But I guess there won’t be a repeat performance tonight. Not in the greenroom, at least. Not if I can get my job done. Dropping my bag in the corner, I pull out my phone and call the hotel concierge, plugging my other ear so I can focus.
Part of me wonders what Marcus will think of Mason’s plan to have a private room at a club. At least he won’t be leaving the greenroom a mess again, but I kinda got the impression that Marcus wants Mason to rein in the partying altogether, at least when they’re on the road. Mason doesn’t seem to care much, though. I’m actually a little bit surprised he’s giving in this much and moving his party offsite.
“Equinox Hotel, how may I direct your call?” a polite voice says in my ear, distracting me from my thoughts.
“Yes, may I speak to the concierge please?”
“One moment.” There’s silence as I wait to be connected, then a few rings before another efficient female voice answers me. “This is Brenda, I’m happy to help you today.”
“Yes, I’d like a list of clubs with private rooms available for reservations.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Are you staying with us? I can email a list to the address we have on file if you like.”
“Yes, that would be amazing.” I give her my name and room number, happy to have a place to start.
Minutes later, my phone alerts with a new email. That’s a new thing for me. I’ve always just checked my emails on my own schedule, but now that I’m the PA for Cataclysm, I get new time-sensitive emails every day. So I turned on the push settings and notifications, which means my phone is beeping and vibrating almost constantly. But I’m too afraid of missing something to turn it off again.
And in times like this, it’s really handy.
I open the email app and skip the latest round of Google alerts, zeroing in on the email from the concierge.
There’s a list of over a hundred clubs, categorized by type.
I didn’t even stop to think about what kind of club he’d want to go to. Dance? A more relaxed bar atmosphere?
Gulp.
A strip club?
I supposed I could ask him, but I’m so tired of that smirk, the way he looks at me like he knows some dirty secret about me, and I’m annoyed about having to find him a party spot. Blaire assured me that these guys didn’t do the whole sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll thing. Marcus confirmed that during the video interview.
And now here I am arranging a party spot for Mason, where I’m sure he’ll engage in both of the first two after doing the rock ’n’ roll thing on stage in a little bit.
Sighing, I pick a club at random. It takes me another thirty minutes and three more clubs on the list before I’ve got him a spot for tonight. Dropping his name and insinuating that the whole band might come is what finally clinches it.
Apparently last-minute reservations aren’t a thing around here. Unless you’re a celebrity.
I probably just bumped some poor schmuck’s birthday party or bachelor party or something. And I feel like a jerk about it, but I have other things to do and don’t have time to call all hundred-plus places on the list.
One thing done, I pick up my bag and rush off to gather the guys. They have a meet and greet in two minutes. It took longer than I expected to secure the venue, and now I have to get my ass in gear so they don’t fall behind schedule.
An annoying buzzing sound brings me to the surface of sleep.
What’s going on?
Blinking and rubbing my eyes, I look around in confusion.
My phone’s all lit up, vibrating on the nightstand. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s still dark outside, and I didn’t get to bed till one, which means I haven’t been asleep very long at all. I have an overwhelming urge to grab my phone and toss it out the window, charging cable and all. Someone else can have it. Free phone. Just be aware it never ever shuts up.
I slap a hand on the table, fumbling for it, because it’s buzzing and buzzing and buzzing, meaning I’m getting a phone call. When I look at the screen, Mason’s name is showing, and I scowl. That’s why it’s vibrating, even though I put it on Do Not Disturb before collapsing into bed, completely exhausted. He’s on the tiny list of people who can ring through.
Though if he’s going to call me in the wee hours of the morning for anything less than death or dismemberment—his own or one of the other band members—I might have to rethink his place on that list.
While I’m still musing about the possibility of him dying—and the possibility of me killing him and getting away with it for waking me up at two thirty in the morning—the phone stops ringing.
Before I can decide if I’m more annoyed now for being awake but not having to answer the phone, it starts ringing again.
With a heavy sigh, I slide my thumb across the screen to answer it. “What do you want, Mason?”
“Now, now,” he chides, the words bumping into each other. “Is that any way to talk to your boss?”
Rubbing my eyes, I sit up. I have a feeling I won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. “I’m pretty sure Marcus is actually in charge. Not you.”
He scoffs. “Maybe so, but we all share you. We shared Blaire, and we share you. Not in all the same ways, but …” He trails off, and I wait for him to finish
