Page 11 of What Happened Last Night

And just like that, I’d met the Road Kings.

* * *

Will convinced the band to congregate in the songwriting room. They sprawled on various sofas, manspreading everywhere. They gave off a restless energy that was so deeply good-natured, it was hard to get annoyed. Whereas my brothers annoyed me constantly, I found the Road Kings charming.

“I came up with some ideas last night,” Will said, tapping his phone. He and I sat at opposite ends of our own sofa. I realized I’d left my laptop bag in the backseat of Will’s car and I wondered if I was supposed to take notes, but if it was a problem, my boss didn’t let on.

“Bring it,” Stone said. He was leaning back with his long legs in front of him, his ankles crossed.

“T-shirts,” Will said. “We ran out, and it isn’t the first time. Our supplier dropped the ball, which made me recall that I had to pick the supplier in a hurry right before the reunion tour. Which made me recall that when I took over managing this band, there was no T-shirt supplier. And yet you’ve been selling shirts at shows for years. Can anyone explain?”

“We have a supplier,” Axel said.

“Had,” Neal corrected him.

Will waited, expectant. He had crossed one ankle over the other knee—that pose on him was my kryptonite—and his shoulders were more relaxed than I’d ever seen them. So was his expression. I realized that in three weeks, I had never seen Will unwind like this. Was tense his usual mode?

Neal shrugged. “In the old days, we always just called up T-Shirt Mike.”

Will looked disbelieving. “T-Shirt Mike?”

“Our T-shirt guy,” Denver said, as if this explained anything. “We’d call him, he’d show up and sell shirts from a table in the venue. At the end of the night, he’d give us cash.”

To the band, this seemed a complete story. They were quiet. Will waited, then gave in.

“Who is T-Shirt Mike?” he asked. “Where did he get the shirts? How do you know how many he sold? Did he keep records? Does anyone even know his last name?”

Neal frowned, searching his memory. “Well, he’s Tracy Van Pelt’s cousin, so his last name might be Van Pelt.” Apparently, we were supposed to know who Tracy Van Pelt was, though I could tell from Will’s face that, like me, he had not the slightest clue. “How would we know where he got the shirts? If we knew where to get the shirts, we wouldn’t need T-Shirt Mike.”

“We’d call him before every tour,” Axel added. “He’d show up at some of the shows. At least half. Sometimes he’d hitch in the van with us, but usually he drove Tracy’s car because he could keep the shirts in the trunk. I heard that after we broke up, he moved in with his stripper girlfriend in L.A.”

“The stripper isn’t his girlfriend,” Stone added in his deep growl. “She’s his wife now. They have two kids.”

“Man, we weren’t invited to the wedding?” Neal sounded hurt. “After all those shirts. What a bummer.”

“Guys.” Will looked pained and rubbed his fingertips over his temples. “T-Shirt Mike? Really? It’s like you don’t want to make money.”

“That’s what we have you for, Billy,” Denver said with a grin.

Will sighed. “Okay. I ran some rough numbers.” He picked up his phone again. “We’re going to start over with the shirts, and we’re going to do it right.”

My thoughts were racing as they talked, my brain ticking over. I pulled out my own phone and opened the browser. Without thinking twice, I said, “We need a new supplier. I can get some competitive quotes. What kind of volume are we talking about?”

A notification popped up on my phone, then another. Will had logged me on to the studio’s wifi, and then he shared a file with me. “This will give you an idea,” he said, his tone distracted. “I should have sent this to you last night, but I forgot.”

“No problem.” I scanned the document. “I can work with this. What about the design?”

“We definitely need a new one,” Will said. “The old one is outdated, and I’ve never liked it much. I was thinking we’d get a local artist, but I don’t know the best place to find one.”

“I know a few designers,” I said. “They’re more corporate, but I can ask them for recommendations. Maybe there’s a site or an artist co-op where we can find someone local.”

Will gave me a brief, curious glance, but he was too in the zone to get derailed by asking me any questions. “That would be great. For the shirts, don’t just get quotes. Get samples. And we need them within a week.”

I nodded. The band was going back on tour soon. We needed to be ready.

“Hello?” Stone raised a hand, giving us a scowly look. “You two? Remember us?”

I blinked, but Will barely looked up from his notes. “What is it, Stone?”

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