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“No, no,” Reed says to a worker, his voice dripping with annoyance. “The bass rig needs to be set up there, next to the drum kit. Have you never set up a live music performance in your life? Bass and drums. Peanut butter and jelly.”
“Sorry, Mr. Rivers.”
“Owen?” Reed shouts over his shoulder.
Owen arrives, looking irritated.
“Get someone over here who knows what the fuck they’re doing, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’ll handle it, Reed.”
Owen pulls the red-faced worker aside, just as a large black man taps Reed’s shoulder from behind. Which, of course, makes Mr. Cranky-Pants turn around to see who’s dared touch him. But when he sees his assailant, Reed’s demeanor instantly brightens.
The two men clap each other on their shoulders warmly and exchange quick pleasantries before Reed turns to me, a wide smile on his face.
“Georgina, this is Barry Atwater, the head of security for both my label and nightclubs. Barry, this is Georgina Ricci, a brilliant writer for Rock ‘n’ Roll who’s doing a feature on me.”
Ah, it never gets old, hearing Reed introduce me like that. I exchange brief small talk with Barry, and quickly surmise he’s a teddy bear underneath all that muscle. And then, Barry and Reed drift into conversation about logistics for tonight.
As the men talk, I check the time on my phone. Crap. Alessandra should be here in about an hour to “pre-party” with me, and I still haven’t finished going through the names on the guest list. Before the party starts, I want to be sure I know at least the basics about every name on the list, as well as being able to identify each person on sight, without needing an introduction. The last thing I want is to be introduced to some huge A-lister, without me realizing it. Or, even worse, with me asking something stupid like, “And what do you do for a living?”
“Hey, Reed,” I say, pulling on his shirt sleeve. “I’m going to head up to my room for a bit to finish going through the guest list before Alessandra arrives. It was great to meet you, Barry. Reed has said wonderful things about you.” I return to Reed. “Hey, can I talk to you privately about something for a sec?”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Reed says to Barry. “I want to finish our conversation.”
Reed and I walk a few feet away, until we’re in a semi-private spot.
“Is everything okay?” Reed asks, looking mildly concerned.
“Everything’s great. I just wanted to let you know I haven’t told Alessandra you listened to her demo. I want her to be able to enjoy the party, without feeling self-conscious or awkward around you. I’m going to tell her everything on Monday, before she heads back to Boston.”
Reed rolls his eyes like I’ve said something ridiculous. “One of the conditions of you inviting Alessandra to the party was neither of you talking to me about her music tonight. Remember?” He glances over his shoulder and then, to my shock, reaches around me, and pinches my ass. “God, you turn me on.”
I leap out of his clutches and immediately look over at Barry, worried he might have seen our clinch. But, nope, Barry is busy on his phone. I return to Reed and waggle my finger at him. “No more grabby hands, Reed. From this moment forward, until we’re safely in your bedroom tonight, I’m nothing but a reporter from Rock ‘n’ Roll to you.”
“I’ll do my best to control myself.” He flashes me a completely unapologetic smile. “The caterer should have a lunch buffet set up in the kitchen by now. I asked for a spread for whatever pre-partiers come by. Why don’t you fuel up? I don’t want you drinking on an empty stomach.”
“There’s going to be a pre-party?”
“Yeah, I told a small group to come by early. Not sure who’s coming, for sure, beyond Josh and Henn.” He looks at his watch. “Shit. I’ve got a conference call. Get yourself some food, baby.”
I glance at Barry, my cheeks flushing, hoping he didn’t overhear Reed’s endearment. But it’s clear he did. Because the minute my eyes meet Barry’s, he looks down at his phone, and pretends not to have heard a thing.
“Barry knows about us, doesn’t he?” I whisper.
“Barry is my personal bodyguard, whenever I need one,” Reed says matter-of-factly, as if that explains everything. “Now, get yourself some food and do some work before Alessandra gets here. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
“Okay. See you later.” I float happily into the kitchen to grab a bite, and to my surprise, discover Amalia standing at the island with the caterer. “Amalia!” I say, loping toward her, my arms extended. “I didn’t think you came in on Saturdays!”
Amalia hugs me. “I always come in on party days to coordinate with the caterer.”
After a bit of small talk, I load up a plate, and Amalia joins me at the small kitchen table to keep me company while I eat. She tells me a cute story about one of her grandsons, who just discovered the word “ridiculous.” I tell her about Alessandra, and how excited I am she’s coming over shortly, and will be staying overnight with me in the blue room.
