by K. A Knight
Contents
1. The Mix-Up
2. Sexy and They Know It
3. Hunt the Stripper
4. Pizza is Better Than Orgasms
5. Respect
6. Nowhere to Go
7. Shake It
8. Hi, Roomie
9. You’re Staying
10. The Water Nymph
11. Boss Lady
12. Word of Advice
13. Got Your Back
14. Before We Go
15. Puppy Pile
16. The Fallout
17. Final Rehearsal
18. Big Spoon
19. Going on Tour
20. Showtime
21. Spank You Raw
22. Giving You a Hard Time
23. Thirsty Bitches
24. Steam, Baby, Steam
25. Olive Branch
26. End and Beginnings
27. Bed for Three
28. Something New
29. Going Down in Flames
30. Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright
The Wild Interview
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to places, events or real people are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 K.A Knight & Erin O’Kane, all rights reserved.
Written by K.A Knight & Erin O’Kane
They say to imagine your interviewers naked so you feel less nervous—I’m not sure that’s going to help me here. My cheeks ache from the false smile that’s fixed on my face. The middle aged balding man opposite me waits not so patiently for my answer, while in my mind I’m vividly picturing him naked. Nope, not helpful at all. I try to hide the shudder that passes through me and shove that mental image away. Instead, I focus on the others sitting in front of me. There are three of them in total. The smart looking business man who seems to only be interested in figures, constantly asking me about my experience handling incomes. As a music manager, I’m used to dealing with accounts and weighing costs and benefits, so I have managed to answer all of his questions confidently.
A quiet man on the other end of the panel hasn’t asked me any questions yet, only writing down my answers and casting me shrewd glances, as if waiting to catch me out. And then in the middle is the lovely Mr. Jones, whose jowls are quivering in anticipation of my answer. Come on Gabby, focus.
“I’m sorry Mr. Jones, could you please repeat the question?” I request sweetly, hoping they don’t take me for an airhead.
I really need this job. Things have gotten difficult in my last position, and I need to leave if I want to keep my sanity. Plus, this job is a step up for me, I’ll be taking on more responsibility, not to mention the hefty pay raise that might help me finally move out from my parents’ house.
“I said, Ms. Menro, how do you think you will manage in this position? Do you think being a female will be an issue for you?” Mr. Jones asks again.
I lean back in my chair, stunned at the question. Are they seriously asking me that? Looking at their expectant expressions I can tell that they are. How dare they? Anger rises up in me and I try to stifle it. Then again, why should I? Do I really want to work for people who think I can’t handle a position because of my gender? I narrow my eyes at them and cross my arms over my chest.
“So because I’m a woman, I can’t do the job properly?” I question, managing to keep most of my anger out of my tone—barely.
“Well, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that because of the performers—”
“Look Mr. Jones. I have spent my whole career fighting against prejudice and working my way up to where I am now. I will not let male chauvinists tell me what I can and can’t do. I can do this job just as well as any man, and if that’s how you’re going to treat your staff, then you can shove your job up your ass!” I take a deep breath and see Mr. Jones and the smart looking businessman wearing matching expressions of shock. The quiet man on the end looks amused and has finally put down his clipboard.
“Thank you Ms. Menro, if you could just wait outside, we will discuss your interview and call you back in shortly to let you know the outcome,” the quiet man tells me. I stand with as much dignity as I can muster before gathering up my paperwork and heading out of the room.
Once I’m in the hallway, I head straight for the bathroom and lean against the sinks, pressing my forehead to the cool glass of the large mirror above them. Well, I messed that up. My temper tends to get me in trouble more often than I’d like, and it’s part of the reason I’m looking for a new job. With a sigh I lean away from the mirror and run the tap, splashing some cold water on my hands and face. Looking at my reflection, I brush back a stray lock of blonde and brown hair from my neat shoulder length bob. My golden brown skin looks dull in this artificial light, but I know I look good in my interview outfit, the colours and cut flatter my skin tone and body shape. The light grey of the tailored suit jacket accentuates my hourglass figure, and my dark blue silk blouse is unbuttoned just to show a little cleavage.
Now, I’m no size eight, in fact, you could probably double that and get my size, and I will never have a truly flat stomach, but I’m happy with how I look. The matching skirt ends at my knees, a slight slit at the side allowing a glimpse of my toned leg. I groan at the thought of having to go back out there and face them after my outburst. I briefly think about trying to sneak out of the window, but we are on the first floor and I’m not sure I’d be able to squeeze my ass out a window that small, let alone the risk of breaking some bones from the fall. I sigh. Come on Gabby, pull yourself together.
I walk back out into the corridor only to find the quiet man from the interview waiting for me. Oh man, that didn’t take them long. I smile grimly at him, surprised when he smiles brightly in return. Why is he looking at me like that? Maybe he’s one of those sick people that gets off on giving others bad news. He holds his hand out and I grip it, shaking his hand, wanting to get this done with.
“Gabrielle, I won’t drag this out. Congratulations, we would like to offer you the position.”
