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He’d given her orgasm number four then and before they slept, he’d said, “Whatever you choose to do, Philly, you’ll always be extraordinary.”
Seven mornings later she’d woken alone with a hangover, to find Grip had drawn the word extraordinary on her hip as if it was a nightclub stamp, the kind you got on your hand when you paid your entry fee. Bold capital letters shot through with shooting stars. She’d realized later it was the visual style used for their next album cover of the same name, the one that helped them break out.
She’d had a guy autograph her boob once, this was different. Making it permanent was like a tribute to her old life and a prayer for her new one.
Now it felt like a liability. As if Grip could see through her clothing and have a sudden epiphany of how they’d met which would lead to her being suddenly no longer partner material.
Vera nudged her. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you? All the lewd details.”
“I’m thinking I really can’t see him again.”
“You’ve gotten so conservative, Mena. It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”
“That’s not fair. I wanted something better, I wanted security and I went after it. You were always going to remain a rebel.” And they were always going to be friends, regardless of occasional disputes like this.
“It’s not about that. It’s that you’re ready to jeopardize a partnership that you’ve worked toward since you tumbled out of Grip’s bed over nothing. Even if he remembered Philly, you’re not her anymore. And like you said you don’t really know him. What did he say in the car?”
“It was a truck with monster tires with the number plate Wanker and he said he was looking forward to working with me, because he thought I had the right stuff to help him become a better person.”
Vera laughed. “He wants you for his muse.”
“Oh Goddamn it.” Mena hung her head. Once she’d have given anything, everything for that status with a talented musician. “Don’t say that.”
Puffing on an imaginary cigar, Vera said, “I’ve only got one more question. Can you be his financial muse without wanting to be between his legs again because if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, maybe you’re right about resigning him. A sex scandal with a client is something you don’t need.” She groaned. “I can’t believe I just said that, but here I am respecting your most ardent desire for being boring.”
“I’ve long since grown out of wanting men who hit things for a living.”
Had the cigar been real, Vera would’ve blown smoke in Mena’s face. “Pants on fire.”
“I’m not lying. Did you hear me say he drove a monster truck? I can admit he’s still sexy and he does it for me, but I don’t want a musician in my life. Imagine the baggage. It would be like regressing. Besides, I’m building something with Stu.” That was the idea at least.
“As long as that thing you’re building with Stu isn’t a nest.” It was no secret Vera thought Stuart Mazar and his legal tax practice were dull. Vera thought most people were dull.
Mena only needed to work with Grip for three months. Make an assessment of his assets and income, his financial obligations, needs and wants, and recommend an investment plan. She didn’t even need to be in the same room as him to do most of that and nothing they’d done together fifteen years ago would change the quality of the advice she’d give him now.
Also, Vera had a point, Mena wasn’t that girl with the rad body, black hair and cat’s-eye makeup anymore and apart from a tattoo he’d never see, Grip had no way of proving she was.
“Looks like I have a new client.” She clinked her still full glass against Vera’s empty one. “Partnership, here I come.”
FOUR
Grip adjusted his body armor and put distance between himself and Abel, Isaac and Oscar who were arguing about how much a point-blank hit hurt. No one was going to ask for his opinion. Since he’d decided to go to S&Y instead of staying with the advisors the Tice family used, no one had said much of anything to him.
He was included but on the outer. It was awkward but that was exactly the reason he’d made that decision. It was bad enough they all argued about band stuff, forcing him to either act like Switzerland or broker a peace. He didn’t want to have to continually argue about money as well, and as the only non-family member he’d always be voted off stage.
On stage, it was a whole different matter. They played for shit without him to control the beat, the speed and the power of their music and he could make that point clear anytime by simply folding his arms, stilling his feet and listening to it all fall apart.
Until they got back into the studio, they’d have to make do with taking out their frustration with each other through paintball. And the first person to try point-blanking him—he pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Oscar—would find they had four flat tires on their new Maserati.
The death staring was interrupted by Evie. “How’s my favorite traitor?” she said, swinging her helmet so it bumped his thigh.
And that answered who was on his team today. His favorite Tice.
“Whose puppy did you kick to be stuck with me?” he said, surprised to see her. “When did you fly in?” Figures no one bothered to tell him Evie was home. “Is Jay with you?”
“All the questions and none of the answers. Poor Grip. Everyone hates you. I got in last night and Jay is signing someone’s shirt in the car park.”
He pulled Evie into a hug. He’d missed her while she was traveling with Jay and his band, World’s End. Lost Property didn’t get along as well without her influence. “How long are you staying?”
