Page 2 of Ring My Bell

“You’re dating him, but also paying him? Isn’t that kind of a conflict of interests?” Monty didn’t meet my gaze, caught instead in Vicky’s tractor beam stare. “Maybe, if you’re gonna date the guy, find a different manager?”

“Monty,” Vicky ground out, “go to the kitchen. I need a mineral water. With cherries in it.”

Cheeks a furious red, he glanced at me again and hurried past into the kitchen. Vicky turned to face me, doing that annoying folded arms while tapping her nails on her elbows thing. She thought it made her look like one of those tough-as-nails generic business ladies from an 80s movie, and she was super into retro kitsch when it came to her image. I swear, she was this close to changing her name to Halston at one point. “I’ve been exceedingly polite to you, Ignatius. Exceedingly. But you’ve crossed a line coming here tonight. If you don’t leave in the next minute, I’ll have to call the police.”

I stared in agog disbelief. “I’m sorry. You’ve been what?”

“Raymond has been very understanding of your predicament—”

“What predicament?”

She rolled her eyes. “The fact you’re obsessed with him. And won’t take no for an answer.”

Obsessed? What the actual… “Okay, first things first: whatever you’re smoking, you need to be sharing because it seems like it’s pretty good stuff. And two, this isn’t a case of me stomping my foot and demanding he give me something, but of him blowing off a meeting he scheduled! About a client’s—hello, it’s me!—career and upcoming opportunities. And also, obsessed? Uh, we’re dating, so… Not obsessed but I definitely care, okay?”

Vicky snorted in a very undignified way. “Whatever. You’ve got ten seconds, Iggy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Ten seconds to get to the door?”

She smirked. “Yup.”

“Time me.” I kicked off my heels and bolted not for the front door but for the office corridor. Vicky shrieked, and someone—I’m assuming Monty—dropped something that shattered and splashed.

Vicky clattered after me, slipping in her heels on the slick tile floor (rookie move, not ditching the footwear).

I made it to the door, flinging it wide before she caught me. “Raymond! Get out here!” I shouted. “Raymond!”

“Call the cops!” Vicky ordered Monty, hauling me back as hard as she could.

A death grip on the doorframe and years of finger-strengthening exercises were only going to help so much. I had seconds before she managed to dislodge me. “I know you’re here, asshole!”

At the end of the hall, a door opened, and a bright pink head of curls popped out.

“Sonny?” I demanded, letting go of the doorframe in shock. “I thought you were visiting your folks.”

Sonny Dublin, my roommate and fellow part-time barista at Cuppa Cuppa (lots of musicians have part time jobs to make ends meet), scowled at me from Raymond’s office doorway. “Gawd, Iggyy! You’re so loud! And all that screeching is not going to help your voice!” He glanced back into the office before shooting me a smug, superior look. “You’re already too pitchy.”

“I’m what?” Even Vicky’s tenacious grasp could not have held me back. I all but flew down the corridor. Sonny had the good sense to realize he’d fucked up. “I will pitchy your ass out this door if you don’t get out of my way. What the hell are you doing here anyway? I told you not to bother Raymond! Just because I’m your roomie doesn’t mean I’m going to try to get you in with him, and how dare you bother him at home? You made him miss this meeting and—”

“Oh my god,” Raymond’s low, raspy voice growled from within the office. “Shut up, Iggy. Just shut the hell up…”

Sonny skittered back, and Raymond came forward from behind his desk.

I blamed my sheer anger and frustration for failing to notice Sonny was mostly naked when he opened the door.

And for taking a solid five seconds to realize what I was seeing.

“Raymond,” I said calmly. “Your dick’s out.”

After a moment of flailing, absolutely absurd facial expressions, because he was apparently the smartest man in the room, he decided to just… leave it.

Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, Sonny sauntered past Raymond and retrieved his shirt. My shirt, rather, because it was the hot-pink crop top with silver rings on the hem I’d been missing for weeks. Sonny shrugged into it in a reverse, slow strip tease, ruffled his hair with his fingers, and moved to stand next to Raymond, leaning against his arm.

“This is really sad,” Sonny sighed. “I mean, Raymond told me you were in denial, but this.” He raked a gaze over me and shook his head slowly, frowning. “Iggy, you gotta admit it to yourself.”

“Admit what, shirt thief? And for the love of god, Raymond, put it away! We’re not fucking wildebeests here!”

“Wildebeests?” Raymond sputtered. “What the hell?”