Page 15 of Silver Edge
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t know you drank it or I would’ve brought you one.”
Drake cocked his head to the side. His lips did some sort of movie star smirk, but I didn’t dare look at his eyes.
He stretched, his T-shirt rising enough to show his happy trail. Wow. His abs were sculpted-marble perfect.The things I’d like to… Ugh.I averted my gaze back to the papers. Numbers, yes, numbers I could control and organize. They made sense and they comforted my mind. Three deep breaths later, only the dull hum remained between my legs.
“I can help if you want,” I said.
Drake leaned forward on his elbows. “I wouldn’t torture you like that.”
“You mean, you don’t think I can help.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Dang my temper. It always twisted me up and fired ferocious hostility. “Never mind. What about the job? I ran into Hawaiian…I mean Walter, at the coffee shop.Hethinks I’m great with numbers.”
Drake straightened the picture of his grandmother and him. “It won’t be much. I’m afraid money is tight right now. Although, after our conversation I did a count of people in the club as best I could, then compared to ticket sales. You were right. The bouncer was skimming. I can’t believe I didn’t catch that. Maybe Walter’s right; my mind’s not in the game.”
My back straightened a little and I lifted my chin, but still I kept my eyes on the pages of numbers on his desk.
“Since Walter said you were great with numbers, how about we give it a trial at the ticket window?”
My hands shook. No way I’d manage a job outside with no music, talking to people. I searched the numbers in front of me for answers. I gestured to my skinny frame. “I wouldn’t be much help in stopping people from sliding in through the door. Also, your bouncer is inside while the money taken is outside. It’s too easy to be robbed. I’d suggest you move ticket sales to the door. It’ll allow for more money running to the safe during the night and cut the risk of people sliding by without paying the cover charge.”
Drake tapped his class ring against the desk. “Is that how you got into the club last night?”
“No. You might want to post a bouncer at the loading dock, too.” I held my breath for a second.
He laughed, that intoxicating, deep laugh, and I chuckled. My shoulders relaxed and I let go of my sleeves. For once, my nails didn’t dig into my hands.
“Be back here at five. We all eat dinner and then finish set-up and open the doors by seven.”
I took a sip of my heavenly coffee before I responded. “You sure you don’t want my help with that?”
He shook his head, a hint of agitation in the rhythm of his breathing.
“Never mind. I know, fancy degree and all. Sorry.” I about-faced to the door.
“Hold up. There is something I wanted to ask you.” He crossed the room, stealing my personal space again. His gaze dropped on me with an intense burrowing into my soul. A hand to my elbow again. Man, the guy was touchy. Worse, I liked it. The pressure of his hand, mixed with his not-so-rough skin, poured into a shot glass of non-threatening and blended into a sensory cocktail worked for me. “Why’d that band clear the house like that? I always put the least popular band last because of how late it is when they go on, but you seemed to think it was more than that.”
“Honestly?”
Drake nodded, hovering so close his lips were getting into the danger zone. My mind couldn’t possibly focus with that kind of distraction. “Don’t hold back. I promise not to fire you.”
I knew I couldn’t talk with him touching me, so I shrugged free and went to his desk. He waved me to have a seat. “The last band’s songs were disorganized. There was no way to connect to the music. People want originality, but they also want a memorable beat, something they can dance to. They want to discover new groups before the mass population. Saying the last band is on late is a cop out. Your customers are the stay-up-all-night-and-eat-breakfast-at-the-Waffle-House-before-heading-home type. They want to hang out until midmorning, raving about the music they heard.”
Drake sat near me, not saying a word. Was I too honest?
“Remember, you promised not to fire me.”
He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. “Where do you find these bands?”
“You advertise for up-and-coming bands, make it a competition to play at this venue. Don’t go asking bands to play. You have to make it an honor, but right now your reputation isn’t going to do that. You need to host a Battle of the Bands with a prize.”
He sighed. “There’s no money for a prize.”
I leaned forward, drawing circles around the lid of my coffee cup, not sure if I should just shut my mouth. “Come on, you went to marketing school. You can come up with a plan that doesn’t involve money. Talk to a local producer. Get him into the club the night of the Battle of the Bands. That alone will bring people in, but hold auditions so only good bands make the cut.”
“That’s an amazing idea. I do have a few connections in the industry. I can also advertise in the paper. I have a guy who can cut me a deal. No, wait, the newspaper is archaic. Websites, online media.”
“Now I’m starting to see what that fancy degree was all about.” I dared to glance at his eyes. His gaze swooped over the desk but didn’t stop on the spreadsheets.
He scribbled some notes on a scrap sheet of paper.Call producers, make flyers, set event date.He rubbed his chin then wrote more.
