It was information I vowed to protect with my life, lest I incur the terrible wrath of the infamously stern Sven Larssen following the influx of unexpected visitors to The Sanctuary that would no doubt result from the leaking of such information.
Once I was piloting my thundering bike along the nearly empty road, the city fell away behind me, giving way to open highway as I approached the industrial zone. The distance was close enough to be a convenient commute, but far enough out to confuse any potential pilgrims to the site.
The horse eased up next to a van someone had put a lot of thought and money into restoring. It looked pristine, while still maintaining a retro chic style. After I parked, I got out the containers and carried them into the studio, being careful not to drop them.
“You’re early,” Sven said, opening the door to the booth and then helping me set the food down. “You’ll have to wait in here.”
I’d met Sven here and there at company functions— at least the ones he deigned to attend. It was different, seeing him in his element. He was very much the master of his domain.
Without even thinking to question his directive— a first, to be sure— I sat down next to him at the control board. I was doing my best to balance some of the overflowing food on my lap, a trick that was easier said than done.
Soon I had forgotten all about that, though, as I listened to Loki’s Laugh play. It was something I had never heard them do, either live or on a recording. I had certainly meant to, but it just hadn’t happened— not until this fateful day, during which I had been sent out to bring them lunch.
It turned out that I’d arrived just as they were getting ready to record again. Sven’s snippy tone therefore had held some logic behind it.
The opening notes awakened something inside me that I’d never felt before. The bass seemed to be following the beat of my heart. I looked at the bass player. The two of us were separated by a pane of glass, but I suddenly felt closer to him than I had felt to anyone before.
Our eyes met, my chocolate browns attaching to his baby blues in a way certain to cause a spark between us. It was one that I felt certain he sensed, too.
It felt like fate, even if I didn’t believe in it.
That didn’t mean it didn’t believe in me, though.
“Right, that’s lunch,” Sven announced a little while later, after pushing the button for the mic.
One by one, with the guitarist at the lead, the band members came in, accepting their orders with gratitude before returning to the studio floor. Sven, do doubt, had a stern proscription against eating in the control room.
“Thank you,” the bassist said when it was his turn, looking as invigorated as I felt.
“No problem.”
“Nice seeing a new face here in the recording studio. And a pretty one at that,” he said, which nearly caused my panties to melt on the spot. “I’m Stig.”
“I’m Holly,” I said.
“I know.”
“You do?”
“You’re kind of a legend around here,” he said.
I had never really thought about it that way. Being a receptionist for the record label had always struck me as just a job, and I wasn’t sure anyone had really noticed me.
“Well, thanks,” I told him. “You’re pretty famous yourself.”
“I guess I’m getting there.”
Stig’s modesty seemed nothing but honest, which was a rare virtue in the music industry. It only served to make him even more attractive to me.
“Would you like to join me?”
He asked it with such hope in his eyes that I didn’t have the heart to say no, even if it was my first instinct, only due to not wanting to look unprofessional.
“Sure.”
I wobbled a bit as I followed him, my knees having turned to jelly by his smile. Not to mention the effect he had in my panties.
I had only ever had one serious ex, Keith, and that had ended very, very badly. I’d never felt anything like this for him or any other man before. Miraculously managing to remain upright, I continued trailing Stig out of The Sanctuary and outside, into the warmth of the afternoon.
The door of the van slid open on well-oiled runners. It didn’t even occur to me to wonder about getting into the back of a stranger’s van, despite the fact that I had a dark past in which bad things had happened to me.
I guessed my lack of concern was due to the fact that everyone knew Stig and everyone had seen us leave together, and the van obviously belonged to the band. It wouldn’t be hard to track down.
But I knew it was more than that. Something beyond Stig’s manner, going down to his essence, told me I could trust him. There was something of the tragic about him. Something only someone like me who had known tragedy could detect.