“You mean install them or buy lamps?” he asks.
“Lot of low-budget sets are using LED panels. They’re pretty reliable. This is a big place. She’ll need a lot of them, unless you’re going to be hauling them from location to location.”
Ice shrugs. “Whatever she needs.”
“Who’s actually doing the filming? Directing?”
His expression remains blank. “She is.”
Man, he has a lot of faith in this chick. Spending an awful lot of cash for what amounts to an amateur production.
Downstairs, a door slams. “Ice, is that you?” a woman calls out.
“Upstairs.” He motions for us to follow him the way we came.
We find the star of this escapade waiting in the kitchen.
Anya’s about what I expected—young, tall, skinny, long blonde hair, big tits, giant name-brand purse on her shoulder, and a tiny dog tucked under her arm.
She flashes a quick warm smile at all four of us that makes me feel a little shitty for my snap judgment.
“How’d you do?” Ice asks, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
She bends over to set the dog down, giving the four of us a clear view down her shirt. “Good. The stuff for the big bedroom should be here Friday.”
The little dog runs over and scratches at my boot.
“Aw, he likes you,” Jigsaw says.
“He likes everyone.” She drops her purse on the counter and flicks her questioning gaze between Jigsaw and me. Sure enough, the dog scampers over and scratches at Jigsaw’s leg next.
“Babe, this is Rooster. He’s gonna help you set up some of the technical side this week.” Ice leers at her and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Whatever he needs, you give it to him, got it?”
Uh, make it sound like I expect to be paid in blow jobs, much, Ice?
“Jigsaw’s here to help out too.” Ice lightly punches Jiggy’s shoulder. “I promise he’s not as scary as he looks.”
She flashes another genuine smile. “You don’t look scary at all.”
Jigsaw’s lips quirk. Great, he’s already smitten for the second time in two hours.
God help me.
She focuses on me again. “You’re the one who’s worked with Stella, right?”
“My club has.”
“I like her style. I’m trying to create a similar feel without traveling to different hotels and stuff.”
“What you have here looks great.” I nod to Ice. “Location’s one of the hardest parts. Not a lot of places to film outside of Florida, Las Vegas, or LA. And even then, people aren’t always open to having a film crew defile their house. Having your own space is smart.”
Ice snorts. “Figured it’ll be less trouble than renting out the house to deadbeat tenants.”
Sure, hire someone to clean the jizz off the walls once a week and you’re all set, Prez.
“I’ve been working on promotion.” She taps her phone. “I’m up to over five hundred thousand Instagram followers.”
Not bad for a chick I’ve never even heard of. Too bad only a small percentage of those followers will be willing to pay actual money for content. Even so, it’s a damn good start.
“I have a few things in the works.” She taps Ice’s chest and purses her lips into a pouty little smile.
I’m sure you do.Hours later, I’m tucked away in Ice’s office at the back of the clubhouse. I finish placing orders for some of the supplies I need. Tomorrow, I’ll set up accounts on the different platforms we’ll use to upload the videos.
For now, I’m done.
I log off of Ice’s computer and shut it down, tucking the business credit card he’d handed me back into the desk drawer and locking it.
In the main room, music’s pumping. Brothers and club girls fill the place, engaged in various activities.
That whole ATF thing Ice mentioned before our trip to the porn palace is still nagging at me. At some point, I need to discuss it with Jigsaw, see if it gave him the same bad feeling.
I jog upstairs to the room I’m using at the clubhouse and pull Shelby’s schedule out from my pocket. I’d been so focused on Virginia because of our charter here that I missed a closer location.
Baltimore.
A few days apart and I’m missing Shelby more than ever. While there’s plenty to keep me occupied around here, I should be able to slip away for a day.Chapter Thirty-SevenShelby
Sweat rolls down my forehead and into my eyes as I finish soundcheck. Another outdoor, open-air pavilion. The sound’s better than the last two places but the air-conditioning is non-existent. Can’t seem to go anywhere to get relief.
The solid click-thump of my boots accompanies me off the stage.
“You all right, Shelby?” Greg’s hand settles on my shoulder, stopping me in the hallway. “You look pale.”
“I’m hot.”
“I’ll see if I can find a fan or something for your room.” He jerks his head toward the stage. “There’s a bit of a breeze out front. Why don’t you stand up there for a minute or two and cool off?”