My mouth drops open in shock and I hurry to shut it. “Oh. Um. Thank you! I...” I trail off, sure they will revoke the offer if I continue to act like a bumbling buffoon.
“You thought your little outburst cost you the job?” he asks with a laugh, eyeing me up and down. “We need someone with a little fire in this position. They have gone through several managers and we need someone different. You are certainly that,” he discloses and shakes my hand again with a smile. “Congratulations again, I will leave the details and an address for you with the receptionist downstairs. Go and meet them today. All the best,” he says before stalking off back into the interview room.
I stare at the closed door for a moment. What the hell just happened? I got the job. Yes! I do a little happy dance in the corridor, shaking my ass, uncaring if anyone walks past and sees me. I did it! Gabriella Menro, Music Tour Manager. Has a nice ring to it. With a smile I walk to the lifts to head down to the reception. Time to go and meet my new team.
I look up at the building the address has lead me to. It looks like an old theatre, which I’m a bit surprised by. I had thought I’d be going to a recording studio, and I can’t see any advertisements to give me any clues as to what kind of group I’m managing. It was kept a secret, the board not wanting the label to sway the interviewees.
Nerves run through me and I take a deep steadying breath before knocking on the stage door. I don’t have to wait long before an older man opens it and runs his gaze over me. He must be in his early forties, he has short brown hair which is greying at the sides, and a neatly trimmed beard. His brown eyes are kind and instantly make me want to like him.
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br /> “Hi sweetness, you must be Gabriella, the new tour manager?” he asks as he ushers me in. Usually I would object to someone calling me ‘sweetness’ but I find that with him, I don’t mind. “I’m Mark, I’m the tour engineer and general dogsbody,” he informs me with a smile as he leads me through the back of the building. He points out a couple of people who he introduces me to as part of the crew, but I would be lying if I said I remembered their names.
“Let’s go introduce you to the boys. They should be up on stage rehearsing at the moment, so it will be a good chance for you to see what they’ve got.” He ends his comment with a wink, which I don’t really understand, but I smile and nod anyway, following him through a side door.
The sound of music reaches my ears and I can hear guys’ voices over the top of it, directing each other to their starting positions. We round the corner and my mouth drops open at the sight that greets me. I feel a pat on my shoulder and I turn to find Mark’s grinning face.
“Welcome to the Wild Boys.”
Sputtering, I stand there with my mouth dropped open, blinking like an idiot. Mark looks back at me and frowns.
“You okay sweetness? I know it’s a lot to take in, but they are nice enough fellows.”
I manage to snap my mouth shut and swing my eyes from Mark back to... them. I guess I should have paid more attention in the interview, but this was definitely not what I was expecting. My eyes widen and my breathing stops when I remember what the receptionist said—two interviews were being held today in the building. One for a music manager and one for a ‘special tour manager.’ For the love of donkeys, please tell me I didn't go to the wrong interview, but by the look of things, I sure as fuck did.
I debate banging my head on the closest wall, only I could go for an interview as a music manager and end up managing a fucking strip show. Because that's what it is. Mr. Jones’ words make more sense as I watch the show in front of me. I am so screwed, and not in a good way.
Six men, all in various states of undress, are working their way around the stage. Thrusting, grinding, and dancing to the music overhead. Their bodies shimmer under the light, and all I can think is that they must go through so much baby oil. It's like a feast for the eyes, I can't seem to stay on any one of them for too long. I swear my vagina just put up a sign saying open for business, I feel like I’ve been impregnated watching that many cocks swing my way. Fuuuck Gabby, what the hell have you done?
I have a mental breakdown for a minute before rounding my shoulders and blowing out a breath. Okay, this might not have been the big—no pun intended—break I was looking for, but I can do this. Piece of cake right?
“You ready Gabrielle?” Mark asks, looking concerned.
I nod and put on my professional mask, if I can bluff my way through the interview, I can bluff this. Or should that be buff? “Gabby,” I say with a polite smile. His eyes sparkle as a teasing look enters his eyes.
“You got it, sweetness, now close that mouth of yours before you catch flies. They will eat you alive if you show any weakness.” I nod and snap my drooling mouth shut. Sighing, he turns his back on the guys. “You want a piece of advice Gabby?”
I nod instantly.
“Don’t be like the others. They will see you as a woman, and if you show that all you see is the sex they’re selling, you’ll be gone before you can say dildo. They need a manager, someone to lean on and control them. What they don’t need is another drooling woman. So pull up your big girl pants and find your backbone and attitude, cause sweetness, you’re going to need it.”
I nod, a smile forming on my face, I can do that. So what, they are super hot and half naked? I can deal with that, I’ve never been a prude, I can understand the attraction to the show and why they are doing so well. I’m betting the lifestyle they lead is the reason they go through so many managers, and why they need someone to try and control their antics. They’re used to getting their own way with their looks, so I’ll just have to make sure they don’t. Let’s face it, they ain’t ever met anyone like me. Gabrielle Menro, stripper wrangler, to the rescue.
“Okay, I can do that. Thank you,” I add, schooling my face from gawking to professional just as the music turns off and the boys stop dancing.
