"It's a land yacht," I say out of the side of my mouth to him. "Not a chariot."
Evan laughs as Sirius and I walk up the steps. At the top, the driver looks at me and says in a low, rough rumble, "Name's Red."
"Emma," I say with a nervous smile. "And this is Sirius."
Red turns slightly away from me, reaching for something on the side of his seat. When he turns back my way, I see he's holding a dog biscuit. He holds it up for Sirius to see and says, "Can you sit, little man?"
Sirius' butt hits the rubberized mat we're standing on.
"Good boy," Red praises. I think he's smiling, but I can't really see his mouth under all that hair on his face, but his eyes are crinkled so I think so. He tosses the biscuit to Sirius, who catches it with flopping jowls that throws a small thread of drool to the floor.
I grimace and say apologetically, "Sorry about that. I'll clean it up."
"Leave it," Red growls, but in a nice way. "Dogs drool. It's not the end of the world."
And this time, I level him with a big smile. Red clearly is a dog person, and he's already taken to Sirius. His eyes crinkle more, and I definitely take that to mean he's truly smiling back at me.
A slight cough behind me, and I realize Evan's waiting to come up the steps.
"Sorry," I say as I turn left into the main area of the bus and then just gape at what's before me. In almost a daze, I lean over and unclip the leash from Sirius' collar. His nose drops to the floor to start investigating the space.
The sumptuous, ridiculously posh space.
I'm staring at a living area with blond hardwood flooring, a cream leather couch on the right, and two swivel leather chairs to my left. On the other side of the chairs is a built in desk with a laptop, and beyond that is a kitchen with tiled flooring and stainless steel appliances. I can see an open doorway leading into a bedroom with plush cream carpeting, as well as a bed decorated in expensive-looking linens. Sirius takes off to the bedroom and makes a flying leap onto the mattress, where he flops onto his back and starts wiggling around.
A warm, heavy hand on my hip causes me to jump, and then Evan's pushing past me into the living area. With a wave of his hand, he says, "So this is it... the living area. There's a desk there for you to work. Kitchen. Bathroom is on the other side of it, and then the bedroom in the back. It's only a full-sized bed but plenty big enough."
A sizzling jolt of shock slams into me and I blurt out, "I'm not sleeping in that bedroom with you."
Evan's eyes flash and his lips curve upward. He takes a step toward me and murmurs, "Your choices are that bedroom or you can stay on the second bus behind us. That's where the band and a few of the road crew ride. They sleep in bunks built into the wall."
"But... but..." I stammer, completely stunned by this news.
Then Evan bursts out laughing as he rests a hand on my shoulder. "Relax, Emma. The bedroom is yours. This couch converts and I'll sleep out here."
Amazingly, there's a twinge of disappointment to know that Evan had no intention of sleeping in the same bed as me, but the overwhelming relief obliterates it. I'd simply die if I had to share a bed with such a gorgeous specimen of a man, who is so far out of my league it's not even funny, not to mention the fact I really don't like him all that much.
Liar.
"I can't take the bedroom," I say hastily. "You're the star. You deserve the star treatment. So I'll sleep out here."
Evan grins at me a moment before he moves to the kitchen area. "You'll take the bedroom. I'm a southern boy first and foremost and we have our manners before we have anything. I'll be fine out here. Want something to drink?"
I shake my head. "I'm good."
"We're taking off, folks," Red says from the front, and I hear the doors hiss close. The bus rocks as he steps on the gas and I take a seat on the leather couch, my head spinning. I hear Sirius jump out of the bed and come barreling down the short hallway, through the kitchen, and right past the living area where he flops down on the floor beside Red. I note he absently puts a hand down to briefly scratch my puppy's head before he returns it to the wheel.
Evan takes a seat on the other end of the couch and that grabs my attention, so my head swings back his way. He stares at me, takes a sip from a can of Diet Coke, and then just stares at me some more.
It's awkward and before I start fidgeting under his heavy gaze, I try to make desperate conversation. "I went over the tour schedule you emailed me last night. I was sort of exhausted just reading it. Forty-two shows over three months."
