by M. S. Parker
I never wanted to be too busy for her. She’d never been too busy for me, no matter what was going on in the rest of her life. I was always her top priority, and she’d always be mine.
Anything exciting at work? Possible serial killers? Romantic possibilities? Hopefully not the same person.
I coughed as a dry bit of popcorn got stuck. Leave it to Mom to bring up my dating life – or lack thereof – in a creative way.
Three
Ashlee
Artists and Repertoire in the music industry referred to the department that was responsible for the broad concepts of talent scouting and overseeing artistic development. At least, that was how it’d been explained to me when I’d first applied for an internship at Manhattan Records. I had a degree in communications, but that had covered so many different possibilities that it’d been impossible to remember all of the definitions for every department in every field.
When I’d first applied to be an intern, I hadn’t known where I wanted to work, but as a runner, I’d had the chance to see for myself who did what and how and where. After six months or so, I’d been moved to run for primarily A&R, and that’s how I’d decided this was where I wanted to be.
At least, that was the story I kept telling myself.
Not because I disliked my job. I liked it well enough. And I was pretty good at it. More than pretty good, as I’d discovered three months ago when I’d gotten a promotion from runner to personal assistant.
Speaking of…
I held out a cup of Salted Caramel Mocha Coffee as the elevator door opened, and my boss stepped out. Stu Hancock had been with Manhattan Records almost since the beginning, even though he barely looked old enough to vote. I was pretty sure I actually looked older than Mr. Hancock.
“Good morning,” I said as I fell in step with him. “I put your mail on your desk, but most of it looks like junk. I confirmed your first appointment of the day and will start working my way through the rest of your schedule first thing.”
“You know, Miss Webb, you aren’t required to get me coffee each morning,” he said with a smile. “I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not really necessary.”
I shrugged. “I figured if I was already stopping to get my own, I might as well pick up yours and Ms. Lamas’s while I’m there. No point in either of you needing to stop on your way in or send Flora or me out again.”
“Well, thank you.”
One of the things I appreciated the most about working under Mr. Hancock and Suzie Lamas was how well they managed to balance having a department that was both professional and casual. They didn’t always take the time to thank us for doing something that was our actual job, but any time we went above and beyond, they made a point of expressing their gratitude.
“There’s a voicemail about the event this weekend. I believe it’s Zed Hipwood inquiring about perks for Unraveling’s appearance.”
A shadow passed across Mr. Hancock’s usually clear blue eyes. It wasn’t there long, but it was enough for me to know that he wasn’t fond of one of Manhattan Records’ biggest stars. I’d heard conflicting stories about Hipwood over the past couple years, and there’d been all sorts of stories about him since the band had first appeared on the scene.
“Was he sober?”
I didn’t answer right away, thinking carefully about the message I’d listened to. I didn’t want to make an assumption and possibly cause an issue between the company and Unraveling’s frontman. Mr. Hancock didn’t rush me, which I appreciated. He and Ms. Lamas didn’t ask rhetorical questions, and they didn’t ask questions they didn’t want answers to. If anything, they seemed to appreciate it when we took the time to come up with a clear and honest answer.
“It was hard to tell,” I said finally. “He wasn’t slurring his words, and his statements were understandable, but I know that people who are used to drinking a lot don’t always have the same noticeable signs of being drunk that most people think of.”
“True,” Mr. Hancock said as I followed him into his office. He sat down behind his desk and sighed. “And Zed’s definitely no stranger to alcohol.”
“I’ve…guessed as much.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and for once, he actually looked like he was in his early forties. “What did he want?”
I’d had to listen to the message three times to get it all, but I was confident I’d managed to record everything. I pulled out my notebook and opened to the page for today. I transcribed notes into my phone at the end of every day, but I liked to have a hard copy too, especially if I was trying to take notes while I was on the phone. I found it simpler to do it that way.
“The event this weekend is to promote the summer releases and concert tours,” I said. I’d double-checked that Hipwood had been correct about the point of the event. “He wants Unraveling to have the first announcement, both for the release and the tour.”
Mr. Hancock nodded. “All right. What else?”
“He wants the band to have a private green room where they can go whenever they ‘get bored.’” It might’ve been a little immature of me to include the air quotes, but I wasn’t going to claim those words as my own. And I intended to continue making sure my boss knew what I had and hadn’t said. “In said green room, he wants a specific selection of alcoholic beverages, of which I have a list, enough for each of ‘his boys’ to ‘chill.’ He’s also asking for ten ‘hot bitches’ to be dancing in the room at all times.”
Hancock leaned forward, his eyes closed and rubbed his temples. “He does have a way with words, doesn’t he?” He didn’t even bother to hide his sarcasm.
“Quite the gentleman.” The words popped out of my mouth before I could think about the wisdom of actually saying them. “Sorry.”
Hancock shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. What else was there?”
