Page 25 of Sycopation
Ray whirled around. “What the fuck do you think?” Only then did he notice the guy with the camera and the press pass standing in the room off to the side. Shit,shit. He took a breathand stepped back. “No, man. Just coffee, and not enough of that.” God, he needed to pay more attention to his surroundings. Fucking thing was, that was one of the first pieces of advice Carl had given him.
The fucker chuckled. “I’m sure.” He sounded like he didn’t believe a word Ray said, which was pretty normal. “You know the deal.”
He damn well did. “Do you need a blood test?” He held out his arm. “’Cause all you’re gonna find is caffeine and a shitty truck stop meatball hoagie.”
The press guy raised both his eyebrows and Carl looked taken aback. “No, no. Of course not.”
Zavier breezed in. “I’d be afraid to know what’s in those meatballs.”
“Says the man who ate the chili cheese dogs.” Domino was in most of his getup, since reporters like the one furiously typing into his phone could be found everywhere behind the scenes at a place like this.
“Eh, cast-iron stomach.” Zavier flashed one of his perfect grins at Dom. “Product of my misspent youth.”
Mish grabbed a bottle of water. “Next time I’m buying stock in antacids.”
The best part of the whole tangent was the look on Carl’s face. Ray relaxed. Anything about his “drinking problem” would be buried under the crappy eating habits of rock stars.
The journalist or whatever he was cleared his throat and nodded to Zavier. “You’re the new drummer, right?”
Zavier straightened, his movements careful. Calculated. “Yes, I am. And you are...?”
“Gabriel McGinness, from MusicNight Online.”
A nod. “I do like knowing who’s writing about me,” Zavier murmured, and fuck, was it sexy. How the hell did he do that?It also raised quite a blush on the reporter—and that caused a bitter taste in Ray’s mouth.
The reporter recovered pretty fast, though the blush lingered. “How does a principal timpanist of a renowned symphony orchestra end up as a rock drummer?”
Less sex in Zavier’s voice now. “I answered a call for an audition.”
“After you were fired from Silverton?”
Zavier’s posture shifted in an instant. He didn’t tense up, per se. Ray couldn’t say what changed other than his grin dropping, but the temperature in the room fell about twenty degrees, or so it seemed. “I wasn’t fired. I resigned.”
Oh, there was a story there. Zavier’s voice was mild, but concrete—practically daring the reporter to refute him. For his part, Mr. Presspass McGinness or whatever stood his ground. “Dimitri Ferbran said?—”
“Maestro Ferbran knows damn well I walked into HR and tenured my resignation before he had his little screaming fit at me.” Zavier’s smile was back, but unpleasant as hell. “I can give you the number of the Human Resources director, if you wish to corroborate my story.” He paused. “And I’m not the only musician to walk out on Ferbran.”
Presspass got a curious look. “Really?”
“Mmmhmm. Look it up sometime.” Zavier shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse us...”
Carl ushered the press guy out the door. After that, he pulled a can from the fridge, then cracked it open. Of course it was a beer. Ray resisted the urge to look at his watch. He suspected the only reason Carl was drinking was to rub it in that Ray couldn’t. Or maybe Zavier’s little previous workplace history had been a surprise. Who knew? Interesting that Ray wasn’t the only one with a cloud hanging over him.
Once Carl had downed a few gulps, he smacked his lips, which meant the beer was about Ray and not Zavier. At least he was consistent. “So, Ray. Got a set list yet?”
Carl had never been interested in what they planned to play on tour before. “Of course I have. We worked it out last night.” He gestured to the band.
A nod. “Well, I saw a version of it from the crew, but given the opening song, I figured that couldn’t be right.”
Fuck. Carl was going to give him grief about that? “If the opener is ‘Lightning’, then yes, it’s the correct list.”
“Are you mental?”
“Hey!” Mish slammed down her water. “Don’t be a fucking ableist?—”
“Yeah, Carl, I am. I’m a foolish, ignorant piece of shit.” Ray snapped the words out. Carl’s attention swung away from Mish and back to him, where it belonged.
Carl stepped forward. “You don’t start a concert with?—”
