Rock All Night(133)

I looked up in distress at Ryan, but he was still on the phone at the other end of the penthouse. I didn’t want to bother him, and I didn’t want to mess with his laptop – but I was desperate. And I didn’t think he would mind.

I scrolled up with the touchpad and found the tweet and picture again:



Holy shit, I just saw Derek Kane checking in at the Wynn in Vegas! #DerekKane #mindblown



The picture was definitely of him.

My mind began to race (well, as much as it can race when fueled by three mimosas):

I knew where he was.

I could go to his hotel room at the Wynn and surprise him!

Not all clingy-like, though. Just show up, hot and willing, totally seduce him, f*ck his brains out, and leave! Give him a taste of what he was missing!

I could make things up to him!

I could clear up the bad vibes between us. Give him a reason to come home earlier.

I could let him know that I knew it would be okay.

That I wanted ‘us.’

That I believed in ‘us.’

But… how would I find him when I got to the Wynn?

I could ask for the room number, but I didn’t think they would give it to me.

Shit.

Then I thought, I’m a journalist, goddamn it.

Would a REAL journalist let this stop her from getting a massive break in a story?

But, barring a miracle or a brand-new employee – which I didn’t think was likely – I couldn’t see any way around the problem.

The hotel wasn’t going to give up the room number of a guest, much less a famous one.

Unless…

…unless someone really ‘official’ was asking for it.

Suddenly I had my plan.






110




I got out my cell phone and searched for the Wynn’s number. Then I retreated to Killian’s now-vacant bedroom (I could tell it was his by the lingering stench of pot smoke), found the telephone by the bed, steadied my trembling nerves, and dialed.

After the main switchboard directed me to the front desk, a man’s voice answered on the first ring. He sounded moderately young, maybe mid- to late twenties.

“This is the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas, how may I help you?”

“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of Miles Sumner, the manager for the band Bigger. The lead singer, Derek Kane, is staying at your hotel, and we need to messenger over some contracts for him to sign immediately and send right back with the delivery man. Could you give me his room number, please?”

There was a pause.

Then –

“Derek Kane?”

As in, Really? Derek Kane is staying at our hotel?

For the first time, I felt like I might actually have a shot.

Then his voice dropped back down a notch to normal. “I’m sorry, but we can’t give out that sort of information.”

I had expected that. “Can you call up to his room and ask him if you can tell me the room number for the messenger service?”

“We could just deliver the package ourselves if they drop it off at the front desk.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s a multi-million dollar contract. My boss would kill me if it got into anybody’s hands but Derek’s. Could you call him?”

“Couldn’t you call his cell phone?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

There was a stunned silence. Then, “Really?”

“I know, right? In this day and age? But no, he likes to be a rebel. Which is why it’s really, really important that I get these contracts over to him, because we can’t get ahold of him any other way.”

There was the sound of light tapping on a keyboard. “I’m sorry, but there’s no one by that name staying here.”

My eyes bugged out.

What?!

How was that possible?

Had the guy who tweeted the picture been wrong?

Or was Derek there, and just using a different –

Suddenly our night at the Doubletree in Irvine came flooding back.

Who’s Arthur Lee?

Lead singer of Love, this awesome, underappreciated band from the ‘60s. I always register as him when Miles isn’t handling things.

“Could you check under the name ‘Arthur Lee,’” I said as calmly as I could.

Another pause, more light tapping. “Um… I could connect you to his room, if you like…”

It’s funny to have a reaction where you’re like YES! and SHIT! all at the same moment. But I rolled with it.

“He’s NOT going to be happy about talking to me right now. You know, rock star, end of the tour, and all that,” I lied outright. “That’s why he went to a different hotel. But we have to get these contracts signed by the end of the day, or there’s going to be hell to pay. And it’s kind of my fault, because I didn’t get him to sign them earlier, and I could lose my job over this. Can you please, please, please help me out? Either call him and ask if we can give the delivery service his room number, or… please?…”

There was a long, long pause. Then a sigh.

“Hold on, I’ll call him.”

YES!

“Tell him Miles Sumner needs to messenger over contracts, please!”

“Okay – ”