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It seems to take him a second to swallow that down. “The record company wants to ‘wait’ and see if she gets more letters before they do anything.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Where are the letters? How bad are they?”
“Sheesh,” he mumbles pulling out his phone. “I had to dig the first one out of her bag. I have the originals somewhere safe.” He swipes across the screen and pulls up photos of the letters.
It takes me a second to mess with the screen so I can actually read them. “What the…?” I mutter flipping between the three different photos. “He likes the word cavorting, huh?”
“Yeah, he’s a weirdo with a big vocabulary.” Greg snatches his phone back. “I didn’t know about the first one until days later. The second one, the ticket office gave me. But they had no idea where it came from or who left it. Same with the third letter.”
“What kind of bullshit is that? They must have cameras all over these fucking places.”
“Not all of them.”
“Can you forward those pictures to me? They were all dropped off, right? None were mailed?”
“Correct.”
“So, he’s coming to her shows.” I pull out my phone and bring up the screenshots I took earlier. “This guy look familiar to you?”
He frowns at me before looking at the photos.
“He could be anyone.” He squints at the screen. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Where did you get that?”
“One of her followers who’s a bit off.” I shoot a glare at him. “She has a lot of weirdos following her. You really need to manage her social media better.”
“I check some things but it’s a losing battle. Trent maintains it sometimes. Shelby rarely looks at it.”
Huh, interesting.
“It’s better to ignore them anyway. Banning and blocking them only makes them nuttier.”
“Maybe.” I tap my phone. “This guy was at the Wellspring show and, it looks like, a lot of others. Don’t you think that’s weird for a single dude his age?”
“To be fair, I’m a single dude his age, and I’ve been to every show.”
“You’re her manager. Don’t be fucking dense, Greg. I’m not in the mood.”
“What do you want from me? You see how big these crowds are.”
“Give me time to think on it.” Staying at Ice’s place has given me a few ideas. “I’m going to need at least one extra pass for tonight and tomorrow.”
He reaches into his back pocket and hands me three passes on lanyards. “Those are for the whole tour. Keep ’em on you so you don’t need a new one at each venue.”
I slip one around my neck and stuff the other inside my cut. “This woulda been helpful a couple weeks ago.”
His casual shrug is completely unapologetic. “I wasn’t sure how often you’d be joining us.”
I almost laugh at the edge of sarcasm creeping into his tone. Greg’s brave, I’ll give him that.
“Well, I’ll be joining you a lot more often, so get used to my pretty face. I’ll have one or two of my brothers here for these shows and then we’ll go from there.” I find the tea and pour some hot water into a cup. The lemon slices look like they’ve been sitting there for a few weeks, so I don’t bother with them. Can’t find any honey packets either.
Greg’s still annoyingly close when I turn around.
“I looked into your motorcycle gang, you know.”
I cock my head and stare him down until he glances away. He didn’t research us too hard or he’d know better than to refer to us as a “gang.” “Careful, Greg. It’s a motorcycle club. Not a gang.”
“Sorry, club. Lost Kings, New York. Except for a few random arrests here and there, not much information since the late nineties and early aughts.”
“Told you,” I shrug, “We’re just a club.”
“But I see some of your other charters have made headlines more recently.”
Seems Greg isn’t as dumb as he wants everyone to think he is. “Do you have a point?”
“My point is, I’ve been having nightmares about what kind of publicity your relationship will bring Shelby.”
You and me both. “You can always say you hired me to protect her.”
“Well, that won’t hold water when you keep having photos taken where it looks like you’re trying to eat each other’s faces off.”
I snort and glance away. “I already had a dad, Greg. I’m not lookin’ to replace him.”
He lets out a soft pfft sound. “I couldn’t give a fig about handing out parental advice to you or anyone else. The CMA nominations are coming up. Shelby should by all rights be up for Best New Artist. Having a biker boyfriend hanging around might hurt her chances. She’s afraid talking about the nominations will bring bad juju”—he waves his hands in the air dismissively—“or whatever, but I know how badly she wants it.”
Well, fuck.
