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Her gaze bright and shiny with happy tears, she placed her hand over her cheek where the lipstick my sister had insisted I wear had left a bright-pink kiss-shaped stamp on her face.
• • •
ABCR rocked Winston’s, raising the roof.
After the show, image highlights flashed through my mind ... my sister in a hot pink kimono with her Fender. Andy with his head thrown back, belting out lyrics. Collin blistering chords on his guitar. Barry ruling from his riser.
My ears were still ringing as I floated to Martin’s office after the show, although I would have rather stayed at the impromptu afterparty in front of the stage. Determined to do my job, I left Miranda in charge of directing the flow of fans wanting autographs while I went to meet with Martin.
It was incredible how well the show went. I was so happy for ABCR. No longer a dream, they were living an unimaginable new reality.
The scantily clad waitress I followed led me to a door to the left of the bar that I’d never noticed before. She knocked twice.
“Come in,” a deep commanding voice said, and my soaring heart slammed back to earth.
The waitress twisted the knob, threw open the door, and scurried away. As my heart hammered with sudden nerves, I forced my feet forward.
“Close the door,” Martin Skellin said, his voice brusque and commanding. Standing, the owner of Winston’s was well over six feet tall with a powerful frame. He gestured to the guest chairs in front of his impressive desk. “Sit.”
I shuffled forward and took a seat in the chair on the right, the one closest to the door in case I needed to escape. Martin held my gaze over a desk littered with receipts. With short black hair and black eyes, he was as handsome as his sister was beautiful, but there was a coldness emanating from him that I could feel.
“You’re younger than I expected.” He looked me over and then nodded approvingly, but his smile seemed out of place on his face. “Prettier too.”
Unbuttoning the only fastened button on his navy suit jacket that clung to his wide shoulders, he sat and steepled his hands on his polished desk.
“Your band was a success tonight.”
“Yes.” Pinned in place by his piercing gaze, I nodded.
“I spoke in generalities with Collin.” His focus drifted to my chest before rising, making me wish I was wearing my jacket over my tiny top. “But from now on, I prefer to speak to you.”
“Okay.” I wet my dry lips.
His gaze fell to my mouth, and my lips tingled from his attention.
Martin was several years older than Miranda. He was good-looking, and there was no denying his magnetism. I could acknowledge his attractiveness. But with that chilly air of detachment coming from him, it seemed obvious to me that he was a calculating and potentially dangerous man.
“Your check.” He slid it across the desk toward me. His fingers were long, his nails blunt and buffed. His platinum cufflinks glinted, reflecting the overhead light, engraved with the initials MWS.
“Winston is your middle name,” I blurted without thinking.
“Yes. You’re very observant.” He sounded pleased.
I took the check, glancing at it to be sure the amount was what had been agreed upon. Three hundred dollars might not seem like a lot, and it wouldn’t be much split four ways, but it was a start. A really good one. My portion as manager was only ten percent. But maybe, just maybe, if the band continued to do well, Rachel and I could move out of the apartment sooner than I’d thought.
“From now on,” Martin said, “I want you sitting in the VIP section when ABCR is performing.”
“Okay.” Thinking that was nice, I started to smile.
“With me,” he added, and my smile faltered.
“I don’t know.” I gulped in a quick breath, trying to think of how to get out of this.
“It isn’t a request.”
Oh shit.
“You’re friends with my sister, aren’t you?”
