here.”
“Okay. That’s awesome. I can get in touch with them and coordinate that for you so you don’t have to deal with it anymore.” I pointed at the pile of stuff on his desk. “And by the way, what is all that?”
“Paperwork.”
“I though that went to your accountants and lawyers and whatnot.”
“It does. But eventually I have to look at it.”
“Okay, how about I go through it for you so you don’t have to stare at that disorganized mountain, and I’ll just flag the important stuff for you? I have those handy little colored arrow stickers that’ll point you to where you need to sign.”
“Sure.”
I gathered up the whole pile and dropped it onto my desk with a whump of paper. “Look at all the time I’m saving you already. So you can put up your feet and you and Jack Daniels can make magic.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Isn’t that what musicians do in the studio?”
“I don’t drink JD.”
“Okay, so feet up and making magic, then.” I plopped down in my rolling chair. “What do you drink? You know, so I can stock it for you.”
He considered that, clearly surprised by the offer. “Not much,” he said. But then he added, “Maybe vodka.”
“Straight?”
“With a pickle chaser. And bread. It’s kind of a tradition I got from Gabe.”
That was the first time he’d mentioned Gabe to me. He didn’t use his last name or explain who he was. Maybe he knew he didn’t have to.
I’d told him I’d schooled myself on his former band. But more than that; he probably knew I’d heard. You couldn’t really hear anything about Cary Clarke and not hear about Gabe Romanko.
But I really wasn’t sure how carefully I should tread around the topic.
“That’s quite a tradition,” I said. “He came up with that?”
“He got it from his uncle.”
“Alrighty. Vodka… and… pickles,” I said exaggeratedly as I wrote it down on my lined pad. “Dill, obviously?”
“Obviously. But I’m not doing it alone, so. Hope you like vodka.”
“Sure. And pickles. And bread. But I’m not drinking it straight.”
“You’ll learn. Keep it in the freezer, it goes down smooth.”
“Noted. Do you mind if I ask if you’re an alcoholic?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Betty Ford stints in your past? AA meetings? Totally not judging. Just figured I should know these things.”
“Alcoholism was never my problem.”
“Great. Me either.” Good to know. Moving on. “Do you smoke?”
“Cigarettes? No. Why?”
“I quit when I was nineteen, and I don’t intend to backslide. So I have this thing about not providing nicotine products for my employers, and trying not to be around it.”
“Sounds like a good policy.”
“I also don’t provide illicit drugs or prostitutes for my employers, just so you know. And I’m totally not sorry about it. But I’m not adverse to providing you with weed or anything else legal that floats your boat, within reason. Including indulging sugar cravings, caffeine or whatever other hankerings you have. Your good mood is my good workday.”
“That’s very proactive of you.”
“You learn as you go.”
His eyes gleamed a little, maybe with amusement. Maybe it was just the sun shining through the window that made them look like melting honey. “I think I’m good, but I’ll let you know.”
“Great.” I looked away. Stop staring at his eyes. “Now, can I be nosy and ask you what you’re working on right now?”
“Sure.” He tapped one of the three open laptops on his desk idly, waking it from sleep. I couldn’t see much on the screen but a bunch of files. “I’m pretty much just getting set up for the Players’ album. I’ve been getting organized this last week. I’ll start writing a bit this week with the band in mind. Just letting things flow. Getting kinda warmed up. While they get comfortable in the studio and hopefully start writing, too.”
“Hopefully?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes them a few days, at least, to get used to everything in there, get used to each other, socialize, procrastinate, whatever. Before they get down to work.”
“Ah. I see. Well, if you ever need me to run a recon mission and check up on them, or snoop on Ash via his wife to make sure he’s working when he’s supposed to be, I’m willing. Cracking the whip on rock stars sounds like an incredible perk of this job to me.”
He smiled a little. Yup, definitely amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So how did you end up on this project? Xander?”
That was maybe a sneaky question, since I’d