“He wants Starburst Jellybeans, but only the yellow and green ones.”
“He has a thing about red dye,” Hancock said. “Not an allergy. He just hates it.”
I nodded. “I actually remember reading that a few years ago.”
“You’re an Unraveling fan, then?”
I held up a hand and wiggled it back and forth. “If I’m going to be completely honest, I liked most of their first album, but only a song or two off every album since.”
One side of Hancock’s mouth tipped up in a half-smile. “They still manage to sell out stadiums all over the country.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t say other people didn’t still like their music.”
“Good point.” Hancock leaned back. “Continue. Because I know there’s more.”
I blew out a breath. “You’re right. There’s also a list of half a dozen other snacks, including mini sliders, burritos, and organic kale.”
“The new bass player only eats organic,” Hancock explained. “I’m actually a little surprised that Hipwood even knows that.”
I hesitated, then said, “I’m pretty sure the new organic bass player has a couple friends Hipwood likes a lot.”
“Are we talking female friends we’ll probably have to add to the backstage pass list until Hipwood gets tired of them, or either gender friends who are supplying Unraveling with things that are less than legal?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I think the former, but it might be the latter.”
Hancock nodded. “All right. I’ll make sure I let Nate know about that possible problem.”
Nate.
That would be Nate Lexington. CEO and co-owner of Manhattan Records. The face of the company. Everyone’s boss of bosses.
I’d seen him from a distance a few times but hadn’t ever actually spoken to him, and I was fine with that. I’d put everything I had into a nice, neat package and give it to Mr. Hancock to use as he saw fit. Anything other than information gathering and doing whatever my immediate boss in the A&R department told me was well above my pay grade.
Four
Nate
When the phone in my desk buzz
ed again, I sighed and pulled out the phone. It’d been going off at least once an hour since I’d gotten up this morning and I didn’t need to look at it to know it was Roma. I had two phones. One for women and the other for everything else. It made things much simpler to keep sex and my actual life separate.
Occasionally, the women I dumped would try to cling to me, calling, texting, that sort of thing, but ignoring them generally got the point across. A day or two of a few tearful voicemails or angry text messages and then it was done. At least I assumed the voicemails were tearful. I never listened to them. The only reason I didn’t delete and block numbers immediately after ending an arrangement was because I’d learned early on that some women, if provoked too much, would go that extra mile to find my personal number or harass me at work.
Hudson MacIntosh.
I’d learned a lot about how to handle women from that nutcase. Ghosting her had pissed her off but blocking her number had been the last straw. She’d showed up at my place, pounding on my door and making an embarrassment of herself. When that hadn’t gotten her anything but a police escort back to her car, she’d come into work and stood in the lobby when security wouldn’t let her upstairs. Manhattan Records had just been getting their feet underneath them at the time, and it’d been a headache I hadn’t needed. Eventually, strings had been pulled, and I’d been able to quietly take out a restraining order against her.
I opened my messages and scrolled to the bottom, not bothering to read the litany of insults and curses being hurled my way. The other benefit of having a separate phone for all communication with my ‘girlfriends’ was that I had everything readily available should I need to take legal action.
Again, Hudson MacIntosh.
She’d followed the restraining order and stayed away, but that hadn’t prevented her from going to a tabloid with stories of our bedroom exploits. Fortunately for me, that’d backfired on her. She hadn’t realized that telling people I’d used handcuffs and blindfolds had reflected on her more than me.
Sexist, sure, but that wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t make society think the same way about a man with certain kinks as they did about a woman who had them too. Just like those anonymous pictures of her on her knees, sucking me off while I watched the NFL draft had sent her back to Nebraska with her tail between her legs while I’d pretty much just gotten a headshake and eye roll.
At least she hadn’t tried to say it hadn’t been consensual. I still had the footage the pictures had come from, and there’d be absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’d consented if I released that tape. I hadn’t done it, of course, because she’d backed off, but I would’ve.
That was the whole point of me getting permission to record everything. The women I was with knew that no matter where we were or what we were doing, chances were high that I was recording every movement in some way. I’d worked too fucking hard to get where I was to have some bitch lie about me and steal it all. Most of them thought I liked to watch it later and jerk off to it, but the truth was, everything was stored away in case I needed it for some legal reason.
I didn’t do re-runs.
Speaking of which…
There’s no further discussion warranted. You agreed to all terms prior to entering into our agreement. Don’t contact me again.
As I sent the message, I wondered if perhaps I should start drawing up actual contracts. I hadn’t wanted to go that far since I’d most likely need to bring an actual lawyer into it to make them binding. I had a business degree from NYU and could find my way around a record contract, but something like this would need more than that little bit of knowledge to make it worth the effort. A poorly written contract could fuck me up worse than not having one at all.
Since I hadn’t yet replaced Roma, I turned the phone off and returned it to my desk. Work was going to be my only focus for a while. I’d had enough of women for at least a couple weeks.