Evan nods. "Pretty much. We'll do a show, pack up, and drive to the next venue although in the cities where we do two shows, we'll stay in a hotel for some extra comfort."
"Is it normal to have this much... um... stuff and people?" I ask, stumbling on the right words to even put a name to the convoy of buses and trucks that are rolling along behind us as we drive through my neighborhood. Atlanta is the kick off for this tour and it starts evening after next.
He bobs his head in acknowledgment. "Apparently. Although this is my first concert tour, so I can't say for sure. Crazy, right?"
"I'm still not sure I understand it," I admit.
"Well, there are three musicians who will play with me, since I'm a solo artist. I've only been with them for about a month, but they're really cool. I'll introduce you when we stop. They sleep on the other bus, along with my manager, Tyler Hannity, and the two bus drivers. Plus, there are two permanent road crews that go to all shows who will do the sound and lighting. The rest of the crew will be local hires at each venue who help to build the stage and set everything up. The tour production company handles hiring that out, as well as other local talent like stylists."
"It's overwhelming," I tell him candidly. Because I'm feeling completely out of place in this world already, and I've only been gone from my house for five minutes.
"Hey," he says as he leans toward me a bit. "You gotta remember... this is all new for me too. I only broke onto the scene last year, and I'd never even opened for another band before. Stepping out on that stage in Atlanta... we're going to be lucky if I don't have a stroke. I'm going to be so nervous."
And that makes me feel all kinds of better, knowing that about Evan. That perhaps both of us are stepping into this world together, and it makes me feel slightly braver knowing he's overwhelmed by all this as well.
"Now," he says dramatically as he stands from the couch. "How about we get going on some of the legal mumbo-jumbo I hired you for, so you can get up to speed? There will be reporters in Atlanta we'll have to address."
My stomach drops, curdles, and threatens to expel the bagel I ate for a hurried but late lunch today. I hate public speaking and the thought of getting up in front of reporters to field questions about Evan's legal issues makes me want to hurl my guts up.
But instead, I just put on a brave face and give him a nod, hoping this next month goes by fast so I can get back to the sanctity of my real life and a job that's much more suited to me.
CHAPTER 7
Evan
A cupboard opening, the rattle of a cup against granite counters, and I come slowly awake. I assume we're in Atlanta at the venue, as the bus is quiet and at a standstill. Morning sunlight is filtering through the blinds on the bus window above me. I roll from my back to my side, craning my neck so I can verify that Red is indeed not in the driver's seat, before I look into the kitchen.
Emma's standing at the counter, making a cup of coffee in the Keurig. She's already dressed for the day, her hair sleek, shiny, and without a stray strand to be seen. She's wearing what I've come to dub as her "mom wear" of perfectly pressed Bermuda shorts and a prim little blouse with lace around the collar. It's buttoned to her throat. I suppose it was too much to hope she might come out in a see-through negligee with nipples pushing outward and maybe a tiny silk thong underneath that would show her bare ass through the material.
I have to stifle a groan, particularly as I realize I've got morning wood--getting imminently wo
odier as I think about Emma in a negligee--pressing against the loose cotton material of my sweatpants. I rearrange the blanket over me, hoping to make the "tent" less obvious before clearing my throat and saying, "Good morning."
"Good morning," she answers in a somewhat flat, professional voice. "Would you like some coffee?"
"I'll get some in a minute," I say as I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the couch, planting my bare feet on the floor. I didn't bother pulling the couch out into a bed last night as I was too tired by the time I was ready to go to sleep. Even worse, I couldn't get to sleep, my mind plagued with a variety of worries.
What if I suck when I get up on that stage?
How am I going to deal with my former band and their ridiculous lawsuit?
Let's not even get into the stress I feel over having to decide if I want to cut a deal with one of the record labels.
