Page 44 of Final Serenade

I took a couple of trips to the main floor to get an idea of how big the crowd was. The place was stuffy and was too small to host an event of this caliber. While still low-key compared to major awards like Billboard or Grammy, the KGLT’s Best in Alternative had been getting more and more recognition. Tonight, there were quite a few bigger record label artist relations reps and music acts here. There was a better PA system than in the past. A nicer stage setup. According to Levi’s projections, next year, this event could very likely be held at a much larger venue, such as the Microsoft Theater. Assuming the organizers kept pushing forward. People who crapped out on their causes in this business weren’t rare.

It was around nine when the energy level backstage kicked up. We had just finished our third artist interview. The door to the small dressing room where Levi and I were set up was wide open. I stood on the threshold with my microphone in my hand, staring at the bullet list on my phone. The AC here was shit. I felt like I was wearing a wet towel instead of a tee and a pair of jeans. I regretted the boots too. Their only benefit was the extra couple of inches they added to my height.

Yesterday’s late night picnic with Frank and today’s official email from Jay Brodie PR had turned me into a high-strung bitch. I didn’t like myself, because I couldn’t tell Levi anything about why we weren’t chosen to run the interview. Although Frank had never said it, I knew why he didn’t want a video of him and me circulating on the net. We’d already been seen holding hands. Having more footage out there would eventually have people digging. A rock singer who’d been in hiding for seven years and a reporter. It would make a juicy story. A story I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of. But sadly, it was too late.

Then there was the kiss.

“Cass?” Levi called out.

“Huh?” I spun on my heels.

He eyed me from behind his camera. “Move a little to the left for the next one. I’m shooting this wide. Your shoulder looks strange.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I nodded.

Tonight was one of those weird nights where we had to go with the flow because everyone was behind schedule. Our next artist was still on stage. I could hear the music boom through the busy hallway. Then a tangle of agitated voices and radio static traveled in my direction, a crew member rushing past me.

“What’s going on?” I questioned the guy.

He shot me a frenzied glance. “Someone just saw Frankie Blade on the red carpet.”

The blood drained from my face. The mic in my hand shook.

“What the hell?” Levi leapt over to me, his head doing a one-eighty around the hallway. “Is this dude for real? First, he shoots down our video. Now he’s stalking us.”

Levi obviously meant it as a joke. A sarcastic one, judging by his tone. But I wasn’t so sure he was wrong. My cheeks burned and my stomach heaved.

We’d posted the transcribed version of the interview this morning. It’d gotten a lot of hits. Tens of thousands. Probably more. I hadn’t looked at the stats for a couple of hours, but I knewRewirednumbers were flying high tonight. My Twitter wouldn’t shut up, and my Instagram followers were ticking in too.

I heard my heart beating inside my chest despite all the hum. The air was full of anticipation; the security guards were alert.

I didn’t see him behind the wall of his entourage, but I knew it was him.I felt him. A couple of unfamiliar faces led the group. Corey marched in next, his body blocking my view of Frankie. Roman’s head bobbed in the very back. Some fans trailed after.

The entire hallway lit up. Necks twisting, eyes wide. There was some handshaking involved. Casual conversations took place. Frankie was in his element. He didn’t look like a man who’d been cut open countless times and had a dozen metal plates inside his body to keep him from falling apart. He looked like a rich, spoiled, and entitled ass. He moved slowly, displaying a killer smile until the group finally stopped by our dressing room.

Our gazes met. The hum swelled as the people in the crowd fought for a spot closer to Frankie. A few cell phone flashes assaulted my eyes. Thankfully, Roman quickly intervened, hustling people away.

“Cassy? Right?” Frankie’s voice carried over the noise, his brows twisted in concentration. “Didn’t we chat a couple of days ago?” He extended his hand.

I placed my palm in his and shook it. “Yes. We did.” My skin tingled where we connected. Electricity surged through my wrist and up my arm. This was an incredibly dangerous game, and I loved it.

“The Regency?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “The Regency.” My eyes ogled his outfit. He wore a simple burgundy shirt and black jeans and looked fantastic.

His grasp on my hand tightened for a brief moment before he let go and switched his attention to Levi. They started talking, but I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation because the crowd had grown so big that people began to slip into the dressing room. Soon, we were surrounded by dozens of screaming fans. I wasn’t sure if some of them sneaked in from the main floor or if they were all working backstage tonight. I couldn’t tell, because my mind was struggling to stay alert.

I saw Roman moving through the chaos. He pushed his way in and started hustling people into the hallway. The glimmer of the fluorescent overheads slid across his shiny bald head.

“Thank you,” I said appreciatively.

“No problem, ma’am.” A crooked smile touched his hard face. He stepped closer, his voice dropping a couple of octaves. “Boss wanted to know if you’re available for a drink after the event.”

I peeked around. Levi was busy talking to Frankie’s manager. Frankie was signing someone’s T-shirt. People didn’t care about me and the rock star’s bodyguard. Right now, we were muddy background noise.

My stomach fluttered. “We should be done at eleven. Eleven thirty at the latest,” I mouthed, hoping Roman could read lips.

He could.

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