It was a damn miracle I didn’t bolt from the studio entirely.
What stopped me was the guy bringing up the rear. He wore jeans and a sports coat with those kind of elbow protectors that had gone out of fashion in the eighties. Probably before. His blond hair stood up in a crown of spikes and he had a ready, guileless smile that pinned me in place.
“There’s a fella. Flynn told you about me?” He broke away from the pack and strolled over to pump my hand.
I stared at him like a drugged guppy. “You’re—are you Rory? What the fuck is this?” I asked again, glancing oddly to Simon for help.
He might indirectly be the cause of all my problems, and he probably hated my guts, but at least he was a semi-known quantity. These other people—minus Sabrina—were like wild, snapping animals as far as I was concerned.
“Yes, I’m Rory Ferguson. Flynn was quite chatty about you, and if you know the man, that’s rare indeed. I called Ripper and was put in contact with Ms. Price.” Rory dropped my hand and stepped back. “She informed me that you had a scheduled studio session today.”
“We did. Not all these people.” I gestured at Simon and the rest of Oblivion, including Lila, since she might as well be part of them. She was by marriage, anyway.
And she was also Zoe’s cousin. My girl might be magic, but her cousin was pure fire encased in ice as she stared me down.
“Ian, have you met Lila Crandall?” Sabrina smiled and indicated Lila. “She manages Oblivion and Warning Sign, as well as several other bands here at Ripper.”
I gave her a little wave since if I tried to shake her hand, I might not get mine back. “Pleasure.”
She said nothing, just folded her arms.
Someone was thrilled I was sleeping with her cousin. Assuming she knew about our blessed union, and I had to think so judging from her glare. Unless it was the Simon connection. Or everything combined.
No part of my resumé held me in good stead when meeting new people.
“This is Deacon McCoy, Oblivion’s bassist, and Gray Duffy, Oblivion’s rhythm guitarist.” Deacon shifted his bass case to his other hand and offered me a small wave, and Gray gave me a smile. They seemingly harbored no ill will in my direction, unlike some of the others. “They work in production and writing on the side, although it’s hard to imagine how they have any free time with all they do in Oblivion.” Sabrina smiled up at Deacon—big beastly dude that he was—as if he were a mixture of Jason Momoa and The Rock. “Such talented men.”
“He’s married, sister,” Simon called out. “By the way, you don’t need to introduce me to Ian. Pretty sure he knows who I am. Though I’m curious what you’d say. Oblivion’s lead singer and international model, guitarist and songwriter—”
“And Oblivion’s biggest pain in the ass,” Lila interjected, finally showing a hint of ice melt. Only a hint. A second later, she glanced back at me and flash-froze again. “Ian, why don’t you introduce yourself to the group?” She tightened her clasped arms and smiled as coldly as winter in England. “Tell us all about yourself.”
“I’m not telling anyone a bloody thing until I understand what’s happening here.”
Sabrina stepped forward and motioned us down the other set of stairs that descended to the sunken level, where Simon was holding court all alone. “Shall we sit?”
“I’d rather stand.”
Sabrina shrugged. She wasn’t one to get her panties in a twist over formalities, which I suspected was unlike the blond blade beside her. “You and Simon are going to record some songs together for your EP. Deacon, Gray, and Rory are here to expedite the process. This EP has to be done fast.”
“Simon and I are going to… No.” I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Scared, mate?” Simon smiled up at me, all relaxed jaguar grace in his sprawled position on the sofa. “Here I thought you were so eager to prove how much more talented you are.”
“I’m going to make my own decisions about my own EP.”
“Sure you are. Newbie artist, you get to call all the shots.” Simon tapped his fingers on the back of the couch. “Deak and Gray, don’t think we’re needed here. Apparently, we’re in the presence of an expert.”
“Seems like he has the same qualms about studio work as someone else I know.” Deacon nodded at Simon, who flipped him the bird. “Why don’t we sit down and talk for a few minutes, see if we have anything in common musically before we get all worked up?”
I frowned. “I don’t even know you. I’d prefer it if you didn’t try to manage me, thanks.”
Simon snorted. “That’s Deak. He manages everybody, and they’re usually better for it.”
“Speak for yourself.” I jerked a shoulder. “Maybe you need to be herded like a cow.”
Rory cleared his throat. “And maybe you need to learn some respect, if nothing else.” A hint of Ireland came through the steely voice of the once affable producer.
I glanced at Rory, who was no longer smiling. “Another country heard from?”