Gone for You (Sixth Street Band #1) (4 page)

I muted the TV when I heard a rap on the door. Lily. I sauntered to the door, my shoulders slumping when I peered through the peephole and saw a balding man in his mid-forties.

“Can I help you?” I asked cautiously.

“Mr. Knight? I’m Dave, your valet.” Straightening, he lifted the nametag on the front of his white smock. “I’ve brought your dinner, along with some items Ms. Tennison asked me to deliver.”

Standing back from the door, I flipped the deadbolt and pulled it open. Dave’s grin widened. “May I come in, sir?”

“Of course.” I opened the door wider when I saw the cart. “And call me Cameron.”

“Very well, sir.” He backed into the room, pulling the cart over the threshold. “Where would you like to eat, sir?”

Running a hand through my hair, I pointed at the table in front of the TV. No matter how hard I tried, I would never get used to a man many years older calling me “sir” just because he happened to be serving my dinner. Or washing my car. My father was a horse’s ass, but my mama taught me to respect my elders.

Dave placed the cart next to the table and began to unload plates. Grabbing a couple, I set them down next to the others. He smiled at me appreciatively.

“May I turn down your bed—”

Cutting him off, I patted him on the back. “If you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I’m going to send you packing.” Sitting on the couch, I looked up at him. “I’m grown, Dave; I think I can manage to pull back the comforter all by myself.”

“Very well…” Dave was on the verge of another “sir” when I leveled him with a warning glare. Clearing his throat, he stood awkwardly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll check the refrigerator and see what needs to be replenished. I’ll be right back to take your order for breakfast, assuming you will be dining in your room.”

I pointed at the two empty water bottles. “That’s all I’ve taken from the fridge, plus some fruit and cheese, and I noticed an extra case of water in the pantry. So no worries.” Intercepting the ever efficient valet when he tried to remove the silver covers from the plates of food, I motioned for him to sit. He looked at me, eyes wide. “Take a load off, Dave. I insist.”

Positioning himself on the edge of the chair, he folded his hands in his lap. I pushed a plate of buffalo wings in his direction. Having ordered a sample of most of the appetizers on the menu, I had way too much food in front of me.

“I really should be getting back,” he said, his eyes falling on the heaping plates of food.

From the looks of him, Dave liked his groceries.

“Aren’t you supposed to be my personal go-to guy or something?” Licking the sauce from my fingers, I raised a brow at him.

“Yes, sir…Cameron…sir.”

“Well, then go to it, son.” I nudged the plate a little closer to him. “Let’s not let this food go to waste.”

Picking up an appetizer plate, he served himself a single buffalo wing. I shook my head.

“You can do better than that.” I lifted my chin toward the rest of the feast.

Dave loaded his plate with potato skins, cheese sticks, and a few other tidbits. Truth be told, the band was on the end of a two month tour. While I should savor eating alone, I just wasn’t that kind of guy. I preferred to dine with my band mates, the roadies, just about anybody.

Biting into a potato skin, I shifted my gaze to Dave. “So how long have you worked at The Mansion?”

Swallowing the remainder of a cheese stick, his eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Let’s see. Twenty-five years.” He nodded to himself in confirmation. “I started here the year my daughter Sylvia was born.”

He chuckled, looking down at his plate.

“What’s so funny?” I reached for my water.

“My daughter…not Sylvia…Raquel, she would keel over if she knew I was eating dinner with Cameron Knight.”

I paused with the water bottle halfway to my mouth. “You know who I am?”

Dave nodded. “I have two daughters, Mr.…Cameron.” He chuckled. “I’m a little long in the tooth, but I’m not completely out of touch.”

I barked out a laugh. “Two daughters, huh? Bet that keeps you on your toes.”

“You have no idea.”

Being on the road, I had a
very
good idea. But I wanted to have a quiet dinner, not give Dave a heart attack. Sitting back, I noticed the Neiman Marcus bags hanging from the handle of the cart.

“Are those the packages Lily sent over?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yes, sir.”

Dave tried to get up, but I motioned for him to finish, standing to retrieve the bags myself. After walking to the couch with the four overfilled bags, I upended the first one. An array of pastel pink and lavender t-shirts tumbled out. Shaking my head, I pulled the jeans from the next bag. The first pair was super skinny, with jewel embellished pockets. The next pair was boot cut, but the jewels that encrusted the pockets somehow managed to wind their way all the way down the outer seam. Cringing, I was afraid to look in the next bag. When I pulled out a handful of silk boxers that looked like Cupid had thrown up all over them, I laughed out loud.

Turning to Dave, I noticed he’d clamped his lips together to keep from laughing.

I walked to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of Shiner and a couple bottles of water. I offered him one of each. Hesitating, he reached for the Shiner.

Plopping on the couch, I twisted the cap off my beer before turning to Dave.

“So, tell me, Dave,” I lifted a brow, “How well do you know Lily Tennison?

Chapter 4

C
ome in.” Lily looked up when I stepped into her office, her jaw dropping to her desk when she saw me.

“I just wanted to stop by and thank you for the new duds you had delivered last night.” Shoving my hands in the pockets of the black skinny jeans, I sauntered over to her desk and leaned in. “I would sit down, but these jeans are so fucking tight, I might lose the ability to procreate.”

