Page 6 of Hot Shot Rock Star
Chapter 3
Ben
Lying to Jazzy is wrong but I’m too angry—or more like desperately afraid—to feel the guilt. There’s no team meeting. What’s wrong with me? This isn’t me. Jazzy makes me so crazy. I’ve never been jealous a day in my life before her. The ride from Queens into Manhattan’s Gramercy Park neighborhood is long enough for me to simmer, but not long enough to calm me. Not until the job is done.
Heaving a deep breath, I know I need to do this, that the end justifies the means. In the end, I need to make it very clear to Hal Walker that Jazzy is off-limits. And very clear what will happen to him if he doesn’t back off.
Violent behavior?As the car comes to a stop, I shake my head because I simply don’t care.
Pushing open the door, I fling a ten-dollar bill at the Uber driver. Walking across the brick sidewalk toward his building, the doorman gives me a friendly nod. I have no hesitation lying my ass off with a story about needing to see Mr. Walker. Since I’m breaking rules today, I have no problem using my NHL status to get past the uniformed man.
“Don’t bother calling ahead,” I say. “I want to surprise him.”
“It sure would be a surprise. Mr. Walker doesn’t usually wake up for three more hours. I don’t know—”
“How about tickets to the next home game? Center ice.” I press an envelope into his hands. Actual printed game tickets are an anomaly these days, but nothing works better when attempting a bribe, according to Kodi Stark. The tickets weren’t meant for Hal’s doorman, but he nods his head and walks through a doorway into some kind of office as I head for the elevator.
He probably doesn’t like Hal much or he’d never have let me up. Maybe that’s what I was counting on.
When I get to the fifth floor, barely high enough for a good view of the park, I find his door and give it a solid knock. I’m not surprised that there’s no response, but I’m committed to having it out with the prick, so I stand my ground and knock again, louder this time. It takes three more tries before said prick gets out of bed and makes it to the door. I know he checks his peephole to see it’s me because I hear him swear and that makes me smile. He flings the door open with drama and I hold the smile.
“It’s my turn to ask what the fuck are you doing here.” He glowers, but he doesn’t put up any resistance as I push my way past him inside. He’s wearing a robe and his feet are bare. “What do you want, Weaver?” He forces harshness into his voice, but I can tell he’s not fully awake.
“Go get dressed. We need to have a serious discussion.” He stands there in his foyer, staring me down as I stand in his living room which is far more traditional than I’d figure for a music industry agent, save the posters of his various clients, mostly women—or rather girls. Maybe Jazzy is too old for the prick, and I have nothing to worry about. “Well?” I prompt like a scolding parent with the upper hand. He runs a hand through his bedhead hair and rolls his eyes. But he turns and disappears down a hallway.
My heart rate returns to somewhat normal, though I hadn’t realized it was elevated until Hal left the room, and I take a deep breath. Wandering into his kitchen I find a Keurig coffeemaker and help myself to a cup. I’m about to have my first sip of coffee when Hal joins me in the kitchen dressed in skintight black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater as if he’s auditioning to be an album-cover model.
“Don’t pretend you’re welcome here, Weaver. Say what you have to say and—”
“Of course I’m welcome here. Your agency specializes in embracing the family and making everyone happy. All part of the process, isn’t that right?” I put my coffee down.
“Skip the bullshit. If this is about me and Jazzy—” His words flash like a giant neon sign commandinghit this asshole now, and I follow the instructions that blow up from my prehistoric brain because I have no choice.
Rushing him, I bunch the front of his shirt in my fists and get in his face, towering over him and shoving him back into his refrigerator. Not exactly a hit, but I haven’t completely lost all sense.
“You fucking asshole. There is noyou and Jazzy. That’s what I came here to tell you. Do you need me to repeat myself? There isNOyou and Jazzy.” I shout into his face and tighten my grip, leaning on his rib cage crushing him in place so he can’t move, until I see the fear in his eyes, real and satisfying.
“You’re a psycho—”
“Wrong answer.” I shout louder.
“Okay, okay. So there is no me and Jazzy. I knew that. We’re just—”
“Nothing. You are nothing to her.” I maintain my grip because he’s every bit the weasel I knew he’d be, and I know he won’t respond to anything but real and dangerous fear. And I have enough rational thought returning to my brain as I look at his useless face and realize even physical intimidation isn’t enough to make him afraid because he figures we live in a civilized society, and I’d never actually hurt him. I’m not so sure he’d be right.
“Whatever you say. Calm your shit down and get your hands off me.” I release him instantly.
“Have it your way. She’ll be filing suit within twenty-four hours for sexual harassment if you so much as whisper the wrong way to her.” That makes his eyes bulge out of his head and I want to laugh, but I shake my head. “You’re so pathetic.”
“She would never—”
“You want to bet your career on that, Hal?” I stare him down and realize I’m enough of a dick to not get the same sense of satisfaction from scaring him with the threat of a lawsuit as I did with physical violence. Punching him in the face would be even better. Hearing his nose crack would have been so much more deeply satisfying.
“You’re sending her career down the drain—”
“I don’t think so, Hal. Because I have a backup plan.”
“Yeah?” he chortles. “What’s that?”
