I email the producer and tell him to send me the unedited video so I can work on it.
I can’t wait to see it.
Chapter 12
Libby
I have my bedroom light off, Friends is streaming on my TV as background noise, and I reach over and snag my phone from the nightstand to double check the time again. I’ve probably looked at it at least twenty-four times since I climbed into bed after showering.
I groan when I see it’s still three in the morning. Sleep is not my friend tonight. Even the Ambien I popped earlier isn’t giving me any love. I guess my anxiety beats out pharmaceuticals.
Why the hell can’t I fall asleep?
I’m not a hundred percent sure of the exact reason, but it most likely has something to do with the fact that I’ll be facing Knox in about six hours and it’s going to be awkward city. I’m positive of it. And if there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s awkwardness.
I grab a pillow, press it over my face, and scream into it a few times. I toss it next to me when I’m finished having my meltdown, grab my phone again, and hit his name.
He probably won’t get my text until the morning, but I need to make sure he knows, so I can attempt to get some shuteye.
Me: I’ll just meet you at the meeting tomorrow.
Knox has his own car … or his own cars to be more accurate. There’s no reason why he’d want to ride with me.
My phone beeps with a response a few seconds later, surprising me.
What is he doing up at this time?
Oh yeah, party boy.
He’s probably sitting on his couch, feet kicked up, and getting wasted while not even thinking about the video being that big of a deal. Then he’ll go to his bedroom and screw some other chick without me on his mind.
That’s the attitude I need to have, well, minus the screw a chick part. I can’t let this get to me. I have a job to do.
Knox: I’d prefer you meet me at my place and I ride with you, sunshine. I need you to pick me up some breakfast.
Well, my brilliant little plan just flew out the window.
Me: I thought you hated my driving?
Knox: True, but I love your company.
Me: Ok, I’ll be there at nine. What do you want for breakfast?
Knox: Whatever sounds good to you. Treat yourself. You have a credit card.
I was given a business card to charge any expenses to get what Knox needs.
Me: You’re my boss. Tell me what you want.
Knox: Oh, sunshine. You know what I want.
He’s drunk. He has to be drunk.
Me: I could sue you for sexual harassment, you know.
I grin at my response. That will teach him to keep his sexual remarks to himself.
Knox: Sexual harassment? I was referring to wanting an Egg McMuffin. There’s nothing sexual about that, and if you think there is, you must be into some kinky shit.
Me: You’re seriously the most frustrating man I know.
Knox: And you’re seriously the most sexually frustrated woman I know.
I stab each letter of my response forcefully.
Me: SEXUAL HARASSMENT!!!!
Knox: Damn auto correct putting sexual in there. Don’t file a complaint against me. File one against Apple. They’re the ones who are always changing my fuck to duck. It’s quite frustrating.
We need to move onto a new subject.
Me: Why are you even up?
Knox: Why are you even up?
Me: Good point.
Knox: Insomnia can be a bitch. Now answer my question. Are you out drinking champagne on the golf course with your cashmere sweater-wearing boyfriend?
Me: Judgmental much? And I told you he’s not my boyfriend.
Knox: Sunshine, you’re the last person who should be calling someone out for being judgmental.
Me: What’s that supposed to mean?
Knox: You judged me the second you walked into Thomas’ office. Shit, probably before you even stepped inside.
Me: You asked me if I slept with you and was lying about carrying your love child!
Knox: So you judge someone because they ask if they’ve fucked you?
Me: No, I judge someone who shares a bed with everyone who has a vagina.
Knox: You have a vagina, and I haven’t shared a bed with you.
Me: OMG this conversation is so over. Go to sleep. I’ll have your Egg McMuffin in the morning.
The man is seriously a pain in my ass.
Knox: Yummy
I keep my phone in my hand, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t.
Yummy?
Did he really just end our conversation with the word yummy?
“Asshole,” I mutter to myself, turning my attention back to Ross and Rachel drama.
My alarm goes off, and I have it set to that Happy song by Pharrell. I hoped I’d be in a cheerful mood and energized to get up if I set it to something upbeat. It’s unfortunately doing the opposite of that.
I want to hurl my phone across the room, but I’m broke now, so there’s no throwing shit I can’t afford to replace.
I don’t know when I actually fell asleep, but I think I was another four Friends episodes in before my eyes slowly shut.
It takes me a few minutes to convince my brain that it’s time to get up, and I finally drag myself to the bathroom to shower. I throw my hair into a messy bun and then take it down. We’re meeting with Thomas and Knox’s tour manager today. I need to look a little more professional. I run to my bedroom for my straightener, and thirty minutes later, I’m walking out the door with my hair and makeup done.
I make it to Knox’s only a few minutes early because the line at McDonalds was a fucking nightmare.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he sings out when he spots me walking into the kitchen after realizing the front door was unlocked. I hand him the bag of food, and he starts to pull everything out. “Did you not get yourself something?” I shake my head, and he looks at me in disappointment. “Why not?”
