By Degrees (5 page)

I sigh.
 
He’s not going to let the subject of how he knows me drop until I tell him.
 
“I saw you today outside of Mel’s office.”

His face brightens and he points in my face.
 
“That was you!
 
Ha!”
 
He drops his hand to the table.
 
“You look different upside down.”

I have nothing to say to that so I just stare at him.
 
I’m all business.
 
I will not fall for his playboy act.

He looks over at Mel.
 
“She was in your office, wasn’t she?”

Mel nods.
 
“Yes, she was.
 
And we were talking about you.”

Tarin grabs the sides of the chair and leans back, yanking on it a few times before leaning forward again and resting his chin on the top of the chair back. He’s oblivious to the fifty pairs of eyes watching everything he does and the whispers of recognition coming from the other diners.

“I’ll bet you had a really interesting conversation.”
 
He raises his eyebrows up and down and smiles.
 
He’s completely full of himself.
 
I don’t find it attractive at all, but my guess is he thinks I do.
 
I sense he’s giving a performance, and I understand now why Mel says he’ll be great as an actor.
 
I agree wholeheartedly, even with only this small sample.
 
The women and girls will love him.

“We did have an interesting conversation actually,” said Mel, pulling his napkin from his lap and putting it next to his plate.
 
“But this isn’t the time or the place to discuss it.”

Tarin flops his arms down on the table in front of his chair.
 
“Why not?
 
You got a hot date somewhere you need to get to?” He starts drumming out a beat on the table with the sides of his thumbs.

“No.
 
Suzanne is waiting for me at home.”

Tarin winks at me while he responds to Mel.
 
“I’m glad I didn’t catch you cheating on her over here.
 
I’d have to tattle or blackmail you or something.”

Neither Mel nor I jump to the bait Tarin is dangling.
 
He’s acting like he’s in a jovial mood, but there’s anger or frustration there, simmering just below the surface.
 
It will only take one small thing to set him off, and he’s daring us to find his trigger and pull it.

“I need to get going,” says Mel, standing.
 
He’s smart.
 
He obviously knows his client well and realizes he’s better off disappearing than staying to watch a spectacle.

I raise an eyebrow at him, letting him know I’m not crazy about being left to tame this tiger alone.
 
He ignores me.

“See you tomorrow or Friday?
 
On the boat?” I ask.

“Yep.
 
I’ll send you the details by email.”

“Boat?
 
What boat?” asks Tarin, looking from Mel to me and back again.
 
“What’s up, Mel?
 
You going on that cruise already?”

“Hardly.”
 
He pats Tarin on the shoulder.
 
“Stay.
 
Have dinner.
 
You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a while.”

Tarin scowls, shrugging Mel’s touch off.
 
“I’m too busy to eat.”
 
Then he stands suddenly, grabbing Mel by the arm.
 
“Wait!
 
Stay.
 
We can chat like we used to.
 
Talk about my future and all our big plans.”
 
His word drip with angry sarcasm.

Mel looks at him sadly.
 
“Please don’t do that, Tarin.”
 
He reminds me of a disappointed grandfather and my heart hurts for Tarin.
 
I pray he’s not too far gone to feel the pain too.

Tarin drops his arm and looks like he’s about to spit.
 
He’s angry.
 
“Whatever.
 
I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, you will.”

Tarin watches him leave and then he looks at me.
 
“What’s the deal with you two?
 
Why are you here with old man Warner in this sexy place if it’s not a date?”

I gesture to the chair across the table from me, ignoring his insult to his agent and me.
 
“Have a seat and I’ll discuss it with you.”

He takes a few exaggeratedly casual steps over to the chair, eyeing me suspiciously.
 
“You a shrink?”

I shake my head silently.

“Good. Because I don’t need a shrink.”

No, you need a set of parents who will whoop your butt.
 
“I agree.”

He gives me a brief smile.
 
“Great minds think alike.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of myself,” I say, giving him the challenge he’s looking for.

He drops into the seat, sliding and slouching down until his legs bang into mine.
 
He leaves them there, daring me with his eyes to move away.

I don’t move an inch.
 
I stay there and let the heat coming through his jeans seep through the thin material of my pants.
 
I refuse to allow it to distract me.
 
I will not let it do that.

“So, what’s on the men-yooo,” he says, giving me what I think is his best sexy look.
 
If I weren’t so disappointed in him as a person, I’d probably fall for it, or consider falling for it, anyway.
 
Right now, it’s just irritating.

“Food.
 
Not me.”

He laughs softly.
 
“Touché.
 
You’re good.
 
So seriously … who are you and why are you eating dinner with my agent and having meetings with him in his office?”
 
Some of his asshole façade is slipping away and I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of the real Tarin behind the mask.
 
It gives me hope.

“We’ll discuss it Friday.
 
On the boat.”

“I’m not going on a boat.”

“Yes you are.”
 
I take a sip of my wine.

He backs his head up, like he can’t believe I just said that.
 
“Says who?”

“Says your agent, the person you’re contractually obligated to give your best efforts to.”

He snorts.
 
“Bullshit.”

I shrug.
 
“The rest of the band will be there.
 
It’d be shame to have a business meeting without you there, but if you force us to, we will.”

“Who the hell are you to talk to me this way?”
 
His façade is firmly back in place, and he’s spoiling for a fight.
 
I’m not going to give him one, however.
 
