Page 57 of What Happened Last Night

Since Neal had been on the road for most of Amber’s early childhood, he’d decided to do things differently this time. He was taking a break from the band stay home with his family full time. There would be no tour until Neal was ready again, and he wouldn’t put in long studio days, either. The Road Kings were almost forty, and they weren’t all about the rock n’ roll hedonism anymore. They were making time for other things than music.

I thought that made them hotter than a group of irresponsible man-sluts who were half wasted all the time. But that was just me.

“The fallout isn’t too bad,” Will said as we wandered through RKS, taking in the mess the band had left behind during ten days of nonstop composing. “I expected worse.”

The studio was empty. There was equipment lying around, and the songwriting room looked like a blizzard hit it. There were two big trash bags filled to the top with takeout containers, and the coffee machine had given up the ghost. It had been used until it didn’t turn on anymore. This was a space where a group of musicians had stayed up until all hours, being creative.

The apartments upstairs were messy, too. There had definitely been some napping happening, and the bathrooms had soaked countertops and splashed mirrors. It wasn’t too horrifying, considering the possibilities of rock star bathrooms.

“It’s like they’re only partly zoo animals,” I said, touching a soaked towel on the floor with the toe of my sneaker.

“They’re semi-tame now,” Will agreed, looking around with distaste. I was going to his place after work, and I had a feeling his penthouse was much neater. “I think the early days in the bus were a lot worse. The crew of maids I hired will be here first thing in the morning.”

I looked at his profile, because I could look at him as much as I wanted to now. I kept reminding myself of that. He was wearing a light blue shirt tucked into a pair of slim-fitting charcoal pants that made his hips and butt look like a miracle. I let my gaze wander over the way his belt sat just above his hipbones as I licked my lip. My new boyfriend was literally a snack. “They’re lucky to have you,” I said.

Will looked at me in surprise, oblivious yet again to my lusting after him. “Do you think so?”

“Of course I do.” I gestured around. “You’ve helped them build their studio, record their albums, release them. You’ve managed their tours and helped them make money doing what they love. You might work behind the scenes instead of onstage, but you’re amazing. I hope they appreciate it.”

Will tilted his head, looking thoughtful, and then he held out his hand. “Come with me.”

I took his hand. I didn’t need to hold it as we walked back downstairs, because of course I knew the way. But I held it anyway.

He led me into the recording booth. It was messy in here, too, mostly with discarded takeout cups. I half wondered if I’d see a pair of Axel’s pants discarded on the floor, but thankfully there were none in sight.

Will gestured to a piece of paper that was taped to the board. The page had been torn from one of Denver’s many songwriting notebooks, and there was a message written on it in Sharpie.

BILLY. The files are in the folder on the drive, you know the one. TOP SECRET. FOR YOU AND LUNA ONLY. NO ONE ELSE. That means no one NO ONE no one. Tell us what you think.

A different hand had added the word “don’t” in front of “tell us what you think.” Then the word “don’t” had been crossed out. The band had obviously argued about this point.

The note continued.

There are no titles yet and they all suck. We need one or 2 more. Do the security thing please? We don’t know what it is.

(sorry for the mess)

good night

-the boys

I stared at the note. Aside from the fact that it was obviously written by someone exhausted and punch-drunk, it was a puzzle to decode. “Me?” I asked. “Why do they mention me?”

“Because you’re my assistant.” Will gently peeled the note from the board and set it aside. “They don’t have much choice except to trust you. Though if they didn’t trust you, they’d make a stink about it. These files are their babies.”

He gestured for me to sit. I took one of the chairs and Will took another. He powered up the computer and typed a password.

“What’s the security thing they want?” I asked him.

“They want me to password protect the files,” he replied. He navigated until a folder popped up titled WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LISTENING TO THIS IF YOU’RE NOT BILLY HALE and clicked it.

“Why the deep, dark secrecy?” I asked. “I feel like we’re hacking into the CIA.”

That earned me one of Will’s amused grins. “You’re not far off. It isn’t that the band thinks these files are worth money. It’s that the songs aren’t finished yet, and they don’t want anyone to hear unfinished songs. For a musician, that’s like being caught with your pants down.”

“But they want you to hear them.” I corrected myself. “Us. They want us to hear them.”

“Only us,” Will agreed. “That means that Roy, their longtime engineer, isn’t allowed. Angie, their agent, isn’t allowed. They won’t even play these for their own wives or girlfriends yet, though if Callie joined any of the sessions, she’d be an exception. You’re about to be the first person aside from the band to hear what the Road Kings are working on.” He glanced at me. “You wondered whether they appreciate what I do for them. This is your answer.”

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