“Oh and Gabby?” Mark calls, an evil glint in his eyes.
“Yes?” I ask distractedly, as I mentally compile a list of everything I need to research and do to make sure this works.
“Good luck,” he whispers in my ear before I’m pushed onto the stage. Blinking, I watch as seven pairs of eyes swivel my way.
Big girl pants Gabby, let’s show them who’s boss.
“You lost, Angel?” one of them asks, stepping forward as he breathes deeply, his hands on his hips as he arches an eyebrow at me, a flirty smirk pulling at his full, plump lips. He’s hot, I’ll give him that, they all are in different ways. He's tall, taller than some of the others. He’s skinnier too, but still has muscle. His skin is a tawny colour and his dark brown hair is high and fluffy looking, held back by a black bandana. His eyes crinkle at the corner as he takes me in. He looks younger than the others, probably closer to my age. I can tell instantly he’s a flirt and knows how good-looking he is. He steps forward, his hips rolling with the movement. He moves like silk, smooth and sensual. I’m betting he dances and fucks the same way. No Gabby, head out of the gutter. “Cause I could help you, if you know what I mean.” He winks as he runs his hand down his chest. My eyes follow before I arch my eyebrow sarcastically. Time for business.
“I think even the plant over there knows what you mean.” Laughter tumbles out of the group of men, with a blond haired man smacking the flirt on his back. He's muscly as hell and looks like a bloody Ken doll. Perfectly styled blond hair, bright blue eyes, and tanned skin all in a muscly body. His six pack clenches with his movements but I don’t get hot and bothered, yay for me.
Shaking my head I cock my hip out and smile back, my famous Gabby attitude returning. “Sorry, angel,” I mock. “I’m here for business, I’m your new manager. Gabrielle Menro, nice to meet you.”
“No fucking way,” the flirt says, looking me over in shock.
“Well damn,” Blondie adds.
Another one steps forward, and the two in front of me move to allow him to stop before me. He's big, not the biggest, but he has muscle on muscle. An eight pack glistens with sweat and his body is covered in tattoos. His brown hair is messy, but as he runs his hands through it, it moves back into some sort of style. His face is handsome, probably one of the best looking men I have ever seen, but the snarl pulling at his lips has me reconsidering it. He looks like he’s sucking on a turd and it's not a good look.
“You’re telling me those office bastards hired some woman to try and manage us?” he scoffs, crossing his arms. I notice the sleeve tattoos but consider his words. From the way the others are reacting, I’m betting he’s the leader. This moment is important, one wrong word and he could try and get me fired. I need them on my side, but I also need them to understand I’m here to stay, because one thing they will learn is that I never back down from a challenge, and this is what this job is.
“Yes. It seems you have a reputation problem—” A bald headed man laughs and mutters something, interrupting me. I wait for him to finish, my eyes lingering on him. He's smaller, probably the smallest of the guys, but he’s also packed with muscle. An eight-pack, massive tree trunk arms, and not an ounce of fat on him. His skin is slightly lighter than the first man but still tanned. His head shines under the light as a red bandana runs around his head. Thick black eyebrows arch above some of the deepest brown eyes I have ever seen. His face is perfection, hard like the rest of him, with high sculpted cheekbones and a square jaw. He looks like a model or a singer you see serenading the hot girl in films. He also looks older than some of the others, probably mid-thirties.
Pulling my eyes back to the stare down Mr. Tattoos is giving me, I arch my eyebrow at him. “As I was saying, you have a problem. I’m here to f
ix it, we can either do that on good terms or bad. Because I am not leaving, this is my job, I’m your new manager. The sooner you get used to that, the better. You don’t have to like me, but you do have to listen to me.” Smiling to soften the blow, I try to appeal to him. “I can make you guys better than you already are. I can take you all the way, but I need you to work with me. Sound fair?” I hold out my hand and he glares at it.
“We’ll see,” he growls before storming past me, ignoring my hand completely. What a drama queen. I must mutter that because the other guys laugh.
“Don’t let him hear you say that though,” comes a deep, whisky smooth voice. I meet the man's eyes and try not to gawk. Sweet baby Jesus—his dark onyx skin glistens as does the silver bar through his right nipple. He’s bald as well and the tallest guy in the group. He’s thick, muscly but without the definition, a powerhouse, he looks like he would break someone in half.
“Gabriella, was it?” he asks and I nod mutely before clearing my throat. “Gabby,” I correct with a smile and he returns it, flashing pearly whites at me.
“Nice to meet you, ignore Blake, he’s a drama queen like you said. I’m Kingston, that’s Damon.” He jerks his head at the silent man next to him, who offers me a nod.
Another hot guy, seriously, I’m only one woman. He's older than all the other guys, I can tell instantly. He is sexy though, in a rocker sort of way. His black hair is longer on top and shorter on the sides, and dotted with grey hairs every now and again. Wrinkles tug at his eyes and laughter lines frame his mouth. He's handsome in a normal way. His body is lean, with some definition, and he's wearing tight black jeans and biker boots. He’s hot, there is no doubt about it, he looks like every girls’ older rocker fantasy.