talents I inherited from my father. “What, does he need a secretary or something?” My voice dripped with disdain, a side effect of the wine on an empty stomach killing my inhibitions. It was bad enough to get caught out bussing tables. But to be a label executive’s girl Friday? That could destroy Satan’s Sisters. I couldn’t do that to Nik and Pres.
Rafe shot me an exasperated look. “Would I play you like that? You are meeting with him to discuss a songwriting gig.”
My eyes narrowed. “Songwriting.”
He picked up the wine bottle and poured more in each of our glasses. “Yeah, you know that thing you do for Satan’s Sisters? That poetry stuff you’ve got going on? Yeah, that. Except he’ll pay your pretty ass.”
“He wants to buy one of my songs?” I asked, cautious. Los Angeles was a city of empty promises. Given the recent turn of events that had upended my life and shaken me to my core, I wasn’t up for getting played.
“Didn’t say that.”
I grimaced. Of course Bobby didn’t want one of my songs. Why was Rafe even wasting my time? And his? No way was I going to show up at En Fuego only to get humiliated. Hadn’t I had enough of that this past week? Or even just tonight?
He continued before I could protest the meeting. “I played him some songs from Satan’s Sisters’ EP, told him you wrote them. And he gets that you’ve got talent. He can spot it. So he wants to see what you can do for his artists.”
I broke out into a smile despite my misgivings. Rafe’s impish grin was practically irresistible. It was a smile that melted hearts. No wonder he had a reputation as a womanizer, even though it wasn’t exactly earned. He had been faithful to Reesie. That cow. The thought of Reesie slammed me back to reality.
“Vince will shit all over me if I take a meeting with Bobby Gee.” I swallowed down more of Rafe’s ridiculously expensive wine. “Then he’ll shit all over you for setting it up.”
Rafe’s dreadlocks bounced against his shoulders when he shook his head. “Babe, no label signed you. You owe no allegiance. Now, if this were me, Vince would kick my ass and then force Grimm to sue the piss out of me, Bobby, and En Fuego. That man is hard-core with business. But you’re a free agent. Presley signed with Grimm, and Nik’s tied to his label because of Rogue. But you? You’re free and clear.”
“But Vince is…” I stopped myself. What was Vince? He wasn’t my dad. I owed him nothing, professionally speaking. And he was divorcing my mom, which had put her in this nasty mood that had gotten me kicked out of the house. Fuck Vince! (That might have been the wine talking.)