Page 8 of Red Hot Harmony

“Okay, darlin’. I’ll humor you,” I called as I walked over to the closet and picked through the hangers, looking for a shirt that would be appropriate for my date with Camille.

I had no idea why choosing the right clothes seemed so imperative. She’s seen me sweating buckets and carrying tables during our carwash adventure. She also didn’t strike me as the type of woman to judge a man by his fashion style.

“I’m sending your name to their publicist, Dante,” Eden shouted over the noise of the engine that came through the phone. She was passing a truck most likely, and all that racket pressed against the calm silence of my house in a very disturbing manner, as if the world wanted me to let it in, wanted me to join its festivities.

“I hope you’re using Bluetooth, darlin’. We don’t want you to get a ticket.”

“Get bent, Martinez.” She huffed.

“Ah, there she is, my lioness.” I laughed. Pissing Eden Romano off was high on my post-strokethings I enjoy doinglist.

Because I couldn’t do women and coke anymore.

Well, definitely not coke if I wanted to live, but women—they didn’t interest me much. Except for Camille.

“One more thing, Dante…”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re going to bring a plus-one, make sure she’s not a groupie or an escort and it’s best that she’s at least over twenty-one...or over twenty-five.”

“Ah, so you’re terrified my reputation will put a permanent stain on the event and the good folks won’t let your other clients in.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not the only scandalous person I handle.”

“So you’ve seen worse?”

“Much worse.”

“Okay, I’ll play, darlin’. Send me the details. I’ll be there and my plus-one will not be an escort or a groupie. And she will be over twenty-five.”

I didn’t tell her anything else. Camille was still a secret. But she wouldn’t stay one for long. Not after the meeting the guys and I’d had earlier this week at Frank’s place. Johnny had been there. Carter too. Even Quin had shown up.

We needed to be a united front against KBC and that required all of us to talk to each other, past animosity or not. Emotions had been set aside and things had been discussed. Concerning things. Depressing things. Hopeful things.

There had been lawyers too, my and Frank’s, and Cassy hovered in the background, listening carefully, making some notes.

The meeting hadn’t been anything official. Just a breakdown of what we could expect in the next few months should we all join the lawsuit, but the following morning, Quin had been ambushed by TMZ outside the coffee shop where he bought his breakfast twice a week.

Dude was as predictable as the calendar even after all these years.

His face had flooded all music-related websites within hours of the incident. Reporters had started to dig into his past, asking uncomfortable questions.

It was only a matter of time before the sharks would come for me and then Camille. Therefore, I didn’t see a point in hiding her anymore.

Just tonight.

After that, everything would be different.

“And promise me you’ll behave,” Eden said, her firm voice dragging me out of my thoughts.

“You know I can only promise to try.”

That was it. Conversation over.

I moved on to the important task of picking the right shirt. Black, loose-fitting, soft. Nothing elaborate. I snapped on my Rolex once I was fully dressed, then spent a long moment in front of the mirror, studying my reflection, then changed my mind.

Growing up in a dirt-poor neighborhood, I hadn’t really allowed myself to fantasize about expensive accessories. That had come a little later, when I hit my teens, the dreams that I could be anything. Being able to pay for a Rolex on my own had been a big deal for a kid from the wrong side of the tracks like me.

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