And the thing that repeatedly kept me from falling asleep was wondering how I was going to deal with Emma. She thinks she's here to work for me, and on its face... that's true. But my motives are far more selfish. She's here merely because she intrigues me. I've got the leverage and privilege behind me that ensures she stays within my line of sight so I can figure out how I want to play with her.
Last night, she read over the lawsuit brought by the members of my former band, Kickback--sans Keith Carina, of course. It essentially alleges that they jointly own the copyright of certain songs on my Core Deviance album and they were entitled to a portion of the royalties. That album went platinum in less than a year, and because I published that as an indie artist, those royalties all came to me--less the production costs Midge fronted. After I paid her back her investment with interest--at my insistence--the resulting monies I pocketed has me set for life.
Emma spent an hour grilling me on how those songs came to be, and I told her I wrote the lyrics and composed the music for those songs, the original intent to be played by Kickback. I showed them the songs, and we played them together a few times. We made some minor chord changes together as a band, but no changes were ever made to the lyrics.
"I did some basic research earlier and there are two types of copyrights," Emma explained. "The first is for the composition of the song, and the second is for the recording of it."
"I composed those songs," I reminded her. "Every word and musical note was my creation."
"But the band helped you make some changes," she pushed at me.
"Minor chord changes," I scoffed. "But those songs are my creation. They're my art."
Emma nodded as if she understood me, but spent a few seconds scribbling down some notes. Then she asked me, "Tell me about the bad blood between you and the members of Kickback."
So I told her everything.
Keith Carina, Joel Paxton, and Neil Hartsough formed Kickback with me during our freshman year together at Carolina. We'd all played in bands while in high school, not together of course, but that was really just fooling around.
Kickback was different though.
We were good.
I mean really good.
I was lead guitarist and vocals. Keith was on bass, Joel was drums, and Neil was on keyboards. We started out just playing cover songs at college hangouts, but we became really popular. All of us struggled with school and studies, and the more gigs we booked, the more we all blew off classes. We finally decided to go full time with our music during our junior years, all dropping out with not even a backward glance, a fact my parents are still pissed about despite my success now.
"What caused the band to breakup?" Emma had asked me point blank.
I gave it back to her as simple as I could make it. "Greed."
Her eyebrows raised in question, so I explained. "We were at a crossroads with the band's future. I had all these great songs I'd created that were just begging to be recorded. Around the same time, a very minor record label had interest in us and made us an offer. The guys wanted to take the offer, and I didn't. I wanted to either hold out for a bigger deal with a larger label, or record the stuff ourselves. I had Midge willing to front the production costs."
"Midge?" she asked with surprise.
"Well, yeah," I told her with a fond smile. "She believed in me. Hell, she helped raise me, so I'm like a son to her. She had no qualms about giving me the money to record and produce Core Deviance."
"So you split over whether or not to take that deal?" Emma surmised.
"Yes," I admitted with a flush of burning anger toward my former band. For their short sightedness and greed for quick money. For the inability to trust me and our talent--that we could be bigger than what that dinky little label was offering us. And really fucking pissed that they're now snapping at my heels, hoping for me to throw them some scraps from my success without them.
Ultimately, Emma said she'd need to do some more research, but that she would work on some responsive documents to their lawsuit. And with that, she took the provided laptop from the desk and walked back into the bedroom where she shut the door. It was after one AM the last time I'd looked down the hallway and still saw light shining out from underneath the door. Thereafter, I just stared at the ceiling until I was able to finally fall asleep, using the sound of the bus's tires on the pavement to help me along.
"I'm going to take Sirius for a short walk," Emma says, and I jolt out of my memories. "Then I'll come back here and get to work."
"Sounds good," I say as I stretch my arms upward and roll my head to loosen out some minor kinks. That couch wasn't all that comfortable.
My gaze slides to Emma and she's blatantly staring at me.
Well, at my naked chest.
She just stares, transfixed, and my dick gets infinitely harder. Lowering my arms, I rub a hand across my chest as if I'm just casually scratching it and watch as her eyes follow along. Just to see what she'll do, I give a little tug on the silver ring through my right nipple.
