Drive(84)

Life was good, better than good.

“Of course, yes, call me Stella.”

“Truth be told,” he said, addressing Nate, probably to offset my upcoming ass lashing, “That’s probably the mildest thing I’ve ever heard as a rock ‘n’ roll manager.”

I nodded as Nate’s jawed ticked, probably in contemplation of his words and my punishment when he got me alone. I was almost giddy with anticipation. Fighting always lead to epic fucking. Nate and I legitimately had the best sex on earth. We competed with ourselves. It was our thing. I mouthed a quick “I love you” which granted me soft eyes as Nate cleared his throat. “Stella,” he said, laced with a hint of prejudice, because we did have that epic sex on the regular. “Roger manages that band Dead Sergeants. It was one of the first articles you published.”

All traces of humor vanished from my face, replaced by a plastic smile.

“I remember. They’ve done well for themselves,” I added, waiting for the punchline. I’d never told Nate about Reid. And I never had a single reason to feel guilty about it until that moment. Since the minute Reid left my apartment three years ago, I never had a reason to tell him. I hadn’t spoken to Reid. The Sergeants had recorded their first album when they landed in California and that went double platinum. That success led them on a yearlong US tour. Speculation that they were recording last fall had already been confirmed in the press but no release date had been announced. Fans were chomping at the bit.

“Indeed, they have,” Mr. Morris agreed. “The group would like to give you an exclusive for both your podcast and for the paper. Both stories could launch at once, of course.”

“We can make that work,” Nate agreed with a nod. I could practically see him salivating. Dead Sergeants were well on their way to being the next stadium rock band.

“Mr. Morris, I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I have no time. My sister is getting married this weekend.”

“What?” Nate snapped as Roger looked at me with a smirk and quick rebuttal.

“The band is willing to work around your schedule due to the fact that it was your article that got them signed with Sony.”

“I didn’t know that,” Nate said with probing eyes in my direction.

Hello, guilt, it’s been a while.

I shrugged. “That’s because it’s not true.” I stood, grabbing a cup of water from Nate’s cooler and resumed my seat across from him sipping slowly.

Mr. Morris went on, ignoring the building animosity. “The band disagrees, Miss Emerson. And they have an announcement of an upcoming overseas tour for their album releasing next month. In addition, one of the members has recently gotten engaged,” Roger said while I began to choke. I cleared my throat.

“Which one?”

“Rye,” Roger said with a smile. “Typically, we don’t like to delve too deep into the relationship status for fear it may hurt the band’s relationship with the fairer sex, but it seems like more and more the media is seeking just those kinds of stories to draw readers in.”

That was the truth and one of the reasons my podcast was getting weekly views. When I was lucky enough to get an exclusive, I asked the most intrusive questions, and the audience ate it up. With the success of reality TV, things were getting far more personal in media. And Dead Sergeants were the last band I wanted to get personal with.

I felt Nate’s expectant and enthusiastic yes across his desk and kept my eyes on the same expectant gaze of Roger Morris. “It’s appreciated, but I must regretfully decline. I have last minute fittings and a rehearsal dinner a few hours away. I’m sure you can understand how daunting these things can be.”

“Stella,” Nate hissed. I snapped my gaze to his in warning.

“I’m sure JJ can cover it,” I chimed in with a smile between them, a quick solution.

“They are insistent that you conduct the interview. The band is at the hotel now and have freed up their evening for you, so this shouldn’t interfere with any of your weekend plans.”

“Wonderful,” I said as Roger stood. “I can squeeze it in around five.”

“She’ll be there within the hour,” Nate grit out as he tried to decide what to do with my body.

Roger’s eyes told me he knew exactly why I was hesitating and he’d been well prepped.

Ben. I’m going to kill him.

Lexi still wasn’t over their inevitable break up. Though true to his word, Ben hadn’t been the one to stray. Lexi had. Ben was crushed by it, but the way he went about his backlash was cruel punishment, not to mention national news. Some pictures can never be erased, especially with the newest it girl, a Hollywood starlet half-naked in his lap. Those pictures circulated for months, slowly stripping the life away from Lexi. Ben was too blind to see she was too wrapped up in him, too desperate, too lonely. I, in no way, agreed with her actions, but saw she was human in her love and her insecurity when it came to him, and their relationship made her sick. I understood it all too well. Neither one of us got our rock ‘n’ rock fairytale.

I was content.

And proud of Lexi. She was doing her best to bounce back, and it had nothing to do with men. She’d enrolled in her first year of college. “Better late than never,” she’d said, and I agreed. She’d also gotten a job on the set as a stylist for a DIY show that was filmed locally. Lexi had put up videos on YouTube when it launched and gained a lot of attention. It inspired me to start my podcasts. I’d run the marathon in Austin as far as the paper was concerned. I knew every step of city pavement. I no longer served beers at Maggie Mae’s due to the newly thriving budget of Speak, but it never kept me from doing the work. I knew every club manager and often got tipped off when some of the bigger names rolled into town. And in doing that, I scored exclusives by my reputation. Austin Speak had the most followed entertainment segments in the city and was getting national recognition with some of my freelance publications. And this all happened within the time that Dead Sergeants hit the rock ‘n’ roll lottery with three, number one billboard singles with their self-titled first album. I watched the guys take the stage after winning two Grammys for Best New Artist and Song of the Year. On stage, Reid stood in the back, mute, while the rest of the guys rambled on. Even with their success, Reid remained tight-lipped and out of the spotlight. As Roger Morris shut the door after a brief handshake with Nate and I, I decided I would light Reid Crowne’s ass on fire with questions if he were the one responsible for dragging me into their hotel.