Bedded Bliss (Found in Oblivion Book 1) (13 page)

S
he stared intently
at the screen, but there was no little bubbles at the bottom to let her know Ivy was typing back. Nothing from any-damn-one.

What the hell was going on?

She tipped her head back. No crying. There’s no crying in Vegas even if you married a man that’s pretty much a complete stranger.

Nope.

She squeezed her eyes shut until the burning stopped and black dots swam.

No crying.

She’d figure it out. That’s what she did. Was always what she did.

Was it so wrong that she really wanted to rely on her girls? For once she wanted someone to tell her what to do. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. It never helped anything. Wishing was useless anyway.

All she had to do was get home to her son. Then she could try to forget this whole Vegas mess had ever happened.

Maybe if she pretended long enough, at least one of her hopes would come true.

H
is trip was going
awesome so far. Hell, he might as well do a blog about his adventures and share it with the world. He could summarize the events of the past couple of days in a few lines.

Day one of Vegas trip: blow the roof off the house with a kickass show.

Encore: get married to a woman who might as well be a stranger.

Day two of Vegas trip: wake up in bed beside new wife, who you might’ve remembered having sex with—and marrying—if only you hadn’t consumed enough to kill a buffalo the night before. Performance issues, however, could not have been an issue because hashtag rockstar.

Yep, that covered things nicely.

The emergency band meeting was held in the VIP room of a restaurant called Sparkle. Naturally, he was the last one to arrive, which granted him the pleasure of the glare of death from Lila.

“Nice to see you could join us, though you appear a bit worse for wear.” She glanced at his attire, the first pair of shorts and T-shirt he’d pulled out of his suitcase. The shirt happened to be the rank KISS one he’d worn onstage last night, paired with the bike shorts he’d brought for working out.

So much for grabbing a spin class to get his heart rate up and maybe meet some chicks. He’d had to fit in an impromptu marriage ceremony instead.

“Sorry, had a busy morning,” he replied, dropping into the only remaining empty chair around the large circular table in the corner.

So he hadn’t had time to shower or find a clean shirt. At least he was there. As for the fact his dick was packaged in Lycra, yeah, well, no fixing that at this point. The bright side was he wasn’t wearing a fanny pack, unlike three of the tourists he’d passed on his walk through the hotel.

“Busy making some chick breakfast,” West muttered, affixing an angelic smile on his face as Michael lifted a brow. “And when I say making her breakfast, I mean, making her
his
breakfast, because we all know that dude can’t cook for shit.”

“That’s not true,” Juliet piped in. “He made us eggs that one time after we were up rehearsing all night, and only two of us got food poisoning. Pretty decent record, all in all.”

“I’ve improved since then.” Michael ran his tongue over his teeth. He could still taste last night’s whisky, and that was after brushing his teeth twice. He motioned to a waiter. “Could I get an OJ, please? Large?” Damn, he was dying of thirst. “Actually, just bring out a carafe.”

Once the waiter had scurried off, Molly lifted a perfectly groomed blond brow. She looked as if she’d just stepped off a runway somewhere. “OJ? You do realize it’s past noon.”

Michael glanced at his watch. Well, look at that. Fighting with the brand new missus ate up plenty of time. “So? I drink OJ anytime I want. They have it on the menu, don’t they?”

“Actually, we’re not here for snacks and refreshments,” Lila said. “I have a plane to catch shortly. As do all of you, although you get a while longer to play the slots.”

“Oh, he loves certain slots.” West laughed as Ry elbowed him. “Sorry, that was for Mr. Just Rolled Out of Bed. My night wasn’t nearly as eventful, unfortunately.”

“Didn’t find anyone interesting?” Juliet asked.

“Oh, I did, but they tended to come in twos and threes, and you know, I’m an old-fashioned boy.” He pretended to duck his head and Ry shoved him.

Juliet looked intrigued. “So what’s wrong with that? The more the merrier.”

Lila sighed. “Children, save your sex talk for your therapist. We have other things to discuss, namely Ryan’s injury and how it affects the band.”

“He’s not that injured.” West tapped his fingers on the edge of his glass of water. No alcohol or even soda most of the time for him. He espoused clean living and all that. “He was hogging my keyboard last night, wasn’t he?”

“Just because I can do one-handed what it takes you two and your dick to accomplish…” Ry trailed off and shrugged.

“Playing drums is a bit different than some antics on the keyboard. He’s capable of that, or playing the blues harp, or the xylophone.”