“I’m not a big McDonalds fan.”
He unwraps his sandwich, takes a giant bite, and swallows it down before replying. “How can you be American and not like McDonalds?” He takes another bite and groans. “When I was little, going to McDonalds was like Christmas for us, even if it was something small like a cheeseburger. My brother and I thought it was the best meal in the world.”
His words hurt my heart. McDonalds was never a big deal to me growing up. I didn’t give a shit about happy meals. I actually hated them and would bitch at my dad if he tried to go there because none of my friend’s health nut parents would let them eat it.
It’s funny how much the environment you grow up in affects your life and what you’re grateful for, and it’s sad there’s no way to change it, either. You don’t get to decide who your parents are. Some of us get lucky, while others not so much. Fast food, something I took for granted, a damn McDonald’s cheeseburger, another kid was wishing for.
I give him a small smile. “Well anytime you want something from there, you just let me know.”
“Got it, and you’re going to get something, too.”
“Maybe. As soon as you finish up, we have to get going. I’ll meet you in the Jeep.”
“Change of plans. The tour manager and Thomas are meeting us here.” He taps on the stool next to him. “So make yourself comfortable and if you didn’t get a chance to eat something. My fridge is full.”
“I’m okay.”
“There’s healthy shit in there. My chef went to the grocery store last night, and I’m pretty sure there’s stuff in there to make one of your drinks.”
I want to ask him if he purposely had his chef get the stuff for me, or if it was a regular thing, but I don’t.
Only a few seconds pass before the doorbell rings.
“Can you get that for me? It’s probably Thomas and Max,” Knox asks.
He takes the last bite of his sandwich, crumbles the wrapper in
his fist, and throws it back into the bag. He’s on his way to the trashcan as I go to answer the door.
We all gather around the dining room table. I grab my notebook from my bag and take the seat next to Knox. I listen to the three men and hastily scribble down everything I can as if I’m going to be tested on it later. I know how important tours are, they’re the butter to your bread, and you need them organized properly to make sure everything goes smooth.
They go through every stadium he’ll be performing at in every city and decide whether he’ll be staying on his bus or in a hotel after each one. It’s my responsibility to book the suites and make sure he has everything he needs upon his arrival.
“Don’t forget to book a room for yourself,” Knox says, looking over at me. “I’d prefer one on the same floor as mine.”
A room for myself?
I drop the pen in my hand. “I’m sorry … a what for who?”
“You are going to need a place to sleep. You’re more than welcome to crash on the bus or a hotel room. It’s your choice. I pay for it, so don’t worry about the price.”
All eyes are on me. I’m not looking around to make sure of it, but I can feel them.
I shift around in my chair. “I’m going on tour with you?” He nods, and I whip around to glare at Thomas. This was never part of the arrangement. “I’m going on tour with him?” Thomas nods. “You never said anything about me going on tour and traveling across the country.”
Thomas gives me hopeful look. “We were undecided until last night. Knox seems to like you working for him, so I think you’re suitable to take over for awhile.”
“I have school,” I fire back. What’s the best excuse to try to get out of this but not lose my job at the same time?
“In three months. You can come back when school starts, and we’ll figure out a replacement for you then.”
“I’m confused.” Too many questions are flying through my mind, and my brain is incapable of spitting out one in particular at the moment.
“Don’t worry, we’ll provide you with everything you’ll need,” Knox says, giving me a bright smile. “You’ll be doing the same stuff you’re doing now, only on the road.”
“I’ll need to go over my schedule and make sure it’s okay,” I lie.
“You’re getting paid good money to do this, Libby,” Thomas says, starting the same lecture he’d given me before. “There’s nothing, and I mean nothing, you’ll find that will give you anything near the salary you’re getting with Knox.”
“I’ll give you a raise, if need be,” Knox throws out. “You traveling with me obviously puts a damper on your party or whatever.”
Everyone is staring at me, and I feel like the biggest pain in the ass that’s ever lived.
“You don’t have to do that,” I reply, blowing out a breath. “It’s fine. It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
Everyone nods, but the room grows quiet as we all pretend to be engrossed into studying the paperwork.
Knox finally breaks the silence. “I thought I told you I need more days while I’m in Houston?”
“I thought one was enough?” Max asks.
“No. I need three. Move a date around and fix it.”
Everyone nods in response, and I’m not sure who exactly is responsible for rescheduling.
“So … is that my job?” I ask. The last thing I need is for them to expect me to do something and it doesn’t get done.
“No. I’ve got it,” Max answers. “Your job is Knox. It’s my responsibility to keep track of dates and arenas. I’ll get it changed, but you’ll most likely have to drive overnight to the next city since we’ve already sold tickets for the dates.”
“That’s no problem. I’d rather do that and be able to spend time with my family. If either of you guys needs anything else, contact me or Libby, preferably Libby because she’s much better at this shit than I am. I only show up and perform then leave the rest to you guys,” Knox says.
