Rock Reclaimed (Rock Revenge Trilogy 2)

“The accent is part of the what the fuck.”

I had to laugh. “So, this guy likes oddballs. Is he an oddball? Usually, we tend to pal around together.”

“Oh, yes, Rory is definitely…different.”

“Different like a sociopath or different creatively?”

“Possibly both.” He grinned. “Nah, he’s a good guy. Let me give you his number.” Instead of asking for my mobile as most people did nowadays to input the digits, he pulled out a slim wallet that appeared nearly empty and procured a business card. On the back, he wrote Rory’s number. He slid it across the table to me, but before I copied the number into my phone, I checked out the business on the other side.

“Sheila’s House of Pleasure?” I raised a brow. “Did I take a wrong turn and end up in Las Vegas?”

“Strip club, my man. Not my idea. Bachelor party.”

“And you kept the card because it’s so shiny and pink?”

“Wasn’t all that was shiny and pink, I’ll tell you that.”

I grinned back and would’ve had a comment for that one if my mobile hadn’t buzzed. I pulled it out. Sabrina. “One moment,” I told him.

He nodded and folded his hands over his stomach. Hmm, an American who wasn’t obsessed with his phone. Strange. In fact, I hadn’t seen him take it out even once.

Speaking of oddballs. Took one to know one, I supposed.

As soon as I accepted the call, my rep launched into her spiel.

“You’re going to be home tomorrow. Plan on being available early Friday. No boozing, no women the night before. You need a good night’s sleep.”

“And hello to you too. How’s the weather there? It’s a bit overcast here, but the fog burned off early. Lovely town though. Delicious coffee, I’ve heard.”

Flynn saluted me with his empty cup.

“Roman has an opening in two days to get you outfitted for those promo shots we talked about.”

“I’m quivering in me boots with excitement.”

“I just bet you are. I’m hoping to secure Preston Conrad for the shots, as well as for the cover of your forthcoming EP, but he’s highly in demand—”

“No.”

“Excuse me. What?”

“You heard me. No. I already have a photographer on call.”

That was potentially the biggest lie I’d ever told. Or at least the most ridiculous. Zoe wasn’t on call for anything for me. Not even sex, and we’d nearly set her flat on fire.

Sabrina sighed. “What did I tell you about Zoe Manning?”

“Who says it’s her?”

“The pointer dog in your pants. Which I don’t want to know anything about. She’s not a commercial photographer, Ian.”

“She’s an incredible photographer, and an artist as well. Whatever you need from the shots, she can handle. Besides, if she wasn’t commercial, why did Lila hire her for the Zeps show? No offense, but I do believe Lila has seniority over you.”

Flynn’s brows lifted and he whistled under his breath.

I wouldn’t be shedding my asshole moniker anytime soon, but it was true. I didn’t like anyone even unintentionally discrediting Zoe. She was an amazingly talented artist.

I’d have to keep reminding myself of that when she disemboweled me with her bare hands after Sabrina contacted her.