“Or the bongos on “Steal Away,” Molly added. “We never perform that one, and it’s a perfect showcase for—”

“Your tits, since you always wear a bikini for that song?” Juliet snorted.

Molly poked her in the side. “Bitch.”

“Nah. Your tits are great. Might as well flaunt ‘em. Hell, Mike’s flashing us some dick today, right? Shake what your mama gave you is what I say.” She flashed a smile at the returning waiter, who nearly bobbled the carafe of juice. “And what do you have,” she read his tag, “Javier?”

“Ignore her,” Lila said, grabbing the carafe and using it to fill her empty water glass before handing it to Michael. “Thank you.”

“Er, no problem. Here’s your glass, sir. Does anyone else need anything?”

“Duct tape for our resident sex maniac?” Molly asked sweetly, giving Juliet a sidelong look.

The waiter took that response as a “no” and booked away from the table.

Ryan leaned behind West to shove Michael’s arm. “Damn, Mikey, someone’s trying to steal your crown. Better bump it up a notch, dude.”

Michael poured his orange juice and ignored him. Normally, he enjoyed messing around with his bandmates. They all knew he hated being called anything but Michael, so of course they insisted on calling him every variation in the book. Where he would typically laugh it off, today he wasn’t finding anything amusing.

Especially not being called a sex maniac. He didn’t dispute the assertion—it wasn’t like he denied enjoying the act, and why should he? But considering he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dipped his wick, the nickname stung more than a little.

Fucking alcohol. He was never drinking again. Ever. Hell, he wasn’t even eating those liquor chocolates at Christmas anymore.

Done. Finito. Cold turkey.

“Let’s focus on what’s important, shall we?” Lila asked, sounding patently bored in a way only she could.

She was only about six years older than the crew—something that had disgusted Malachi when he’d learned she was their new stepmother—but she had an air of sophistication and professionalism far beyond her years. She also tolerated zero bullshit.

“And what’s that?” Molly tapped her long pale pink nails against her cup of coffee. She drank the stuff like it flowed in her veins. “We had a kickass show last night, everything is going great—”

“Except the drummer situation,” Lila interjected. “Besides, Ryan was never comfortable behind the kit anyway.”

Ryan said nothing. Michael knew it was sterling truth, but his buddy would never speak up and let down the band. They needed a drummer and he could play drums, so he did it, even if he preferred a more free-flowing role depending on what each song required.

“Perhaps his getting hurt ended up being a blessing in disguise, if he ends up getting to do more of what he wants to. Pain aside, of course,” Lila said to Ryan, who only nodded.

“Okay, so Ryan doesn’t play drums anymore, then what? We search for someone new again? We’ve seen how that went before. As in not well.” West fingered the spiky blond hair that dipped over his forehead. “Can’t say I think that’s the best move now that we’re finally starting to get some traction.”

Lila glanced around the table. “We’re all in agreement that last night’s show was incredible? As is borne out by the tons of vids and positive press online. Everyone is talking about Warning Sign today, and that hasn’t been true after your other concerts.”

“We’ve had great press before,” Juliet protested. “Our Instagram and Twitter followers and Facebook likes keeps climbing. We can’t keep up with the fan mail anymore, especially the letters addressed ‘Dear Molly’s boobs’.”

Molly smiled serenely and sipped her coffee.

Michael just rubbed his temple. Jesus, was this ever going to be over?

He knew he needed to be concerned about the status of the band. The drummer situation had been a problem for a while now, and typically he would’ve been the first one searching for a solution. Hell, his brother had disappeared last night during Brooklyn Dawn’s set and he’d never even been able to properly thank—

“Wait a second.” Michael sat up straighter and ignored the resulting throb in his head. “You want Mal?”

“Oh hell no.” Elle, who had been quiet up until that point, braced her fists on the table. “Absolutely not. Anyone but that brute.”

“He’s not a brute,” Michael said, feeling obligated to defend his brother.

“Did he pick you up last night as if you were a sack of oranges? No, I don’t think so.” Elle glanced at Lila, who just happened to be her sister-in-law. Elle and Nick were opposites in a lot of ways, except looks. As far as temperament went, however, they couldn’t have been more different.

Until apparently right now.

“I don’t want him in my band. He’s an asshole. Li, you can’t do this.”

