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“Give me a break,” I huff. “And don’t get me started, you were the one who said it was a good idea for me to venture out on my own. Pardon me if living with three thirty-something teenagers, degenerate manwhores, and freaking Gunner is more than I bargained for when you dropped my shit off at their place. You know they baptized the house The Dickxie Mansion, with a c and a k?” I tell him leaning against the doorframe of the studio, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s already bad enough they call themselves The Outlaws, like we’re all part of some gang.”
He adjusts his baseball cap and chuckles. “Squirrel, part of semi-growing up is moving the fuck out, and they needed a roommate to make rent. Nashville ain’t cheap kid, and your brother needs someone to keep an eye on him,” he laughs.
“You own the freaking house Pa, didn’t you see the Dickxie sign above the door, and the pirate flag they’re flying? I’m living with a bunch of Peter Pan’s,” I drawl.
He shakes his head. “You could have been spending your time with a certain someone you hurled in the trash ten minutes ago,” he tells me trying to make a serious face. “Don’t look at me like that Alice, I see everything that goes on around here.”
I grit my teeth, turn on my heels and slam the door closed in his face, but not before his booming laugh fills the studio. I grab the magazine and slam Mister country rock star face down, trying to hide the evidence of my one and only weakness: Navarone fucking West.
The Clash’s “London Calling” echoes through the room, and I can’t suppress a snort while I try to locate Dad’s phone buried between the stacks of papers and demos aspiring artists send to the studio every day.
“Southern Brick Studios, Jack’s phone. This is Alice speaking; how may I help you?”
“This is Tiffany, assistant to Mister Broker, from Machine Records calling.”
I smirk. That’s a mouthful.
“How can I help you, Tiffany?”
“Mister Broker wanted to know if he and Jack are still on for next Sunday?”
“Let me check. My computer didn’t have her coffee this morning; can you give me a sec while I start up his agenda?” She sighs rather dramatically, and I chuckle.
Waiting for the program to load, I check Dad’s calendar.
“I have calls waiting; can you hurry up? Or can I talk to Jack, please?”
Come on, Tiffany, give a girl a break. The way she says my dad’s name makes me want to hurl. Dad is still a good-looking son-of-a-bitch, and the women all know it. He and my best guy friends are notorious around town.
“Have him call me back. Say Tiffany for Tristan Broker from Machine Records called, and tell Jack I had a great time with him last Friday,” she says, purring out his name and dropping Machine Records like I’m stupid and haven’t been doing this shit since forever.
I shake my head. “Give me a break, Tiffany.” I hear her sigh. Yeah, right back at ya!
“TRISTAN BROKER. BROKER,” she yells in my ear.
Dude, yelling this early? I look at the clock. Okay, it’s almost six in the evening, but whatever. “Broker? Broker, hmm I don’t see a Mister Broker? Tristan, you said?” I hold back my laughter.
“Yes he—”
Someone swears on the other end.
“Stop teasing the girl, Alice,” Tristan roars, ordering Tiffany to leave his office. “I’m firing her this afternoon. She’s slept with half of my artists, for Pete’s sake, and Barry from accounting. Barry from accounting!”
“Hi, Tristan from Machine Records,” I drawl. “How can I assist you on this fine afternoon? Other than to tell you I told you so.”
“Do not get clever with me, young lady. And I know, I’m going to hire your friend Dallas, so save the speech.”
Dallas is one of my best friends and has been working as a kindergarten teacher since graduating college. She loves those kids, but it has been difficult to make ends meet with all her student loans. When I told her she was going to manage thirty grown-up men-children who Tristan has on his label, including the bad boy outlaw, she caved.
“You still have her number?”
“Yes, get off my back already. Are Jack and I still on for man-day?” he asks, laughing.
“Let me check.”
“The fact that you’re my goddaughter doesn’t mean you get to scare my assistants. That’s my job.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I know, but I can’t help it. You’re going to have a tough job with Dallas; she holds her own.”
