sauntered through the doorway to the hall. The delicious sight of his perfect behind cupped by well-loved denims almost banished the anxiety his words had caused. Almost.
Four songs later, she cast an anxious glance at the clock, and then the empty club. How much longer would he be gone?
The door opened, and she whirled in relief. But instead of Gabe, Leo entered, carrying a large carton labeled Dewars. Bottles rattled inside the box as he lumbered across the room.
Vic, a huge burly man with a buzz cut, stuck his head in the door and called, "Boss, Vinnie says it'll be twelve grand."
Leo stopped midmotion. "It was only ten last Tuesday."
Vic's big square head disappeared for a few seconds, then reappeared again. "He says you're dreamin'. It was twelve."
"Damn it, I've got the invoice in my office. I'll shove it up his skinny ferret—" Leo shifted the box and bottles rattled again. "I'll be right there."
Oh, no! Leo was going to his office! She flicked another desperate glance at the doorway. No sign of Gabe. She gulped. Leo passed the stage, and she hesitantly called out, "Mr. Drumm?"
He halted, turning to glare at her with cold gray eyes.
"Uh, would you mind taking a look at the song lineup?"
He stared at her, then at the box in his hands before looking at her again. "You blind, deaf or both?"
"But it will only take a minute, and I really—"
"You artsy types are a such pain in the ass. Figure it out yourself." He plodded toward the bar.
In a minute, he'd reach the bar, put away the box and go after the invoice, possibly catching Gabe in the act. Should she jump down and bodily stop him? She stumbled forward, almost tripping over a cordless microphone lying at her feet.
Drastic situations called for drastic measures.
Coughing to disguise the noise, she nudged the mic with her shoe, and it rolled off the stage, landing in front of Leo.
His vision blocked by the box, he stepped right on it. The cylinder spun, increasing his momentum, and his feet scrabbled for traction before flying out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud. The box flew up, then crashed to the floor. Pungent, amber whiskey flooded the shiny oak surface. The sound of smashing glass echoed around the room. Then heavy silence descended.
If she weren't so scared, she would have chuckled at the stunned disbelief on his face.
He clambered to his feet. Shook off his pants. Shuffling to the microphone, he stared down at it. Slowly, he looked up, directly at her.
"Oops," she offered quietly. "How did that get there?"
"Oops?" he repeated. "Oops? Six hundred bucks' worth of Scotch is eating the varnish off my five-thousand-dollar dance floor, and all you can say is 'oops'?" he roared. His upper lip curled. "I'd fire you, but it'll take you months to pay me off." He stabbed his finger at the rapidly spreading mess. "Get down here and clean this up, you stupid bitch," he bellowed. "Now!"
Her heart pounding, she started for the steps.
"Hold it," Gabe snapped from behind her.
She whirled. He strode through the doorway toward Drumm wearing an expression she'd never seen on him before. Cold fury turned his face to stone.
Stopping inches from Leo, he spoke so low she could barely hear. "I'm her manager." His carefully measured tone made the soft admonition sound deadly. "If you've got a problem, talk to me." He leaned closer, until the men were nose-to-nose. "And if you ever yell at her like that again, or call her anything other than Miss Aron, I'll take you apart."
Drumm bristled and curled his fists, ready to do battle. Something in Gabe's eyes stopped him, because after a wary glance, Leo stepped back. "I don't need this," he growled. "If not for the dough she owes me, you'd both be outta here."
"Go about your business." Menace edged Gabe's silky voice. "I'll see that this is cleaned up and you get everything coming to you."
Drumm muttered under his breath, but he turned and stormed toward his office.
Gabe looked up at her. His iron features relaxed into the man she knew. He sauntered to the stage and held up his hands. She let him lift her to the floor. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "You okay?"
Aside from Mel, nobody had ever stood up for her before. She kind of liked having a champion. Don't get too used to it. Her knight in tarnished armor wasn't sticking around. Suddenly