Blinking, she tried to stifle a giggle. “I-I think they look g-great.” She was unable to hold back a snort of laughter from escaping.

“Really? Is it the pink t-shirt?” Stepping back, I turned to give her a view of the rhinestones that covered the pockets. “Or the jewels on my ass that make it work?”

Leaning back in her chair, she let loose, a husky laugh erupting from deep in her chest. “It’s the whole thing.” She moved her hand in front of her in a circular motion. “It all works.”

Stepping around her desk, I grabbed the arms of her chair, startling a yip out of her.

“Very funny, Lily.” I leaned in until our faces were a few inches apart. I could smell her shampoo. The cinnamon on her breath. The perfume that clung to her. “You’re lucky I can pull off any look. A lesser man wouldn’t be comfortable in pink.”

Releasing the arms of the chair, I walked around to the front of the desk and sat on the edge of the chair. “As much as I’d like to continue discussing my fabulous wardrobe, I’m actually here to book a package.”

Lily tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and sat up straighter in her chair. “Of course.” She pulled out a laminated copy of the brochure. “What package are you interested in, or would you like to create your own?”

“The Essence of Texas,” I said casually.

“Um...The Essence of Texas?” Swallowing hard, she looked down at the brochure. “Of course. Cameron—Mr. Knight—are you aware of the…” She sighed, looking me dead in the eye. “It’s very expensive.”

“I understand it’s a two day package.” Cocking my head, I smiled. “And the cost is in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars. That doesn’t sound too steep. Is there something about the package that you don’t recommend?”

“No!” She was quick to shake her head. “It’s a wonderful package. A private tour of the Dallas Museum and the Nasher Sculpting Center.” She pulled open a drawer and produced several other brochures, laying them in front of me. “The artwork is really beautiful. Aside from that, you get to choose a night at the ballet or the opera.” Her fingers brushed the photos of the art from the museum.

Our eyes locked when she looked up, her smile fading when I covered her hand with mine.

Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand away and grabbed a Post-it from the dispenser.

“What dates were you interested in?”

“Thursday and Friday.” Leaning back in the chair, I let my gaze drift over her face while she chewed her lip, studying the calendar in front of her.

“That might be tough, considering it’s such short notice. I’ll have to call the venues and get back with you.” The same adorable crease popped out on her forehead.

“No worries.” I rose to my feet and headed for the door. “I’m sure you’ll get it handled, darlin’.”

“Wait!”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Yes?”

“Would you prefer the opera or the ballet?”

Shrugging, I smiled. “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

Her face broke into a huge grin. “The ballet is wonderful.”

“The ballet it is.”

“I talked to Chase this morning.” I reached past Logan and grabbed the pot of coffee. “Here’s a list of interviews that we’re obligated to do to fulfill the contract.” Handing him a copy, I poured the liquid gold into my cup.

“Hmmm,” he grunted, pulling his sunglasses down a little to peruse the list.

Our table was in the back of the dining area, as far away from the other guests as we could get. After talking to Lily, I had slipped back to my room to change into yesterday’s clothes. I was prepared to play out her little joke in private, but I wasn’t going to risk ending up in the tabloids wearing that getup.

“Dude.” Logan looked over his glasses at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not doing any interviews today. Besides,” he pointed at the first interview on the list, “I’m sure you’re more equipped to handle this interview than I am.”

Nodding, I took a sip of coffee.

“Wendy Palmer, 102.1 The Edge” was at the top of the list. Usually it was an either/or proposition for most interviews. Either Logan or I could do them.

Not this one.

A million years ago when Caged was just a garage band, Wendy Palmer was a first year communications major at the University of Texas at Austin. She managed to finagle an assignment as the music critic for both the school newspaper and radio station. Quite a coup for a freshman. Soon she was doing interviews with large scale Texas bands that favored the Sixth Street live music scene. She made her bones, worked her way up the media ladder, by scoring interviews with the top Austin bands.

Wendy followed Caged to every dingy venue on Sixth Street. Or should I say, she followed me. When we got our big break, headlining at The Parish, Wendy was there. She helped me celebrate.

Naked.

Our relationship— if you could call it that—was mutually beneficial.

I never thought much about Wendy these days, unless Caged was making a pass through Dallas. Sometimes we ended up right back where we started. In bed. Although a bed wasn’t a prerequisite. A dressing room, the tour bus, or even a bathroom had served its purpose throughout the years. The last few times I was passing through, it was strictly business. A thirty minute interview, and I was out the door. Her latest gig as afternoon DJ at 102.1 The Edge placed her firmly in one of the top ten markets in the country.

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of Wendy.” Glancing at Logan, I cringed when he waggled his eyebrows at me. “But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” he groaned, rubbing his forehead.

Obviously, his night had been a bit more eventful than mine.

“I’m going to be off the grid Thursday and Friday,” I said, hoping like shit he didn’t ask too many questions. “Can you hold down the fort?”

Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed me. “Where you gonna be?”

Pushing the eggs around on my plate, I didn’t make eye contact. “Just some personal shit I gotta take care of.”

“What personal shit?”

The question hung in the air between us. Logan was like family. Even closer. But we were competitive. Women were an Olympic sport for us. If we got our sights set on the same woman, all bets were off. Fortunately, no woman had ever been important enough to come between us.

Lifting my eyes to meet his questioning gaze, my stomach roiled at the thought of him with Lily.