The Rocker's Muse

“Why did you apply for the position?” He cocked his head. “You seem apprehensive about it. You shouldn’t do anything you don’t really want to do.”

That’s a great question. “Things have been tough in my personal life the past few years, and I need a change.”

That was my second truthful statement of the day.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not in a men’s room with a complete stranger. That would be a bit weird.”

He shrugged. “You weren’t the one with your ass hanging out a second ago. Talk about weird.”

“Well, that’s one point in my corner today.” I looked away as a few seconds of awkward silence passed. “Is the band nice?”

After a moment, he nodded. “They’re okay. The lead singer, Tristan, has good days and bad. He’s not as talented as people give him credit for. He mainly got lucky to be where he is. He’s struggling with some stuff this year, actually, and it’s showing.”

Hmm… “That’s too bad.”

“What do you think of their music?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I’ve heard of them, of course. But I’m not a fan or anything. I don’t really know their music.”

He grinned. “Seriously? Why the hell would you want this job, then?”

“I sort of…fell into the opportunity. I’ll go home tonight and google more of their stuff so I can be prepared if by some miracle I get the position.”

“Well, if you want to check out their songs, look at their earlier stuff—from five or six years ago. Between you and me, the more recent material sucks in comparison, even if it’s the most popular.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome.”

I pointed over my shoulder at the door. “Well, I’d better get out of here and find the right bathroom.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Emily.”

Then the door opened, and another man entered. He looked between us. “What the fuck are you up to in here, Tristan? We’re waiting on you.”

Tristan?

He’d said he worked for the band.

Oh gosh.

I suppose being the freaking lead singer qualified as work. I hadn’t recognized him. My cheeks burned all over again, and a rush of adrenaline shot through me.

Tristan winked at me. “Nice talking to you, Emily. Good luck with the job.”

Both men left together, leaving me with my jaw hanging open.

***

That evening, I’d barely gotten back to my home in Henderson, Nevada, when my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Is this Emily?”

“Yes.”