Ben blinked back at me. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because Adam is an innocent young fool and Adrian will have him signing his life and rights away in two-point-zero seconds flat?” I dropped the spoon, wiping my hands on a cloth. “Holy crap, Ben. How could you?”
“Crap,” said Gib.
“Look after your son while I take care of the other child,” I ordered, rising to my feet and making for the nearest hallway.
“He’s twenty-five. He can look after himself.”
“Oh, as if.”
At which point, I broke out into a run. God only knows what Adrian would have already talked the kid into. Lifelong musical servitude and a commission that would make a grown man cry. Sure enough, Adrian had dressed for the kill in a gray suit with one of his dumbass ugly, heavy gold chains around his neck. They really didn’t work for him.
Adam was scratching his head, staring at the thick wad of paperwork laid on the table. “I just really want to play my music, you know?”
“Of course you do,” said Adrian, passing the boy a pen.
“Stop!” I yelled, pulling out one of the fancy chairs beside Adam. “Don’t you sign a damn thing, you idiot.”
“Martha.” Adrian’s friendly smile turned feral. “How nice to see you. Is there a problem?”
“Adam, eyes on me.” The time spent dealing with a toddler had not gone to waste at all. “The guys have their own lawyers go over anything Adrian presents them with and never accept his first offer when contract time rolls around. Do you understand me?”
The manager’s laugh sounded both forced and fake. “But that’s a different situation. Adam here is just starting out and quite honestly, he’s fortunate I’m even—”
I held up my hand. “Shut it. You’ve had your chance to speak. It’s my turn now.”
“Well, what do you think I should do?” asked Adam with a heavy sigh.
“This might be the first offer you’ve received, but it’s not going to be the only one.”
“Maybe.”
I looked to heaven. Honestly. “Try definitely. You’re talented. Why do you think he flew up from L.A. to impress you with his bling?”
Adrian’s hand flew to his chunky chain in mock outrage. Or maybe it was real. Whatever. His teeth and suntan sure as hell weren’t. Scarily white veneers and orange skin he most definitely had not been born with. Ugh.
“Anyone who would encourage you to sign something without legal advice is not someone you want to work with.”
“I was trying to save the boy money,” said Adrian.
“Yet an unscrupulous business person in this position might try to get him on a hook with a ridiculous offer he’d regret in the first five minutes. Don’t you think?”
Adam’s mouth edged down. “Shit. Now I don’t know what to do.”
“Ben will lend you his lawyer. Don’t worry.” I patted the poor boy on the arm. “I get that it seems exciting and a good opportunity. But you never rush in without knowing exactly what you’re signing up for. Never. Are we understood?”
He tipped his chin in acknowledgement.
“Are you seriously going to take the advice of a woman wearing a T-shirt covered in cartoon dogs with spaghetti in her hair?” spluttered Adrian.
I groaned and bent my head. “I thought I got it all out. Adam, can you please?”
“Sure.” He started picking among the strands of hair. Ah, the glamour.
“And they’re Super Puppies, not dogs. Get it right.”
“Can’t you just be my manager?” asked Adam, still busy with my hair. Guitarists’ fingers really came in useful sometimes. “You’re scary like him, but in a way I can handle. I mean, I can talk to you without getting completely fucking confused and wound up about everything. Plus, those festivals you recommended the other day would all be perfect. If you could get me booked.”