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“You really have to stop echoing me, Ace.”
I scoffed. “I’m not gonna take the offer.”
A pause. “Why not?”
“I can’t just up and quit my job,” I said. “They want me to start immediately.”
“So?”
“So, my mother would kill me.”
“And? Ace, you’re a grown woman. You’re almost twenty-five. No need to involve your mother.”
“And what will Michael think? The Leroys tour all over the state. I would have to go with them.”
“Are they going to tour outside of the state?”
“I’m not sure, but they only seem to tour in the Northeast.”
“Okay then.”
“You say that as if that resolves everything!”
“It does.” Andrew’s breath changed as if he had suddenly gotten up. I could picture it: he was probably pacing and frowning, like he does when he’s come across a really exciting, challenging word problem.
“Think about it this way: you’ll never be more than a few hours from home. Michael will always be able to get to you if his caveman needs arise.” I grumbled at that, but Andrew continued. “Your mom can’t even complain because it sounds like they’re willing to pay whatever your rate is. You’d be a staff photographer for a band, Ace. That’s great publicity for your whole family! Right up their elitist alley.”
He did have a point.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I said finally. “It’s still risky. I don’t know anything about them as a company, and because they’re a band, it’s not like I’ll be able to find who’s worked for them.”
“It may not be easy, but it’s not impossible. Hemingway’s a small town.” I heard tinfoil crinkling and I smiled. Of course, he’s eating. “You should be able to find at least one person who’s worked for them. I’ll help you.”
“Yeah?” I grinned, feeling the blood rushing through my veins. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.” I could feel his grin, too. “Besides, they still need a writer, right?”
I spent the rest of the day searching for any scrap of information that I could find on their former employees. Well, first, I responded to the email and told them I’d like to interview first. Then, I went fangirl crazy, and then I went looking for any scrap of information that I could find on their former employees.
“Did you find anything?” I asked Andrew as I was unlocking my front door. I threw my keys on the kitchen bar and put my bag on its hook. I sniffed. Something smells good in here. Flowery, like roses.
“Yes.” Andrew rustled something that sounded like papers. “Turns out that their former staff writer is a writer friend of mine.”
“And?”
“She loved working with them. Loved it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. There’s only one catch.”
“What?”
Andrew paused, and I felt my heart sink. They’re all psychopaths, I thought. Great, there goes my dream.
“They’re a little…disorganized. Things change very quickly when they’re on the road.” Andrew’s grimace showed through his voice. “I know that you’re not a fan of that.”
“Yeah.”