Max gets up and slaps him on the back. “That’s what we’re here for, buddy.”
Thomas stands up next, says goodbye, and the two guys disappear from the kitchen.
Knox looks right at me as soon as we hear the front door close. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Why do I feel like he keeps asking me this same question? For someone who’s portrayed as being a selfish asshole, he sure makes it his mission to check that I’m okay with stuff. He frowns at my nod. “No, you’re not. I can tell when you’re lying, and I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”
I snort. “You don’t know me well enough to know when I’m lying.”
“You’re a female.”
“And? What the hell does that have to do with the price of rice in China?”
He laughs. “I can tell when females are lying.”
I don’t want to give him the real reason why I’m so nervous about going on tour with him. It’s too personal. The last tour I went on with my dad was a nightmare and changed who I am as a person. I’ve never been able to fully come to terms with it.
“We still have two weeks before the tour starts. If you feel like I’m unbearable to travel with, you don’t have to come. Don’t come because it’s your job. I can’t be around someone miserable all the time.”
“But it is my job.”
“You’re getting paid to travel the country and sometimes manage my ass and keep me out of trouble. If anything, you should be paying me for all the fun you’re going to have.”
“Good luck with that. I can’t even afford rent right now.”
He sits down. “So what happened? You obviously came from money, where did it all go?”
“You seriously didn’t look me up?”
“Briefly. I read the first paragraph on Wiki. It told me how old you are, where you were born, that your dad is some rock legend having money problems, but I didn’t go any further than that. I was hoping I’d get the truth from you, the real story, because we all know Wiki doesn’t have it.”
“I don’t feel like talking about it.”
“How about this then? Every day I see you, we both have to reveal one thing about ourselves to each other. A secret a day.”
“What are we, twelve?”
“We might be traveling thousands of miles together. I need to make sure you aren’t one of those crazy people who choose jam over jelly, eat their steaks rare, or trim their toenails with their teeth.”
I roll my eyes. “First off, picking jam over jelly is a hate crime, secondly, rare is gross, and never, and I mean never, have I trimmed my toenails with my teeth.” I shudder. “What kind of people do you hang out with?”
“Just making sure you’re not some jam eating, toenail munching freak.”
I shove his arm. “You are seriously such an asshole, you know that?”
“We won’t Google each other or read gossip magazines. Anything I learn about you, I hear it from your mouth. Deal?”
“No deal. I’d prefer for us to stay out of each other’s personal business.”
“I’ll go first. I’m extremely attracted to you.”
I throw my pen at him. “I’m out of here.”
“What? What do you mean you’re out of here? I have rehearsal for the LA show.”
Fuck. “I thought I told you I had to get off early today?” He shakes his head, and with everything going on, I probably did forget to mention it. “Crap, then I meant to.”
“Is it important?”
“Kind of, but it’s not a big deal. I’ll cancel.”
“What is it?”
“A personal day.”
“Am I going to get a doctor’s note?”
“You can’t be serious?”
He laughs. “Go ahead, but try to get all of your errands done today. We have a packed schedule ahead of us.”
He has rehearsals for his tour today, but I didn’t think he’d need me for it. They’ve already hired all of the backup dancers and picked out wardrobe, but Knox has
to go back through all of the choreography and make sure he’s comfortable with everything.
“Got it.”
I’ve never been to a prison, and to be honest, I never thought I’d have to.
I’ve watched plenty of documentaries on them, but the real thing is so different. I walk through the front doors and start to think about kids who’ve had to do this for years because a parent received decades or life long sentences. It’s sad, and I can’t even imagine how I would feel if my dad would’ve been put in here when I was a young, confused child.
He only added a few people to his visitation list – including Thomas, a few of his bandmates, and me. My mom wasn’t added, for good reason, considering neither one of us has heard from her in years.
“Hey honey,” he greets, smiling.
His hair is pulled back into a clean and combed ponytail, and his beard is a little longer. His prison uniform doesn’t cover half of his tattoos that trail up his arms, and I eye his right hand, where my name is scrawled along his fingers.
He doesn’t look terrible, but he’s in a federal prison. I’ve heard it’s more for white-collar crimes, almost similar to a country club, except you’re a convict who can’t leave and have a few rules.
“Hi dad,” I reply, scrunching up my nose. “This place doesn’t look too bad.”
“It could be worse. I have to look on the bright side that it’s only temporary. I’ve already scheduled interviews for when I get out to start paying the Government back. I even have an offer for a book deal.”
“Good. I can’t wait to have you home.”
“So how have you been, my girl? Thomas said he got you a job working with one of those pretty boy types.”
I laugh at him referring to Knox as a pretty boy, considering The Grave Diggers performed their shows with painted faces and make-up. My dad does his eyeliner better than I do.
“I’m working as his personal assistant, and he’s even more high maintenance than you were.” He chuckles, and I hesitate before telling him about the video and decide against it. I’ll break the news over the phone. “We’re going on tour.”
Wild Thoughts Page 18