Lila exhaled. “Obviously you’ve all made the connection that since Malachi is Michael’s brother, he was also my stepson. The difference is we had no relationship, due to his personal preferences. That has little bearing on this situation. He doesn’t have to like me. I look for talent, and when I spot it, I take steps to ascertain that talent is on our side.” She glanced at Elle. “You know I value your opinion, but I’m sorry. In this arena, who fits each role best is what matters most. Not personal feelings.”

“He was rude to me. He belittled me.” Elle brushed a lock of long blond hair behind her ear, and if Michael wasn’t mistaken, her hand shook. “I don’t want a person like him in my environment.”

“I understand that, and you’re welcome to keep your distance. But I can’t make personnel decisions based on emotion.”

“Right. Like you’ve never done that before when it comes to covering my brother’s ass.” Elle nudged Juliet and their bass player slid out so Elle could slip out of the booth and stalk away.

“Nick 2.0, here we go,” Molly muttered, staring after Elle. “Tantrum city.”

“She’ll be back.” Lila spoke with confidence, but Michael knew his stepmother well enough to understand she was rattled.

Michael knew Lila didn’t particularly adore Mal either. She’d tried so hard with him, and his brother had been an A-1 dick to her in defense of their mother. Lila wanting Mal to join one of the bands she managed had to be a difficult choice, but she was making it anyway.

There was just one problem.

“I texted Mal last night multiple times after the show, during the other bands’ sets. He didn’t reply. I texted him again this morning on my way over here. They aren’t even getting delivered, which means he has his phone off. He’s not interested in all of this.” Michael waved his hand around the table. “One night is about all you’re going to get out of him.”

Lila tapped the tips of her fingers together. “I was unsuccessful at reaching him myself. Not surprising, since he probably has my number blocked. But it’s just a matter of time.” She smiled thinly. “There’s no reason to search for someone new, if we’ve already found the right person. So now it’s just a matter of running him to ground.”

“Good luck with that. When Mal doesn’t want to be found, he isn’t.” Michael took a sip of OJ, then pressed his fingers into his aching forehead. He couldn’t even drink his damn juice. His gut was a mess, and it wasn’t just from the hangover from hell.

He had issues way, way bigger than his brother being MIA. And he didn’t have the first clue how to begin to address them.

“I have my ways.”

“Sure you do. Speaking of ways, how about you giving me Chloe Adams’ phone number?”

He hadn’t meant to ask it. He had no reason to. Surely Chloe would still be in his room when he returned, and then he’d get her information himself. But he had this fucking niggle at the back of his neck to go with his churning stomach and massive headache.

If Chloe ghosted on him, then what?

Ryan cleared his throat and reached for his own glass. Discovering it was empty, he snatched West’s and tossed back the last of his water.

“Hey dude. Get your own.”

Ryan just arched a brow at Michael, who silently passed him the carafe. It wasn’t alcohol, but it would have to do.

Ryan hadn’t believed him about the whole marriage thing. Michael had tried halfheartedly to convince him, but he’d stopped short of showing his best friend the marriage license. Somehow that seemed private. Personal.

Ridiculous.

Ryan had just laughed and gone off to get ready in his half of the suite while Chloe hogged the bathroom.

“Why do you need Chloe Adams phone number, Michael?”

“That’s not really any of your concern. I just need it.”

Lila lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the phone book. Next time, try information.” She glanced around the table. “I’ll see all of you on Wednesday before rehearsal for Friday’s show. I hope to have information on Malachi by then.”

“Good fucking luck,” Michael muttered, circling his temple.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. For years, you’ve had no interest in Mal’s whereabouts, now he’s just supposed to tapdance to your tune? Not going to happen. And you know what? I don’t blame him.”

Lila’s mouth pinched tight and she averted her gaze. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do, yet he kept doing it.

When all this insanity was over, he’d have one hell of a long list of things to apologize for. He just hoped she understood.

What, that you’re being an insensitive jerk because you’re dealing with problems of your own making? Good luck with that mansplaining, son.

What had transpired between them so far wasn’t even the worst of it. He had to tell her he was married, before the press found out. He didn’t even know how they figured out some of the crap they did, but the increased attention on him lately because of Tabitha and Senator Dickless—err, Dinkles—had put him in the spotlight. Who knows when they’d grab hold of the story?

Lila deserved to know first. And of course, some PR fielding would be much appreciated.

So yeah, he was a dick. Being rude to the woman who’d been nothing but wonderful to him for half his life—along with often being overbearing and too overprotective, but hey, that’s what parents did—was no bueno. Then he thought he had a right to ask her for help with spin?