Beat Of His Own Drums (Band Of Brothers Book 2)
Page 11
A young, chestnut-haired woman wearing a head-set and carrying a clip board met Sydney just inside the door and quickly introduced herself.
“You must be Sydney Willows,” the woman said.
Sydney reached to shake the woman's hand. Together they began to walk down the long concrete hall, dodging people and union workers as they went.
“I'm Ben Gallo's personal assistant, Laura,” she said. “I've been instructed to get you up to speed with the stage crew before I bring you to meet the band.”
Laura stopped in the hall and answered her cell phone. A moment later, she ended the call.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Laura said. “That was Ben asking if you had arrived. He's very excited to meet you–actually we all are.” Laura touched Sydney's elbow and directed her down the corridor. “Do you have any questions before we get started?” Laura asked.
“Is the band as reckless as their name implies?” Sydney asked.
“You're not familiar with the guys?”
“Nope, never crossed paths,” Sydney said.
Laura eyed Sydney for a moment, then continued to walk. “They're all friendly,” Laura said. “Especially Ben, but I'm probably prejudiced. Simon's another story. He's the polar opposite of his older and much wiser brother.”
“How long have you worked with them?” Sydney asked.
“About five years, although sometimes it seems much longer.” Laura said. “How long have you been shooting concert photography?”
“Ten years and that's probably seven more than I should have.”
Laura climbed the stairs at the back of the stage and began pointing out the different technicians and staff people that were part of their full-time crew. Sydney immediately recognized several men and began saying hello and asking questions about the stage set-up, lighting and sound systems. She took a few notes and added them to the file she had for the band.
“If you're all set here, I'll take you to meet with Ben,” Laura said, and directed Sydney toward the dressing rooms and equipment loading docks.
A few minutes later, Laura pushed open the door to the press room and led Sydney inside. The members of Reckless were waiting, along with several people likely from their management team. A buffet table covered with sandwiches and beverages lined one wall. Additional conference tables were arranged in a horse-shoe shape in the center of the room. A handful of men and women sat at the tables and a few more stood nearby. After a brief introduction, Ben approached Sydney to personally introduce himself.
“At last we meet,” he said, and extended his hand to her. A brilliant smile formed on his face.
Ben was more formidable than Sydney had expected, a full head taller than her, and better looking than his photographs had suggested. Heat from his hand quickly swept through her, but it was his eyes that took her breath away. She dropped his hand and followed him from the room.
He was dressed in standard jeans and a vintage T-shirt, but there was nothing standard about the way he looked wearing them.
Sydney walked beside him down the hall. She kept the band file pressed flat to her chest and listened to him chat endlessly about the project. They stopped several times along the way for introductions. As hard as she tried to stay focused on the information Ben was delivering, it was the subtleties about him that had her completely distracted.
He drifted around the back-stage area with fluid ease. He was obviously comfortable in his own skin, funny to the point of goofiness, and extremely attentive to her; nearly hanging on every word she spoke. Instead of arrogance, he was humble–and it appeared to be a genuine trait, not something he mustered for her sake. Even the low timbre of his voice was having a strange effect on her.
Ben waved to a large, hulk of a man and asked him to come over. “This is Mike Hanson,” Ben said. “My personal security guard and wing-man. Everyone calls him Big Mike, but you can call him whatever the hell you like.”
Mike extended his hand to her.
“This is Sydney Willows,” Ben said. “She's the tour photographer I've been talking about.”
“He's down-playing it, Sydney,” Mike said. “You're all he's talked about.”
“Call me Syd,” she said, and gripped Mike's large hand. “Later, Syd,” Mike said. “Time for me to go play hard-ass.”
They watched Mike disappear into a crowd of men unloading the sound system.
“I'm an amateur photographer,” Ben said. “That's why Mike said that.”
“That's original,” Sydney said.
“What do you mean?” Ben asked.
“Do you have any idea how many men have used that line on me?”
Ben dropped his head. “Photography is a hobby of mine. That's all I meant.”
Sydney looked away.
“Are you all set with the schedule for tomorrow?” Ben asked.
“In terms of what?”
“We're meeting in the hotel lobby at two o'clock,” he said. “Then the band shuttle brings us here for the pre-show interviews. There'll be a lot of press, so we'll want you to cover that.”
“I usually take care of my own transportation,” Sydney said.
“Usually, that's the case, but not in this case,” Ben said. “The whole idea of this project, Sydney, is for you to capture the behind the scenes bullshit we deal with on tour.”
“Call me Syd.”
“What did you say?”
“I prefer to be called Syd.”
“Syd?” he asked, making a sour face.
“That's correct,” she said, avoiding eye contact with him.
“Okay, Syd. Are we on the same page with the ride issue or are we going to have a problem?” he asked.
“I'm not comfortable with it, but I'll do it.”
Ben's eyes canvassed her face and body. She was beautiful in a natural way, with curves he suspected were there but hidden beneath layers of unattractive clothing. He watched a facial muscle tighten her jaw. Her sterile exterior and icy persona seemed a bit too contrived and didn't add up.
Ben took a step closer. “Call my assistant if you have any questions,” he said. “Or feel free to call me.” He pulled the file folder from Sydney's hands and the pencil positioned behind her ear and jotted the digits to his cell phone number on the file cover. “You can reach me anytime,” he said, and handed the file back to her. “It's probably a good idea you give me your number, too,” he said.
Sydney jerked the pencil from Ben's hand as he attempted to slide it back behind her ear. “That won't be necessary,” she said.
“That's what you say now,” he said. His lips curled into a half smile.
“Trust me, you'll have no need for my phone number.”
Ben tipped his head trying to be playful. “What's the problem, Syd? You afraid I'll call late at night and breathe heavy into your ear?” he asked.
Sydney's back stiffened. “I wouldn't suggest you try that, Ben–not even as a joke.”
Ben shook his head and stepped back toward the wall. “You always this intense?” he asked.
Sydney raised her chin and glared at him. “I take my job very seriously.”
“I can see that.”
“Are we done here for today?” she asked. “I guess we are,” he said.
“Then I'll see you tomorrow,” Sydney said, and walked toward the exit.
Simon came up beside Ben and together they watched Sydney leave the building.
“I see the Ice Princess left,” Simon said. “You talked to her?”
“Five minutes of my life I'll never get back,” Simon said. “And just think, we have eight long months of that to look forward to–every damn day.”
“It won't be that bad,” Ben said with a grin. “Fine. You deal with her.”
“I'll be happy to,” Ben said.
Simon glanced at his brother. “Oh, don't tell me you like her?”
“What's not to like?” Ben asked.
“She's a cold bitch!”
“That's not the vibe I was
getting.”
“The only thing you'll get from her is frostbite.”
“Don't think so.”
“Care to make a little wager?” Simon asked. “Five grand says you can't get her into bed before the tour ends.”
Ben laughed. “You're on.”
Table of Contents
Additional Acknowledgments:
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
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