I’d barely started going through my email when someone knocked on the door. A wave of relief went through me when I looked up to see my partner, Finley Kordell, standing in the doorway. I waved him in.
Finley was eleven years older than me and actually resembled me enough for people to occasionally wonder if we were brothers. His hair was a rusty, cinnamon sort of color rather than nearly white-blond like mine, and my eyes were dark brown while his were blue, but we were both tall, with broad shoulders and square jaws. I was a couple inches taller, but for a guy heading toward fifty, Finley probably could’ve knocked me on my ass if he really tried. I always thought it was something about the eyes.
Luckily for me, he was laid-back enough that in the ten-plus years we’d known each other, we’d never once come to any sort of physical altercation. In fact, Finley was one of the few people who could call me on my shit and get away with it.
Judging by the expression on his face at the moment, he was about to do just that.
“I’m hearing rumors that Zed is being a pain in the ass again.”
“I wasn’t aware that he’d ever stopped,” I said dryly. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He’s harassing A&R about special perks for the event this weekend.” Finley sat on the couch against the far wall rather than in the chair across from me.
“Suzie came to you?”
He shook his head. “I happened to overhear Stu’s assistant telling him about the call. I didn’t stick around to find out details since we both know he’ll come to us if it’s something we need to know.”
“How did Stu’s assistant get the call?” I asked. I vaguely remembered something about hiring a second assistant for A&R so Stu and Suzie could each have their own, but I didn’t recall having met the person.
“She’s always here half an hour before Stu, going through email and voicemail to weed out the stuff he doesn’t need to bother himself with.” Finley sent a pointed look at the stack of unopened mail next to my computer. “It’s why I suggested you get an assistant yourself.”
“And I told you that it wouldn’t be worth it since I’d have to waste my time showing him or her how I liked things done, only to have them quit in a couple weeks either because I was too mean or because I wouldn’t fuck them. Possibly both.”
He didn’t even blink. “Your humility never ceases to amaze me.”
I tipped him a sarcastic salute. “I’ve never claimed to lack confidence.”
“No, you have not,” he admitted. “On a different note, have you decided if you want Ollie Chandler sitting next to you or Roma during the dinner? Apparently, it’ll make a difference in the optics.”
“Shit.”
Finley sighed. “What did you do?”
I tapped my pen on the desk. “I forgot that I’d included her on the guest list.”
“And you’ve dumped her.”
“She was getting too clingy,” I said. “And I was bored.”
Finley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Have you ever met anyone who hasn’t bored you?”
“Only you,” I answered with a grin. When he didn’t smile back, I cleared my throat. “Look, we both know Roma was only with me to meet people who could further her career. She knew that I was only with her for the sex. We both got what we wanted until it wasn’t working anymore.”
“And did she feel the same when you informed her that you didn’t want her anymore?”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not my fault she wanted more than I’m willing to give.”
“Do you really think it’s unusual for a woman to believe that a man may wish to spend time with her for reasons other than sex?”
“If she’s with me, it should be unusual. I don’t lead these women on, Finley, you know that.”
“I know, but I’m a little tired of ending up your plus one because you keep breaking up with your women before events.”
I grinned at him. “Come on, Finley. We make a cute couple.”
He laughed, and I knew his annoyance at me would fade. He’d never hidden the f
act that he was gay, but it wasn’t something he advertised either. He was a discreet man about all aspects of his life, personal and professional. It was why we worked so well together. He liked doing the behind-the-scenes things, and I liked being the public face of the company. I might not always like socializing, but I liked the prestige and attention that came with running a company like Manhattan Records.
There were always the assholes who liked to make inferences – or flat-out statements – that Finley and I were lovers, but neither one of us let those sorts of things get to us. Once Finley realized that he wouldn’t lose my friendship because some homophobic jackoffs liked to run their mouths, it’d become a joke between us.
“I mean it this time, Nate. I’ve got plans this weekend, so unless you want the table number to be uneven, you better figure out someone to take.” He leaned back again and crossed his legs. “Now, what are we going to do about our star asshole?”
Five
Ashlee
When I got back from lunch, Mr. Hancock was still out at his business meeting slash lunch, so I headed over to Ms. Lamas’s office to ask if there was anything I could do for her. I liked her as much as I liked Mr. Hancock, but she definitely wasn’t as easy-going about things. It was a completely different learning experience. One I appreciated, but sometimes, she scared the shit out of me.
“Anything I can help you with?” I asked after she called me into her office.
“Stu still at lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I told Nate if he put Stu in charge of wining and dining, he’d lose an entire afternoon.” Despite the words, her tone was affectionate. She and Stu had a strange sort of relationship, something like I’d always imagined a sibling would be. She sighed. “But he’s good at what he does. I’d be too busy looking at my phone and thinking about getting back to the office. He enjoys his role, and I enjoy mine.”