Not here.
 
Not now.
 
But later?
 
Oh yeah.
 
Most definitely.

“I’m a friend.”

He stands suddenly, grabbing the edge of the table.
 
I snatch up my glass just in time as he lifts the table up, like he’s going to dump the entire thing over onto me.
 
But then he just bangs it down.
 
“Fuck that!” he growls.
 
Other diners are looking at us with worried expressions.
 
Two men sitting nearby stand and assume defensive postures.
 
It’s possible they’ve heard about Tear-It-Up Kilgour and how he’s famous for destroying rooms and furniture.

I sit dispassionately watching his tantrum, slowly lowering my glass to the tabletop.
 
I will not react like he wants me to.

“Mel doesn’t pick my friends for me.
 
I pick my own friends.” He sounds like a small child.
 
It’s sad, not scary like he intends it.

“And you do such a good job of it,” I say, deliberately egging him on.
 
It will help my case to have something to talk about with him later … when I’m convincing him he needs me.

He walks around the table and bends over, his face only inches from mine.
 
I can smell old booze on his breath and the stink of cigarettes.
 
I remind myself to bring an extra toothbrush on the boat.

“Listen, girl … I don’t know who you are or where the hell you came from, but you stay the fuck away from me and my friends, you hear me?
 
Stay away.”

I blink once and give him a bland smile.
 
“Have a good night, Tarin.
 
Try and stay out of trouble.” I say this knowing it will make him crazy.
 
Maybe it isn’t the best approach, but something about him is making me act a little reckless.
 
More reckless than I probably should be.

“Fuck that,” he says.
 
He stares at me hard for several seconds, either waiting for me to respond or just trying to wrap his head around who I might be.
 
Either way, he gives up when I say nothing and storms off.

The waiter comes over and looks at me nervously.
 
“Are you all right, Miss Barnes?”

I nod.
 
“I’m fine.
 
All in a day’s work, right?”

“If you say so.”
 
He picks up the tipped over glass on Mel’s side of the table and puts a fresh napkin down over the small amount of wine that stained the linen.
 
“Will you be staying for dinner?”

“Yes.
 
I’m just going to find myself another date.
 
Bring me a shrimp cocktail while I wait, would you please?”

“Of course.”
 
He walks away and leaves me to make a phone call.

“What’s up?” comes the voice on the other end of the line.

“Feel like eating filet mignon with bearnaise sauce?”

“Does the Pope eat pizza?”

I laugh.
 
“I don’t know.
 
Does he?”

“Fuck yeah, he does.
 
The guy lives in Italy.
 
I’ll be right over.
 
Fifteen minutes max.
 
Order for me.”

“You got it.
 
See you.”
 
I hang up and pour myself another glass of wine and smile to myself.
 
Everything is going according to plan.
 
Now all I have to do is convince a bunch of rock and roll stars and their best friends that Tarin Kilgour needs to be reined in and managed before disaster strikes.
 
Piece of cake.

Chapter Six

I WAIT UNTIL THE LAST person has arrived before I signal Mel to start the show.
 
We’re gathered at his private residence, a place most of these people have never seen.
 
They know this is a big deal, all of them talking softly among themselves, probably speculating about why they’re here. Some are seated and some are standing, all together in the huge living room Mel uses to entertain.
 
It’s much too big for a childless couple to use on a regular basis.

“Is this going to take long?
 
Because we have a session in a couple hours.”
 
I look for the source of the voice and recognize the rhythm guitarist standing off to the side, looking annoyed.

Mel is in front of the crowd, holding out his hands for silence.
 
“It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes unless you want it to take longer.” Mel lets his not-so-subtle hint sink in before continuing.
 
“I’ve asked you here for Tarin.
 
It’s that simple.
 
The people in this room are his closest friends.
 
We’re starting with you and then we’ll move on to the crew and the others.”

“Starting what?” asks the guitarist.

“The intervention.
 
Of sorts.”

The guitarist shakes his head.
 
“No way, man.
 
Don’t even bother.”

A few of the other people look over at him.
 
I see they’re neutral on the subject for now, but they could go either way, deciding it’s not worth the effort or that it’s definitely worth trying.
 
It will depend on who does the better job of convincing them.
 
Now I know who I’m up against.
 
I narrow my focus on the guitarist, reading his body language and facial expressions, trying to gauge the best plan of attack.

I stand and walk over to be with Mel.

“This is Scarlett.
 
Maybe some of you know her.
 
They call her The Normalizer.”

Eyebrows go up around the room, but no one gives any indication that they’ve heard of me.
 
They’re probably wondering what the hell he’s talking about.

“I’m going to let her talk to you now, but understand that she has the label’s support and mine. She has complete authority over Tarin’s business.
 
Let there be no mistake about that.”

The whispering starts again, and several people don’t look happy.

“Hello, everyone.”
 
I stand straight with my shoulders back, being sure to make eye contact with several people as I scan the room.
 
“My name is Scarlett Barnes.
 
I’ve been hired to get Tarin back under control, back on track, and back to doing what he does best: making music.
 
Lately, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, making music has kind of taken a back seat to partying, drug use, womanizing, and general hell raising.”
 
Several smiles bloom.
 
“Not that there’s anything wrong with those things in moderation, but at this point, Tarin has long passed doing any one of those things in moderation.
 
If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll be dead within the year.”