However, I wasn’t here to critique Sandstone’s decor choices. Nor was I here to apologize or beg them to reconsider Zero. We had other options. Time was becoming a factor, but we certainly weren’t desperate. Zero didn’t need Sandstone, but I needed to know what happened Saturday night. I obviously hadn’t asked the right questions. Like why the hell they’d offered Declan a recording contract. Sure, he was sexy and talented. But so were a lot of musicians. The guys were right. This felt personal.
It was reminiscent of my father’s ideas for his last PR campaign for the Baxter franchise. He was a firm believer that personal drama sold stories. I supposed it made sense. Nothing caught the public’s attention quite like an old-fashioned train wreck. I didn’t see the point in pissing the band off by casually bringing up their rival and making me look bad. I wanted to do this manager thing on my own to prove I could, but I wasn’t as cunning as I liked to think. I shot a quick text message to my father, glancing up when the door to the main office opened.
“…and we’ll get back to you by Friday for sure with the final numbers.” Daria held her hand out to a sexy long-haired man.
I noted his tattooed biceps overworking the fabric on his snug white T-shirt. My gaze drifted from his broad shoulder to his taut ass in his faded Levis. Damn. Daria must have agreed. Her face turned pink when he shook her hand.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he said in a low sexy timbre.
“Talk to you soon, Declan.” She waved as he headed for the exit, then pivoted to the receptionist, blatantly ignoring me.
Okay, maybe she didn’t see me. I didn’t stick around to find out. I slipped through the door and followed Declan to the elevator. I stepped into the car behind him and pressed the button for the lobby.
“Hello,” I said pleasantly.
“Hi,” he replied distractedly as he typed a message in his cell. Then he shoved it into his back pocket and did a double take. “Hey, you’re…I know you. Sorry. I forgot your name. I’m Declan McNamara.”
“I know. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I’m Charlie Rourke, Zero’s manager.” I held my hand out like a member of the royal family.
He gave my fingers a small tug and chuckled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. I’m assuming you have places to go and people to meet, but can you spare me a few minutes?”
“Now?”
“Yes. Do you have time for coffee? There’s a Starbucks across the street,” I said as the doors slid open.
Declan studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
I made idle chitchat with him as we made our way to the coffee shop. The weather, the upcoming holidays…that kind of thing. We ordered our drinks and sat outside under a green umbrella at Declan’s suggestion. It was a beautiful November day, but it was borderline chilly. Maybe he wanted easy access for escape in case my impromptu invitation took a bad turn. I gave him a weak smile and tried to think of a polite way to wheedle information from him without giving myself away.
I cradled my to-go cup and thought of an opening line or two before blurting, “What’s with you and Sandstone? Did you really sign with them? What’d they offer you? When did you become a solo artist? And what the fuck is that all about anyway?”
“Wow. Remind me to put my seat belt on first next time, would ya? I’m not sure which question to answer or if I should tell you to fuck off,” Declan said with a laugh.
“You should probably tell me to fuck off, but I hope you don’t. Did you know they wanted to sign Zero?”
He sat back on the steel chair and inclined his head. “I heard something about that.”
I furrowed my brow. “Oh. You don’t care that they’re playing you against each other?”
“Not at all. It could work in my favor.”
“Gee, I thought you were incredibly attractive until you opened your mouth. I hate it when that happens,” I groused.
Declan chuckled. “Hmm. Not sure how to respond to that.”
“How did you sell out so spectacularly? One minute you’re with Xena, the next you’re on your own…using all her old tricks. What’s your gimmick? Were you going to bring up ancient history to sell a few records?”
“You gotta tie your wagon to something or someone that sells in this business. Everyone knows that. You especially. You’re an influencer, right? I follow you on Instagram.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, man. Your page is comedy gold. I love your stories with your cat and your little brother. He’s funny too. How are his glasses working out?”
“Work in progress.” I waved dismissively, then leaned forward. “Flattery will usually get you everywhere with me, but I think you’re a true turd bucket for using some old gripe you have with Justin and Tegan to pump up your career.”