“Hey, your kids will have it good, too,” I added casually. “They’ll have their own rock star daddy.”
“Oh, God. I hope rock star daddy doesn’t want the kids anytime soon. I’m a little young for that yet.”
“Well, when you’re ready. There’s time, right?”
One of the staff appeared and set Courteney’s coffee in front of her. “This is from Becca, hon. I’ll be back with yours,” she told me, and headed off.
“I guess we have it pretty good too, huh?” Courteney smiled a little.
“Yeah. VIP-by-association isn’t too shabby.”
“True.” Courteney blew on her hot coffee and looked me over. “You look awesome, by the way. Why are you so damn stylish?”
“Um… is this stylish?” I glanced down at my black dress. “Pretty sure I bought this at least seven years ago.”
She laughed like I’d said something funny.
Courteney looked like a breath of fresh summer air in her casual, sleeveless, pink sweatshirt dress and white sneakers. Nineteen and gorgeous, with oodles of long blonde hair, the girl did not have to try very hard to score that perfect ten.
No wonder she’d scored Xander Rush, the Players’ smoking hot drummer.
I’d considered trying to score with Xander myself when I first met him, but now I was really glad that I hadn’t. I’d never mention that to her now. Seemed irrelevant since nothing between Xander and I had ever happened, and he and Courteney were such a great match.
Just the thought of how hot they must’ve been together in bed was kind of sickening.
But that was just my single self being a little envious.
“Okay. I’m dying here,” she said. “Please tell me how it went with my brother.”
“It went fine,” I assured her.
“Really?” She seemed so stricken, I almost laughed. “Tell me everything.”
“Okay.” I took a breath. “But I’ve gotta tell you, upfront, I’m not sure your brother actually needs an assistant, Courteney. What he probably needs is a life coach or something. And maybe… a therapist?”
Courteney’s mouth floated open.
“At least, that’s my humble opinion,” I added quickly. “He didn’t actually seem like he wants to hire an assistant, though I think he would let you hire one. Maybe because deep down he knows it would be good for him, or maybe because he loves you. But…” I trailed off, because Courteney was officially gaping at me.
I knew what I’d just said had to be hurtful. But I respected her—and her friendship with my best friend—enough to give it to her straight. She asked me for my assessment. Well, that was my assessment.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be harsh—”
“He talked to you?”
“Yes.”
She just stared at me like she was completely shocked by that.
“Wait,” I said. “Why?”
“I’m just… surprised that he talked to you. In a good way.”
“Oh. Yeah, we talked for about twenty minutes or so.”
She stared at me like I’d sprouted wings and turned her coffee into wine or something.
“You asked me to go talk to him. Right?”
“Yes. But, honestly… I thought we might have to try this a few times before he even let you in the door. Did he actually answer the door?” She looked so damn confused, I actually felt mildly annoyed.
Did she seriously send me over there expecting me to strike out? And she didn’t tell me that?
“No, he didn’t. I gave his cat a note to take inside.”
She blinked at me. “Freddy?”
“Yeah. I found the kitty door and sent him inside with a note.”
Okay. She was definitely looking at me like I was superhuman or something.
“Go on…” she said.
“So, he came to the door and I told him who I was, that you sent me, and he invited me in. We sat in his living room and talked. I got the feeling he was willing to entertain the conversation because he promised you he would. It didn’t seem like he was thrilled to have a visitor or anything. But he was polite. He answered my questions…” I stopped talking because the barista was back; she put my chai latte in front of me. “Thank you.”
She nodded and vanished, and I found Courteney still staring at me.
“What did he say?” she asked me.
“Not much.”
“How did he look?”
“He looked… good.”
I took a careful sip of my drink, testing the temperature, while Courteney stared at me. Pretty sure I was blowing her damn mind.
Did he really not talk to her at all?
“He seems really devoted to his work,” I offered. “It sounds like he’s looking forward to working on the Players’ album. And there’s the release party at the end, that sounded like a big thing.”
Courteney’s eyes widened. “He mentioned the release party?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say about it?”
“He just mentioned it. I guess there was some kind of party for the album he just finished working on? It was down in L.A., so maybe he couldn’t go anyway, but he seemed kind of bummed that he didn’t go.”
“He said that to you?”
“No. It was just a feeling.”
“And he said he wants to go to the release party for the Players’ album?”
“No. I could just tell.”
I watched as Courteney’s hazel eyes kind of misted over.
Holy shit. Was she about to cry on me?
“Look, Courteney. Uh… some kind of end goal like this party might be a good idea. Nothing like motivation, right?” It had occurred to me, while talking to Cary, that the album release, in general, might be just the end goal that could make this situation work. A temporary contract with an end date to keep things on track might make it feel less daunting—for both Cary and whoever we brought in to work with him. Like a trial run. “You could hire someone for a certain length of time, maybe just to work with him while he finishes this album, and help him with whatever media surrounds it, the launch party, whatever. I don’t even know what all is involved with that…”
“It’s a great idea,” she said softly.
