Now? He was on the cusp of losing it all; his agent, even his tour manager had threatened to leave last week. That meant if Jace, his tour manager, left, it was almost a guarantee that the management company would drop the band. Which meant tongues would wag and soon enough, their record deal would be in jeopardy. With a reputation slick as shit and twice as nasty, it’d be hell trying to get picked up by another label. How the hell had he let it get this damn far?
“Strut? You still there?”
“Ahh yeah, I’m here.” Rubbing his hand over his face repeatedly, he knew that he had no other choice, no other option. “I’ll go along with whatever I need to.” Even the words tasted sour on their way out.
“Good, glad to hear. Thursday, when you arrive in Chicago, your new PA will be waiting for you—as well as your new personal security—”
“Wait, what? I’ve already got Pitty.”
“No, you don’t. After last nights debacle at the Hyatt? Pitty’s been let go.”
“C’mon man! You’ve got to be kidding me, Robert?”
“No, I’m not kidding you at all, Strut. Not only was your personal bodyguard not even on the same floor you were, but he was in a room with a minor.”
Shit. “She was a minor?”
“Seventeen, Strut, seventeen years old.”
As bad news as it was for Pitty? Strut felt a blink of relief that he’d all but pulled the girl from his body and handed her off to his bodyguard. Not that he’d known she was underage or anything. Nope, he’d simply passed on her offer to blow him to the stars because he only did blondes with big tits and not brunettes with B-cups.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, you could say that again.”
“New bodyguard, new personal assistant, what else?”
“Whatever the PA suggests with the public relations company.”
“I can do that.”
“Yeah, you can and will, or that’s it, Strut. No more. This is Deep Bend’s last chance to keep my representation as well as Ragged Ruins Promotions. I walk? So do the suits.”
Jesus, this was gonna be a whirlwind of shit to deal with. Add to the fact that they still were without a tour bus until they arrived in Illinois on Thursday. Seems Deep Bend’s world was all about to change. Not necessarily in a good way—not in his opinion anyhow. If they think they’re gonna bring in some button-up shirt and tie kinda guy who’s gonna start spittin’ out orders? They are sadly mistaken.
He had no choice but to go along with the changes…for now. No promises after the Hellions and Hedonists Tour was done. Three more months and the band would be back in the studio working on their next album. If everything went right, they’d be back on tour at the beginning of the new year with a shitload of new material under their belt. Renegotiations would be first on the list after the new album was complete. Ragged Ruins Promotions would be backing off and the PA would be first on the list to hit the road.
Only temporary, only temporary Strut kept telling himself. Something he’d have to remind the band of, too. Tonight, after their performance, they’d hit the road for Dallas and he’d fill them in on the changes. None of the boys was too fond of rules or the suits thinking they ran the show. He imagined this would all go over like a lead balloon. It is what it is.
Chapter Two
Her plane had landed four hours ago and she’d taken the car service that Ragged Ruins Promotions had waiting for her at baggage.
So far so good. She currently sat in a garage as big as an airplane hangar that now housed Deep Bend’s new tour busses. Reaching down, she pulled a piece of lint from her tailored linen pants suit, which no doubt now reeked of the diesel fuel scent that filled the air. The band had yet to show up nor had the new bodyguard that the management company was sending.
To say her nerves were on high alert was an understatement. She’d worked with musicians before, but never a rock band of this magnitude. Deep Bend was at its epitome of success and their controversy had been at an all-time high lately. A leaked sex tape meant that parents wouldn’t be purchasing tickets for their teens— who just happened to be the majority of their fans. Blowing up their last tour bus in some hole in the wall truck stop’s parking lot? A red flag of epic proportions for not only the bands promotions company, but also their music label as well.
There was no question they needed to reverse their path of destruction. Pamela was positive she could do this. Although she doubted she’d be welcomed with open arms.
Running her hand over hair pulled back into a pristine bun, she saw an approaching car making its way through the massive doors; her nerves practically burned. Taking a deep breath, she stood and straightened her suit jacket and ran her hands down the front of her slacks. Too late to do anything about the wrinkles now.
Here goes nothing. She stopped mid stride when the back door opened before the driver had even gotten out of the car. If she hadn’t seen the many magazine covers and photos of the band, she’d have figured this guy was a member. Drummer maybe? No, no, definitely a bass player. They were always so brooding and mysterious. This man had this look—he was the look.
“And you are?”
Extending her hand to the man, she introduced herself. “Pamela Myers, I was just brought on as a personal assistant for Deep Bend and you are?”
He didn’t take her hand nor did he answer until he turned the chair she had been sitting on around and straddled it backwards. “Chains,” was all he said.
“Excuse me?”
“The name’s Chains.”
After a minute, it registered that this must be the new bodyguard. “Oh, so you’re Damion—”
“Don’t say my given name again. I go by Chains—I answer to Chains. Well, if I’m gonna answer, I’ll answer to Chains.”
Well then, asshole much? “Chains it is then.” Pulling up another chair that sat nearby, she took a seat. Smoothing the front of her slacks, Pamela realized how stupid it had been to wear a linen suit while traveling. She’d hoped to make a good impression on the band, but now her attire practically screamed homeless—minus the seven hundred dollar price tag and designer label of course.
They sat in silence, which gave her the opportunity to size up the man across from her. He sat with his hands folded in front of the chair, and he still said nothing as he stared at the concrete floor. His jeans were torn and threadbare at the knees. Black leather engineer boots with silver toes covered his insanely large feet. Letting her eyes trail due north, she had to smile when she took in the faded Guns-N-Roses t-shirt most likely an original from the 80’s. A couple chains hung from his front belt loop and disappeared behind him…a wallet maybe? When her gaze made it to his face, she paused and took in the full beard that hit him mid-chest before her eyes continued to his face. A face that was looking right back at her.
“You see something you like, Princess?” His laugh was clearly mocking her.
Swallowing her embarrassment at being caught checking him out. “Yeah, I like your shirt.”
She enjoyed throwing him off kilter when he glanced down at the shirt in question. “I’m sure you do.”
That was rude and what did he mean by that exactly? Pamela thought about asking but another car pulled into the garage and unloaded what could only be the members of Deep Bend. Finally. Only two hours late.
“And there’re the performing monkeys now.” Damion—Chains muttered. Reigning in her shock, she stood and approached the band that was walking toward the shiny new tour busses.
“Strut?” she asked as she approached the green haired man who had both arms covered in tattoos.