Page 10 of Rescue

“Which I totally won.” I grin smugly. “Pathetic effort from you, by the way.”

“You’re all gross,” Layla mutters, opening her eyes and stretching. “Can’t a person even catch a nap in here?”

“Not our fault the two of you went out drinking until all hours last night,” Dylan says, pointing at me. “The rest of us were good little boys and got to bed at a decent hour like Lou told us to.”

I snort. “Yeah. You’re so virtuous.”

“What’s this about Cash Ransome flirting with you?” Layla asks me. “Where was I when this was happening?”

I wave my hands dismissively. “It was at that Houston festival, two summers ago. We talked to the band for approximately five minutes. And Cash wasn’t flirting—”

“Bullshit,” James says. “I was standing right there.”

“Fine. But Cash Ransome flirts with everything that moves.”

“He’s never flirted with me,” Layla says, frowning down at her clothes. “Maybe Ishouldchange into something a little more slutty.”

“He never flirted with you because you ditched us after our set at that festival to hook up with the guy from that shitty techno pop group,” I remind her. “And that was the only time any of us have met Ransom. I promise you that if you were there, Cash would have been a chauvinist pig to you as well.”

“I certainly hope that you don’t let him hear you talking like that,” Louis says from the doorway in his familiar, disapproving tone. Every single one of us groans. “What are you all doing, anyhow?” he asks, frowning around at us. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Fun time’s over,” Dylan says.

“Nothing kills fun nearly as fast as Louis Pander,” Layla agrees.

“You’re all so funny and mature,” he says, glaring around as we stand, James shoving the Doritos behind a chair cushion so Louis won’t confiscate them—along with his half-full beer. Louis was pretty clear on his no-drinking-when-Ransom-comes-to-the-building rules for the afternoon. I follow the rest of the band from the makeshift lounging area in the corner over to our rehearsal space, sighing when Louis comes with us, clearly ramping up for his version of a pep talk.

Sure enough, he stands before us as we take our spots by our instruments, his stance wide, arms crossed as he looks us over. Definitely in speech mode. “I just want to reiterate how important this is.”

I wonder, not for the first time, if Louis can sense the amount of hatred directed his way in the looks of my bandmates. If so, he clearly could not care less. Either that or he’s an excellent actor and missed his calling by going into band management.

“This tour would be huge for Intrigue,” he continues. “Huge. The label is always looking at our overseas record sales, you know that. And, even better, it could lead to expanded opportunities here in the States. I hardly need to tell you that Ransom is the hottest rock band—”

“If you hardly need to tell us, then why are you so insistent on telling us?” James asks. “Seriously, Louis. This is about the tenth time I’ve heard this speech.”

It appears to be taking everything Louis has to keep calm. I can actually see his chest rise and fall with the deep breaths he’s taking, presumably to keep himself from going off on mouthy bass players.

“It’s a big meeting,” he says, his voice a touch more tense than before. “I just want to make sure that you’ll all take it seriously.”

“Of course we’ll take it seriously,” Dylan says from behind his amp. “You think we don’t want Intrigue to be successful? You think we like playing in these shitty dives night after night? I would fucking love to go to Europe with our label’s top-selling artists. They probably stay at, like, real hotels.”

Layla laughs, taking her seat behind the drum kit. “As opposed to the prime one-star accommodations you’re so fond of booking us, Lou.”

“If you want to tour with a successful band, you need to earn some success of your own. And success takes more than hard work,Dylan,” Louis says, his teeth gritted now as he glares at our smirking guitarist. I catch Layla’s eye and can’t hide my own smirk. Maybe it’s immature, but I can’t help but be amused by the guys’ efforts to get under Louis’s skin. There’s just something so satisfying about the way that vein in his forehead throbs when they get him going.

“We know, we know,” James moans. “It takes an attention to image and a drive to chase down opportunities. Jesus. I could quote your damn speech in my sleep.”

Louis’s face turns a dangerous shade of red, and Layla snorts. “This band—”

“I thought it was a done deal, anyhow,” Lance interrupts. “You said the label wanted this.”

“The label doesn’t have final say,” Louis snaps. “The band does. Or, rather, their father does, if I know anything about Will Ransome.”

“Didn’t the band get the same CD their management did?” Lance asks. “You said they wanted to meet with us—why do we have to be playing when they get here if they didn’t ask us to audition?”

“Because it won’t hurt for them to hear—and see—you live. So if you would all please just shut the hell up and get started, we could drop this whole—”

“Excellent idea,” James says, pulling his bass over his head at once. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”