Page 9 of What Happened Last Night

She blushed again. She was probably thinking about the fact that she was going to meet the band today.

“They’re nice guys,” I said.

“What?”

“The Road Kings. They’re rock stars, but they’re not assholes. Well—they’re sort of assholes, but not the way you think. Just come with me to the studio. You’ll see.”

FOUR

Luna

This wasn’t just the best job I had ever had. It was the best job anyone had ever had.

Will gave me a tour of Road Kings Studios—a freaking recording studio—and gave me all of the security codes. We walked through the booth, the studio area, the small rooms off the studio called iso booths, where isolated sounds could be recorded. He showed me the rehearsal space, the small office—barely used, since people in the music business weren’t office people, as I was learning—and the so-called songwriting room, which was a big space filled with sofas.

All of it looked lived in, but the songwriting room looked especially loved. There were two acoustic guitars in here, pens and papers, old coffee cups, a sweatshirt on the arm of a sofa, a baseball cap dropped on the floor. The air smelled like men, funky but not unpleasant, the scent familiar to me from when my brothers lived at home.

Upstairs were two apartments, fully furnished. No one lived in them, but Will explained that they were available for when sessions ran late into the night or if someone needed to crash. Will had stayed here himself a few times after sitting in on late sessions. I could make use of one too, if I needed it, he explained.

Oh, sure. I’d hang out at a recording session with rock stars, then sleep upstairs. Because that was my life now.

When we got back downstairs, a man was waiting for us. He was handsome, about forty, his hair cut short. He was built like he regularly lifted weights. A couple of rings gleamed against his dark skin. “Hey, boss,” he said to Will.

“Brad Thiessen,” Will said, motioning between him and me. “This is Luna McQueen, my new assistant. Brad is our tour manager.”

“Hey.” Brad shook my hand. “I hope you’re better than the last assistant. He nearly ended up in the wrong city when she booked his flights.”

“That would never happen on my watch,” I assured him.

Brad nodded, then said to Will, “I figured you’d be here, and I figured you’d want a rundown. I’ll write something up for you, but I’m gonna sleep for a day first.”

Will nodded. “Go.”

Brad started talking. I had never heard of a tour manager before—hadn’t known the job existed— and I was impressed. Brad was the man on the ground, making sure the band got fed and the bus drivers got breaks and the sound checks started on time. His report to Will was about how the shows were sold out, the security manager at the Atlanta venue had given them a hard time, and one of the hotels was so shitty they should never go back. Will nodded, absorbing every word. So did I.

“And the T-shirt thing,” Brad finished.

“Yeah, I saw that. I have a plan,” Will replied.

“You always do,” Brad replied.

Voices echoed down the hall. Male voices.

“I’m going home,” Brad said. “The animals are here. I’d rather see my girlfriend’s face than any of their ugly mugs, at least for the next few weeks.”

“Thanks, man,” Will said. “Be ready for the next one.”

Brad looked at me, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Don’t let them give you any shit,” he said. “Welcome to the zoo.” He left.

“Billy!” a man’s voice boomed down the hall. “Billy Hale! Get the fuck over here.”

I felt my jaw go slack with surprise. They called him Billy?

Will led me down the hall.

When I’d listened to the Road Kings, I’d also googled the band members. So I knew that standing in the booth was Denver Gilchrist, the band’s lead singer. Sitting in the chair behind the board was Axel de Vries, the drummer. They both noticed me immediately, and Denver’s eyes lit up.

Holy hell, he was gorgeous. They both were. Denver had dark hair, grown a little bit long, and the shadow of a beard. His gray eyes were soulful and sweet behind their glint of humor. Axel was blond, with blue eyes like a Nordic god and tattoos on his bare, toned arms. He would have been intimidating except that he was wearing navy sweatpants, an old tee, and socks, and he was swiveling back and forth while he leaned back in his chair like a toddler would, his long legs flexing.

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