Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(15)
He’d even charmed his way inside on more than one penniless occasion. This was why he loved the fans. The skin-to-skin contact, the moments.
The crazy.
He glanced at the door and Lila was still there, but her face was thoughtful now and her iPad was out. Boss lady was on the job. She would play up the spin.
When everyone had their videos and Lila had collected names and usernames and numbers, they both walked back into the dark room.
“By all rights, I should skin you for being over an hour late at this point, but your sales of the album just surged with that little stunt. ‘Sugar Kiss’ just went from number four to number one on iTunes. Congrats, Kagan, you won’t be flayed today.”
“Ah, c’mon, Lila. I love when you roast me over the coals. It gets my nipples all tingly.”
“Keep you and your nipples to yourself. You have four interviews lined up and thanks to that rather delicious bit of social media prowess, we are very behind. And if you tell anyone I called it delicious, I’ll kneecap you.”
“Geez, kneecap me, put itching powder all over my manly bits...so evil, Dragon Lady.” He covered his lips. “I mean, Lila.”
“I know you morons call me Dragon Lady. Daenerys always got what she wanted. I’m okay with the moniker.”
“You were watching Games of Thrones with us in the studio.”
“I couldn’t help it. You played it at top volume.”
Simon bumped her arm. “You love it. Power, sex, kingdoms, and decapitations. It’s all bloody good fun. You’d rock the queen status.”
“Damn right.” She tapped on her tablet.
He grinned. Lila Shawcross liked to pretend she was a badass, but the band had grown on her. Mostly like a fungus he was sure, but they’d grown on her nonetheless.
He looped his arm around her hip. “So, how many interviewers do I need to slay?”
She unhooked his arm and he heard the whoosh of an email being sent from her tablet. “I just sent you an updated list of people. Now bring your A-game to the party, Simon. You have work to do.”
“I’m always playing the game, darlin’.”
“That’s the truth,” she said under her breath. She pointed to a leather booth on the far side of the room under cherry lights. “First up is Music Life. Kim and her crew will be filming all night so I figured a bookend of interviews would be best. The rest of the band has already done their work.”
“Save the best for last, baby.”
She merely gave him a side eye. “Then rehearsal and more interviews.”
“Good thing I warmed up in the shower.”
She hugged her ever present iPad to her chest. “Oh, and thanks for being sober. I didn’t want to have to kill you. There are far too many interviews to reschedule.”
Her deadpan deliveries always tickled him. So much so that he made his mission in life to break her. “I had to protect my junk, right?”
Lila just shook her head and headed over to the stage. Simon waved to Deacon and a very pregnant Harper on the stage. He was doting on her as usual. She was sitting on one of the trunks with a bottle of water in her hand as her husband checked over the equipment.
No matter how many minions and roadies they had these days, Deacon still needed to approve the layout. And in a club setting Simon appreciated Deacon’s Boy Scout nature. No matter how swanky—and this place was swanky—there was always quirks to a venue. This place was more suited to a DJ, so he imagined the acoustics were going to be a bit of a challenge.
He dragged his fingers over the leather covered frames of the wide U-shaped booths. The perky and delicious Kim Forrester was sitting in the far booth with her camera crew scattered around her. A roving cameraman was following Jazz as she waddled around the bar and took over the space. Probably making a virgin version of some drink from the mixing book that she’d stolen from Harper’s stash of recipe books.
Jazz was forever making juice concoctions and putting umbrellas in them. Their Pink Princess had never been a big drinker to begin with, but since she’d grown more pregnant, she was obsessed with frilly drinks.
Simon waved to Kim, the interviewer, and stopped off at the bar. He slapped the counter. “Bartender, I need a drink.”
Jazz slid over to him. “Finally decided to join us?”
Simon waggled his eyebrows. “Miss me?”
“Like a rash.”
“Aww.” He crossed his hands over his chest. “You wound me, Pix.”
She rubbed the side of her belly. “What can the kiddo and I make you, Lush?”
“Make me two pretty drinks with vodka.”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” he said with a sly grin. “I have to go entertain Miss Forrester.”
“Well then.” She pulled out two martini glasses. A worker bee at the end of the bar started to come their way, but Simon held up a hand.
The guy balled his fingers into a fist and stayed still. Jazz Edwards knew her way around a bar. All of them had spent so much time in bars that bartending was second nature—and often a second job—for most of them.
Simon preferred drinking to building a drink, but he’d done a few stints as busboy over the years. He usually ended up in the backroom with a patron, but he started off the night working well enough.