“And if that’s the goal,” I forged on, determined to be honest with her, “then he’ll probably need someone who’s experienced with all of the above. He’ll also probably need a friend or a date or someone who can go with him to the party, because I can’t imagine someone who hasn’t left the house in five years is just going to strut into a party by himself, you know what I mean?” I figured I’d just slip that in because who the fuck were we kidding? She knew that I knew that that was what everyone said about him. If it wasn’t true, here was her chance to refute it.
She didn’t.
She just said, “Uh-huh. Could you do that?”
Oh, boy.
“I’m just an executive assistant, Courteney,” I said gently. “Your brother needs help. I mean, practice.” Shit. Tread carefully here, Taylor. “You know, with social interaction? Honestly, he probably needs a relationship coach or something. And counseling. And psychological support. And none of this is my expertise.” Did I just call her brother a complete weirdo? Because that was kind of how it sounded.
But what else was I supposed to say?
“Did he say that to you? That he wants to go with someone to this party?” She seemed really stuck on that part.
“No. I’m just saying… your brother probably needs a lot of support. None of which he seems to have right now? I don’t know why that is, but he said he prefers being alone.”
“He said that?”
“Yes,” I said gently. “He said that. He said he can’t handle a lot of people in his life. And while I can sympathize with that, I don’t know how you get from where he is to where you’d probably like him to be. Or even where, maybe, he wants to be, if he really wants to do things like go to album release parties.”
�
�He doesn’t tell me this stuff,” she said. “He doesn’t even tell Xander this stuff.”
“Well, he didn’t really tell me much, in the end.”
I wondered, briefly, if I should tell her about the panic attack thing. But it didn’t seem like something I should just blurt out. If she already knew, then it wasn’t news anyway. And if she didn’t know… then who was I to go telling her, if he hadn’t?
She shook her head slowly, her eyes still looking pretty misty. “No. He doesn’t tell us anything.”
I took a sip of my chai, while Courteney just sat there looking mildly shellshocked.
“Look, I’m not sure what else I can tell you, Courteney,” I said. “I can help you find an assistant for your brother, if you still want me to. But I don’t think it’s going to change his life. It might help him keep organized, take some tasks off his plate and maybe open lines of communication with him a bit more.” I knew she wanted that. She’d told me so. “But beyond that… I really can’t say. I’m no expert in psychology.”
“You’re wrong about that,” she said softly. “What we need is a people expert. You know, someone who’s great at working with people. And if you aren’t that… I don’t know who is.”
Oh, God. If she only knew how wrong she was. “I’m not a people expert, Courteney.”
“My brother hasn’t talked to anyone like that in a long time. He doesn’t talk to our parents, he doesn’t talk to his best friends… and he definitely doesn’t talk to strangers.” She just kept shaking her head. “I’m actually completely shocked that he talked to you at all.”
“Really?”
She blew out a breath. “I thought maybe because you’re pretty he might actually hear you out for a minute or two. You’ve got this thing about you, you know? This sexy thing. All the guys just notice you. I see it at the bar.”
“Uh…”
“I know that’s gross. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that upfront. I just wanted to get Cary’s attention. The fact that he invited you into his house and talked to you for twenty minutes and told you these things, though? That’s unprecedented. You have to let me hire you, Taylor. Please.”
Uh-oh.
“Hire me… to do what, exactly?”
“To be my brother’s assistant.”
I took a deep breath and tried to say it as gently as I could. “Look, I’m sorry, Courteney. I really appreciate that you thought of me. But… I can’t work for your brother. It’s just too close to home. I like you, and I know you and Danica are close. And if it doesn’t work out, I’d feel terrible.” When. When it didn’t work out. It was a matter of when, not if.
At least, that’s what my experience told me.
My experience told me that no matter how nice Courteney was, her brother, if I worked for him, would go crazy on me.
Too many of them went crazy on me.
And already, this job had all the signs of being a very bad fit for my own psychological well-being.
“Of course,” she said quickly. “I understand. And that’s why I asked you to help me hire the right person to work with him. I thought it would be too weird to ask you to work for him. I mean, I would feel awful if it didn’t work out. To be totally straight with you, my brother hasn’t really been great with assistants in the past. I worked for him briefly last year,” she explained. “‘Producer’s Assistant.’ It didn’t work out so well.”
“Oh.”
“I had no idea what I was doing. I don’t even know what a producer’s assistant is. I tried to figure it out. I asked people I know in the music industry. I got a list of personal assistant duties, things that I thought I could help him with. I really tried. But my brother just wasn’t interested. I think he was uncomfortable having his little sister as his assistant. He never said so. He would never say so. Because… he’s very good to me.” Her voice softened with those words. And I could see it there, in her eyes…
Love.
I saw a deep, deep love there.
“Whatever you might have heard about my brother…” she went on, “he is not crazy. I know that’s what people say about him.”
“Okay.”
