My neck snapped back as another roller ripped free. “I told you, asshead. He didn’t. You know it’s gotta be about the tour though.”
Mac was referring to the meeting we had lined up today with Gary. He hadn’t, according to Mac, revealed any details about said meeting except that I should come alone. Mac thought this was odd, as did all of us, because if anyone should be meeting with Gary, it should be her, not me. That was the way the industry worked, right? You had your people talk to their people. Well Mac was our people. Mac liked being our people. She excelled at being our people.
Mac yanked the brush through my hair and picked up the hair spray.
“Fingers crossed it’s about the tour,” I choked out from under the haze of toxins that enveloped my face. “Mac, can you imagine what it would mean for us if we did this tour? God, it wouldn’t just be a foot in the door, it would be like Goliath’s boot kicking us into the stratosphere of Planet Success.”
“What?” She gave me her “you’re an idiot” face as she tweaked a few strands of hair around my face. “Stop talking Klingon. Some of the shit that comes out of your mouth.” She shook her head.
“It would be a really freaking big deal,” I spelled out for her with a roll of the eyes.
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
Jesus. I was nervous and stressed about this meeting, but now I couldn’t wait to get out the front door.
Mac took a step back to view her handiwork. “All done. Go get dressed.”
I left the bathroom for the bedroom where my outfit had been laid out on the bed by Mac. I gave a deep sigh knowing any attempt at dressing myself for such an important meeting would have been thwarted anyway.
I slid on a lace panelled yellow miniskirt in a flirty a-line style and tucked in a printed silk camisole with thin straps with a frilled front in shades of hot pink, purple, mustard, and cream. Once again, Mac had managed to pair two items together that I would never have realised worked. The look was finished with a pair of metallic gold strappy wedges, gold accessories, and a slick of hot pink lipstick.
I turned to Mac. “How do I look?”
“You look like a shimmery golden ray of magnificence.”
My mouth gaped open at the uncharacteristic nicety. “I do?”
She nodded. “You do.”
“Well, alright then,” I muttered, feeling unexpectedly buoyed by Mac’s mood upswing.
“Thanks to me,” she tacked on.
An hour later, I’d waved goodbye to the boys as they pretended not to be nervous about the meeting. Henry was coolly plucking at his guitar, but his knee bobbed up and down like a pogo stick. Jake was twirling his sticks like he was King Cool, but his face was carefully blank, and Frog and Cooper were abnormally subdued.
Coby pulled into the rounded drive of the hotel, and that was about when the butterflies launched their attack on my insides.
He pulled the key from the ignition and gave me a questioning look. “Why is the meeting at a hotel?”
I shrugged. “Why is the earth round? Why does peanut butter taste good with celery?” This last part I’d found out a week after my first shop with Jared when there was nothing left in the house to eat apart from vegetables and a jar of crunchy peanut butter.
Coby shook his head with a grin. “Smarty pants.”
“Well, don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.”
“I guess that means I shouldn’t talk to you at all.” He tugged on a curl of my hair with a wink, and then got out of the driver’s side, passing the keys to the valet, and we shuffled in closely, Coby’s hand guiding my back. I gave my name to the man behind the long marble reception desk and smiled politely. He asked for identification, and I flipped open my purse like I was the FBI.
He looked at it, then at me. “Thanks,” he offered politely if not a little snootily.
I flipped my purse shut and wedged it back in my giant bag as Coby rolled his eyes at me.
What? I shrugged at him.
My phone beeped a message as Reception Man announced us via the phone and handed over a pass card for the lifts. “Lifts are to your left, top floor, room 4501,” he offered with another polite, yet snooty smile.
I dug for my phone as Coby hit the button for the lift.
J: Make this meeting your bitch, baby.
Jared was gone when I’d woken up this morning, but Peter was snuggled close as though he’d been tucked in before Jared left. I’d rolled over and snapped a photo of the two us, snuggled and sleepy-eyed and messaged it off. Jared had replied by calling us his two lazy babies. His reply had filled me with warm fuzzies.
E: I wouldn’t do it any other way.
The butterflies did a pretty pirouette as the lift shot up, and I folded my arms and tapped my foot nervously.
Coby gave me a look. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” I lied. Acknowledging the nerves, Coby had always told me, gave them a voice.
“Good to know.”
I checked my hair in the lift mirror after receiving a previous Gary meeting flashback. The curls were sitting neatly with no bits of hair doing crazy backflips. All was good.
We arrived at the top floor, the lift dinging our arrival. Coby took my hand, walking out first, but before we could go any further, he stopped and I almost slammed into his back.
He let go of my hand and turned to face me. “You know, honey, I couldn’t be more proud of you right now if I tried. You talk as though you don’t deserve this...” he held up a hand as I attempted to interrupt “...but you’ve worked so hard for so many years. I know if Mum were here―”
“Stop.” My voice wobbled as I dabbed the corner of my eye carefully. “Thanks, Coby, but no going down the Mum path, please, or the waterworks will loosen my eyelashes, and for some reason, eyelash glue is not something I packed in my giant bag of tricks today.”
