My Client the Rockstar (Book 2 Steel Wolf Collection)

Chapter 2

"There are five members Dimitri Brandt, Lucan Tayler, Tray Alard, Mason Holmes and Ryder Clark," Mr. Gear informs me while I carefully write down each of their names in my notebook.

"Were they friends before the band was formed," I inquire. This will allow me to better understand the band's dynamics. Usually if the band members were friends before all of this they will have a stronger bond. But this could also make it more difficult for me to find a way into the inner circle. Failure is not an option. I refuse to return home with my tail between my legs. 

"They were friends prior to forming Steel Wolf," Mr. Gear tells me. 

We spend the next fifteen minutes going over any important information I'm going to need if I want to be their manager. And I do. But it has nothing to do with wanting to manage them. I just want to keep my job and be able to prove myself. 

Steel Wolf's members sounding interesting. They are brand new to the label and because of that I will need to keep a tight leash on them to prevent the fame from going to their heads. Many bands fold because their heads get too big or the fame destroys them. They last thing I will need is for them to fold over that. 

They also already have a fan base. Nothing huge, but still. Mr. Gear's plan for them is to get them to record their first album, build up some excitement about them and get them on the road. The sooner we can get their CD out and on tour the better off we will be. I jot down a few ideas I have to make this happen. My brain's wheels already spinning and figuring out how to make all of this happen.

Mr. Gear checks the clock for the hundredth time causing me to roll my eyes. He really is such an impatient man. Sure you need to keep a tight ship to get anywhere, but there is nothing wrong with being laid back. His phone rings and he answers. A few words are exchanged before he hangs up.

He stands, "they are here." He proceeds to walk out the door and without a word I follow him. 

We head directly to the main conference room. My thoughts are running a mile a minute with each step bringing us closer and closer to the band. This is my last chance to make a go of this profession I've always wanted to do. Well at least since collage. I don't care how the band acts I will make this work. My inner pep talk continues the entire way.

When we reach the door to the conference room Mr. Gear opens and the door and heads in. My steps falter and my heart starts to race. I pause just on the other side of the door. Mr. Gear pauses to glance back at me. Already I was fucking this up by allowing my nerves to control me. I offer him a tight smile before taking a deep breathe and plastering on a fake smile. Then I walk through the door to either my salvation or my doom.

Five men sat around the table they appeared to be in their early twenties, not much older than me. I can feel all their eyes on me as I take a seat next to Mr. Gear on the opposite side of the table. When I sit down I catch one of them staring my chest. He sends a wink my way when he realizes I caught him. The man sitting to his right openly gawks at me. 

One of them is on his phone texting away. I over hear one of the band members ask him who he was texting. He turns bright red and mutters the name Skylar. Must be a girlfriend. Good to know. The band member rolls his eyes and whispers a few words to him. 

My eyes finally rest on the last member who is sitting at the end of the row. He has dark brown hair and brown eyes. All of them are good looking, but he out shines them. When I catch his eyes my heart flutters in my chest. No this is not happening I will not go down that road again. Been there done that got the t-shirt.

He runs his eyes over me and my traitorous body comes alive under his steady gaze. My hands tighten around my notebook needing something to do. My mind keeps screaming trouble, my body keeps screaming it wants him and my heart is oddly silent. I push all my thoughts and feeling into a box sealing it shut and turn into my professional personae. Reminding myself I'm here to do a job and not get laid.