“I just have a good feeling about this, Taylor. Let me and Xander pay you for a six month contract. We can negotiate longer than that if it’s needed. But the band is supposed to hand the album over to the record company in six months. That means the release party will probably come shortly after. We’ll pay you a fair, full-time rate. And you can work with my brother part-time, or whenever he needs you. He won’t want you there all the time anyway. Just help him get everything he needs in line so that he can finish the album on time, as stress free as possible, and try to go to that party. That can be our goal. It’s a great goal.”
She gazed at me, pleading with her hazel eyes. They weren’t the same shape as her brother’s; they were rounder, but the color was pretty much the same. That warm, liquid honey color. She was so hopeful, she was practically trembling with it. I could feel her hope and her desperation, and I felt for her.
She obviously loved her brother. A lot.
I took another sip of my chai, stalling. A song by Ash’s old band, the Penny Pushers, was playing in the café now. Vancouver had such a cool music scene over the years, and sitting here right now, it struck me how very possibly stupid it was that I—a total music lover—never thought about trying to work inside it. And here I was getting offered an in, and I was asking for an out.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said. “Can I have a day or two to think it over?”
“Of course. Take whatever time you need. There’s no rush.” Courteney sighed. “It’s not like my brother’s begging me to hire him an assistant, like right this second.”
I smiled a little. “You’re a really good sister, Courteney, you know that?”
She groaned. “Honestly, I wish I knew how to help him better. I wish he’d talk to me.” Her voice broke a little. “But, if he’s willing to talk to you… I’ll take it.”
“Okay. Let me think about it.” I started to get up, and Courteney hopped to her feet. She gave me a big hug.
“Thank you. No pressure, okay? Whatever you decide. But I’d be so grateful if you’d give it a try.”
Right. No pressure at all.
I gave her a squeeze, then let her go. I looked her in the eye. “I’ll let you know, I promise. I should grab a takeout cup for the rest of this and get going.”
“Me, too. I’ll grab some for us. And if there’s anything you need, just let me know.” She turned and probably would’ve skipped all the way to the counter, she seemed so happy. But I stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Hey, Courteney? Do you have a favorite Rolling Stones song?”
“The Stones?” She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know… I don’t really listen to them.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She started toward the counter, but then stopped again. “Wait. What’s that old song they do? ‘Fade To Black’ or whatever?”
“You mean ‘Paint It Black’?”
“Yeah. That’s it. I pick that one.”
“Cool.”
Damn.
When I walked into my apartment that evening, I yanked out my earbuds, dumped my purse, kicked off my sandals and immediately helped myself to a beer. I had a bunch of fruity ales from the brew pub up the street stocked in my fridge. I chose a raspberry bitter, grabbed my phone and plunked my ass down on my favorite window sill.
Like everything else in this place, the windows were old. They were wood frame and while they were always getting stuck, the sills were nice and deep. I had a corner apartment, which was pretty much the only perk of this place since Danica moved out of the apartment next door. I got a street view from the bedroom window and a sort of industrial waterfront-ish view from here in the kitchen. I could even see the mountains a little.
I’d met up with Danica for dinner tonight, and I told her about Courteney’s offer. She already knew Courteney had asked me to meet
with her brother. But when I told her that Courteney basically begged me to consider taking the assistant job myself, Danica definitely wasn’t as uncomfortable with the idea as I was.
Bottom line, she knew I could use the contract. She liked and trusted Courteney. And as kindhearted as my best friend was, she just couldn’t imagine that Courteney’s brother could be much of an issue when Courteney herself was so wonderful.
My best friend was born wearing an invisible pair of rose colored glasses through which she viewed the world. It was one of the things I admired and loved about Danica the most. Her optimism. Her warmth. Her willingness to live and let live, forgive and forget, and all that good stuff.
I’d learned a lot from Danica Vola over the years about being a good human.
Her sunny point of view had helped me through a lot of dark shit in my life. But I wasn’t so sure that it was helping me with this.
Anyway, it wasn’t that Cary Clarke was an issue. It was that he had issues.
I felt totally split down the middle, between what Courteney and Danica wanted me to do—take the job—and my misgivings about my prospective employer’s mental health.
And of course, just to complicate matters, there was the whole he’s very, very attractive thing. Which I hadn’t brought up with either Courteney or Danica.
I checked my email, just to see if my dream job had happened to float into my inbox in the last few hours on the wings of a fairytale, but alas, no such luck. I wasn’t even sure what my dream job was. But it definitely wasn’t there in the slew of daily alerts for crappy, underpaying job postings that were utterly deletable.
There was a nice, personal email from one of the recruiters at the temp agency, though. One of my crazy bosses of yesteryear needed a new assistant and—wasn’t this just flattering as all hell—he’d thought of me. He reached out personally to ask if you’re available, the email said.
I didn’t reply. It was too late in the evening for that. I’d reply tomorrow and politely but firmly let them know that there was no way in hell I’d ever be available for that man again.
Fuck that noise.
Also, the waxed butt lady had texted me. Again.
Damn. Did I forget to reply to her?
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 7
