Iris
Using my blurry reflection on the brass elevator doors,I swiped on a coat of deep burgundy lipstick and smacked my lips together. Dark lipstick was my power move. My mama hadn’t blessed me with much, but my lips were all hers. When I painted them deep or bright colors, I might as well have been all mouth, putting the rest of my features in the back seat. When my lips had the spotlight on them, people tended to listen to what I had to say…or sing, as the case may have been.
“Ready?” Adam tucked his phone away as the doors slid open.
Lipstick back in my wristlet, I nodded. “As I’ll ever be. If this party is a bore, I trust you to get me out of there.”
“If we weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d say two free drinks and I’m out. However…”
Rolling my eyes, I huffed. “Fine. Be responsible. It doesn’t really suit you, but okay…”
Adam winked, holding his arm out to block the doors from closing so I could exit first, then followed close behind, his hand on my lower back. My skintight, knee-length, black pleather skirt kept my legs confined and steps short. This outfit was made for standing, not walking.Just for show, not for blow,as my granddad used to say.
A lavish entryway, guarded by two mammoth men in what had to be custom suits given the breadth of their shoulders, led into a penthouse that dripped money from every shiny slab of marble and polished chrome fixture. A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, and Adam snagged one for each of us. I knocked mine back like a shot, making him laugh.
“Not planning on pacing yourself tonight?” He elbowed my arm, but there was no censure in his tone. Adam was the last person to police drinking or drug habits.
“I’m good now. Just needed to take the edge off before we mingle.” I’d tossed back a shot of tequila before leaving Adam’s place too, so I had the start of a nice little buzz and a warm belly.
With his hand on my back, Adam led me deeper into the apartment of the CEO of our record label, Saul Goodman. It was his wife Vanessa's birthday, and from what we were told by our manager, she was a massive fan of ours. We’d been invited as guests and performers as a gift to her. I used “invited” loosely. What Saul Goodman wanted, he generally got, especially from his baby rock stars who didn’t have much negotiating room.
There had to have been two hundred people scattered around the space, but it wasn’t crowded in the least. It also wasn’t really my scene. Too many suits and designer dresses. Not enough leather and ripped denim. Everyone smelledgoodtoo. Like rare imported flowers and cigars. These weren’t my people—not the kind I grew up with kicking shins in mosh pits, not the devoted fans who spent their last pennies on tickets to our shows.
“It smells like money in here,” Adam murmured beside my ear.
“You stole my thoughts, honey bunny.”
It was hard for me to reconcile that we were becoming people with money. We’d played dingy clubs and slept in parking lots for so long, that was who we were in my head—gritty, struggling musicians living the starving artist life. Now, we had two albums under our belts, had toured all over the world as opening acts for some of our idols, and could fill a large club with our fans. Numbers didn’t lie, and my padded bank account said I was swiftly becoming one of these good-smelling people. And maybe that wasn’t so bad.
If they tried to take my weed or shitkickers away, though, I’d start a riot.
Adam snagged another glass of champagne for the two of us. I took this one slower, sipping instead of gulping. This wasn’t a place where I should be getting drunk, even if the glass coffee table had streaks of blow and half the guests’ pupils were as big as dimes.
Someone gasped nearby, and every head swiveled. Vanessa Goodman stood a few feet from us, her hands over her mouth. Tall, with curvy hips, a nipped waist, and generous breasts, her mocha skin was smooth and accented with a golden sheen. Her wild, curly hair only added to how gorgeous she was, and her wide, dark brown eyes gave away her age. She wasyoung,maybe younger than me. In contrast, Saul, her husband and the man who basically owned us, couldn’t have been less than sixty. He was half a foot shorter than his bride, his hair was scarce, and he had a face only a mother could love. His tight clasp on her waist told me he knew he’d shot way above his pay grade with her.
Vanessa approached us with a smile, baring perfectly straight white teeth. “Iris Adler and Adam Wainwright, right?” Her words wobbled with nerves.
Adam shook her hand first, giving her his sweet eyes. We’d talked on the way over about himnotflirting with this woman, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“It’s really nice to meet you.” I took her hand in mine, shocked to find it shaking. “Your house is stunning.” Glancing around, I took in the sky-high ceilings and view of the city from the bare windows. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
Vanessa beamed, and her chest heaved. “Thank you,” she squeezed out, like she was breathless.
Saul nuzzled the side of her hair. “My baby is a big fan. A big, big fan.”
I pressed my hand to my chest. “We’re honored. Seriously.”
Adam cupped my nape. “Extremely honored.”
Saul chuckled, tucking his wife ever more firmly under his arm in the face of flirty and adorable Adam. “Don’t tell the other two members, but you’re Van’s favorites.”
“Oh no, I love the whole band,” Vanessa rushed out.
Adam gave me a gentle shake. “They wouldn’t be offended. Roddy just does his thing behind his kit. He’s not about the glory. And Callum...well, hewantsto be forgotten. Pretty sure he’s one with the shadows.”
Vanessa pointed back and forth between us. “Are you two…?” She raised her brows, but it took a second to grasp what she was asking without saying the words.
Adam turned to me, frowning like he tasted something atrocious. I curled my lip to convey to him the idea of us being together was even more disgusting to me. I couldn’t remember a time, even when we first met years ago, where I wanted to put my lips anywhere on his body. As cute as he was, my brain had slotted him into the friend category and he’d never left. Which was convenient since fucking bandmates was verboten.