Coby raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”
We started moving along the hallway again, reaching room 4501 where out front stood Gigantor. He was big and wearing all over black. His hair was also black and short, and he looked mean. I waited for Gigantor to growl at me. Instead, a grin split his face wide, transforming it from “I’m gonna end you” to “Hey, how’s it goin’, buddy.” It wasn’t aimed at me though; it was aimed at Coby.
“Coby, my man.”
“George, buddy.” They shook hands and leaned in, doing that whole “I’m not really hugging you but it’s good to see you” back slap type thing.
Gigantor George. There was no doubt I could pick it.
“Whatcha doin’ here, man?”
Coby rolled his eyes towards me as though irritated beyond belief. “Babysitting. You?”
I successfully resisted the urge to slap Coby on the back of the head for turning from loving brother to Asshole Man in the blink of an eye.
“Same, man, same.”
George turned to me, his deep voice a rumble. “You must be, Evie.”
I nodded politely and held out my hand.
He took it, his big hand swallowing mine. “George.” Letting go, he gave a brief rap on the door and opened it slightly, nodding his head at me. “Go on in. You’re expected.”
I stepped through. Coby went to follow but George stopped him with a hand to the chest. “Dude.”
Coby raised his brows. “That’s my sister, George.”
George nodded his understanding, but didn’t give an inch. “Orders. Evie only.”
Coby shook his head in disagreement. “I go where she goes.”
George shook his head in further disagreement. “Then she ain’t goin’ in there.”
I felt a sliver of concern. Coby was a big dude, but George was a colossal dude.
Coby paused for a moment, his eyes on George. “I trust you, George. You guarantee she’s safe in there and I’ll wait out here.”
George uttered his guarantee with all seriousness, and I finally made it inside with a click of the door behind me. Before I had time to ponder what that was all about, someone spoke my name.
“Genevieve.”
“Evie,” I amended, mouth working on autopilot because Matt, the lead guitarist of Sins of Descent, was walking through the twin doors of the suite’s bedroom. Not only that, he was talking to me, and he knew my name. My feet felt stuck to the floor, so I stood waiting as he headed towards me.
“Evie,” he repeated. He held out a hand as he got close, and my hand reached out to take his. It was a nice hand, warm with long fingers capable of great things. With a guitar of course. “I’m Matt. You might be wondering who –”
“Uh...no, well, yes...no. I mean, I know you.”
I cringed internally for cutting him off, but the words just came out with my authorisation. Not only that, my conversational abilities appeared to have reached an all-time low.
He smiled, amused. It was a nice smile, attached to nice face. Not a gorgeous one, but striking―longish black hair, green eyes, lean―like the rest of him. Clad in black skinny jeans and a tight fitting white shirt, he had colourful tattoos winding up both arms. “Okay. Sometimes it’s not good to assume people know me because then I just sound a bit conceited.”
He stood there, looking at me, assessing my worth maybe? Was he waiting for me to speak? I tried to form something that would make sense.
“I thought that―”
“Maybe we should―”
I flushed a little and apologised. “You go.”
He waved his hand at the couch. “I was just going to say that maybe we should sit down.”
Sitting was good. “Okay.”
I urged my legs to move, and we shifted to the plush coral couch and both sat down. I wiped my sweaty hands down my skirt in the pretext of smoothing wrinkles while Matt sat on the edge, elbows resting on his knees.
He jumped back up. “You want a drink? Sorry. I get so used to people doing that shit for me.”
“Uh, okay. Sure, thanks.”
“What would you like?”
“Diet coke if you have it.”
He moved to the kitchenette and flicked the kettle, reaching up to the top cupboard for a mug and then to the mini fridge for the drink.
I offered a thanks as he handed it over, and he went back to making himself a coffee. “Um, not to sound rude, but I thought I was meeting Gary?”
“No, that’s cool. The meeting was really with me, and Gary said he’d try to make it if he had time.” He glanced up at me. “Sorry for the slight subterfuge, but I wanted to meet you, and I didn’t want anyone to know I was here. That way I could slip in and out of the country without any fuss.”
He finished making his coffee and carried it to the couch.
“Aren’t you in the middle of touring?”
“Yep. We just hit New Zealand for two weeks, then we’re holidaying there for another week before we get here.”
“Where were you before New Zealand?”
We managed a conversation where I actually made sense, and Matt happily chatted about the tour and the people he’d met and some of the crazy things they’d been up to. We even became friendly enough for me to snap a photo of the two of us and message it to Mac. An avalanche of messages swamped my phone immediately, and I had to take a few moments to reply to all the questions.