Emma's entire body literally jolts and her eyes snap to mine, filled with complete mortification. Her cheeks are bright red and she starts to stammer, "Um... um... um..."
I grin at her, release the nipple ring, and stand up from the couch, letting the blanket slide to the floor.
"Like what you see?" I ask her in a husky voice, seeing if I can get her riled up like I did in the police station.
Her face lowers in embarrassment, but I know the minute she locks eyes on my erection because her eyes fly back up to mine, cheeks the color of a fire engine.
"Sorry about that," I say with a grin and a nod downward. "He's frisky in the morning."
"Oh, God," Emma mutters and spins away from me, leaving her freshly brewed cup of coffee on the counter. "I need to get Sirius and take him for a walk."
She practically runs to the bedroom and slams the door shut.
Grinning, I decide to go ahead and knock out a quick shower. I get rid of my hard-on the old-fashioned way--with a lot of soap, a quick hand, and a few lewd thoughts of getting Emma out of those pressed Bermuda shorts at some point in the very near future.
It's almost midnight by the time we all climb--rather noisily--onto my bus. I immediately see the shut bedroom door with no light shining through the slight gap at the bottom.
"Dude... tell me you have beer," Cap slurs as he stumbles in behind me, then pushes past me to the fridge. He's my drummer for this tour and looks like a slightly younger version of Tommy Lee.
"Shhh," I say way too loudly as I weave back and forth. "We don't want to wake Emma."
At least I think that's what I said. My words are slurred too.
"Yes, we do," Jimmy yells as he barrels up the steps. He's the bass player. He's twenty-one, but looks like he's about thirteen. I bet he has a hard time getting laid. "It's our last night to party before we officially start this tour tomorrow."
I wince because there's no way Emma just slept through that.
"Yeah, Emma," Cap calls out toward the back bedroom. "Come out and play with us."
I stare hopefully at her door, becau
se while I'm feeling guilty we're being loud asses when she's trying to sleep, I would like to see her. She's had her nose pressed up against the laptop all day, working right up until dinnertime. I invited her to go out with us, but she primly declined.
So primly I wanted to pull her away from that computer and kiss her so hard that her "mom clothes" would magically fall off or something. I mean, seriously... the woman has to only be twenty-five or so. She needs to update that wardrobe.
But she was firm she wanted to continue working, and that she'd make a sandwich later.
That was several hours ago, and many beers had been drunk by me and my musicians tonight after dinner. We barhopped for a while and then decided to come back here to continue the party. Well, I think everyone was about ready to call it a night, but I foolishly invited everyone onto my bus, thinking perhaps I'd get Emma to come out and hang with us.
A crashing sound behind me has me wheeling around, almost falling over, but I catch myself by throwing a hand out to the back of one of the swivel chairs. I see Dilana careening off the driver's seat before she rights herself. She's got a bottle of tequila in her hand and her red lipstick is smeared as if she'd given all of us blow jobs.
Dilana is on keyboards. She has long, dark hair she's worked into long dreadlocks over the years that are held back by a silver-threaded black headband.
She hadn't given us all blow jobs, of course, but had been making out with that tequila bottle because she apparently drinks like a fish. Dilana is the wildest out of all of us, and I'm pretty sure her sleeping bunk is going to be seeing a lot of action on this trip. I don't know how many times tonight she mentioned she was horny.
"Let's play some strip poker," Dilana yells, and I truly do wince this time. That was really loud, and as if on cue, Emma's bedroom door flies open so hard it rebounds off the wall with a crack.
Sirius comes flying out, his puppy butt wagging hard at the prospect of new people to play with. He reaches Cap first, who barely gets turned around before Sirius launches at him. Cap's as drunk as all of us, and he goes crashing to the floor with sixty pounds of furry dog on top of him, licking his face. Jimmy starts laughing so hard he doubles over, then falls back on the couch, and Dilana takes a huge swig of the tequila, wipes her mouth, which smears more lipstick, and exclaims, "I said I want to play strip poker."