Feverish (Bullet #3) (6 page)

And play he had. The problem was that Jet had
mostly taken over. He was Jet for longer and longer periods of
time, and he started to wonder what had happened to the nicer, more
caring, deeper part of himself. He was worried that he was going to
lose that man. Jet really didn’t care, but Clay did. Clay wasn’t
willing to go down without a fight.

Clay had won for the first part of the
interview with Ms. Emily Brinkman. He’d been polite and helped ask
Mary’s intelligent, important questions, but Jet needed to know
more. He could not,
would not
let anyone work for him who
had no respect for what he did. And, yeah, he had expected these
folks to do a little digging. When Mary had called them all for
interviews, she gave them basic information. She said she wanted to
know what they did with it. Well, Clay knew they’d use it to find
out more about him and his band, and he figured that was the smart
thing to do. But that did not by a long shot mean they were metal
fans. And if they weren’t metal fans (or at least knowledgeable
about harder rock), then he had no use for them. He didn’t want to
spend days explaining things his personal assistant should already
know. And how could that person passionately represent him if he or
she only knew him from a fact sheet? It was do-or-die as far as
Clay (or Jet) was concerned, and he didn’t give a shit if they were
good on paper or better educated than all the other applicants. If
they couldn’t prove to him they knew his business for real, then he
had no use for them. When he tried to explain it to Mary, he’d
said, “Would you buy a Ford from a guy who drove a Chevy? Fuck no.
Would you trust a guy who sold Pepsi but drank Coke? Of course not.
So why the hell would we hire someone who doesn’t get it?” At least
that
little speech had seemed to sink in with her a little
bit.

He’d discovered that morning before they’d
started, though, that Mary hadn’t told them who Clay was or what
band he played for when she’d arranged the interviews. She’d simply
told them general facts. She had a statement prepared when starting
the interview that gave them more information. Even better.

So, when Mary’s questions were done, Clay
smiled at Emily for a moment. The woman kept her cool, and Clay
became convinced that she would win against him in a stare down
contest. He filled his lungs with air, realizing he really liked
her intensity. He found his first question. “First rock album you
ever bought.”

No hesitation. “Godsmack,
Faceless
.”

Oh, that was good. “First concert.”

She smiled. She was up for the challenge.
“Bullet for My Valentine.”

“A band you always buy a new release from,
whether you’ve heard it or not.”

“Used to be Three Days Grace. Now…I don’t
know. Um, maybe Art of Dying.”

He smiled back and nodded his head. He could
feel an energy between them. “Favorite band.”

She tilted her head and broke eye contact,
glancing up at the ceiling. That question was making her think. He
wouldn’t be upset if she didn’t say his band. In fact, he’d be more
upset if she
did
say Last Five Seconds, because it would
seem fake, as though she’d just said it just for the interview. He
wanted
real
. “Seether.”

Fuck yeah. Inside, Clay was fist pumping.
This woman was on fire, and he was ready to offer her the job. He
knew Mary would punch him in the arm if he did. As it was, she was
tolerating his barrage of questions. “Good answer.” Now for the
most telling response of all, one he needed to know. “Favorite
guitarist.”

She smiled again. One more time, without
pause. She knew exactly what she wanted to say. “Jimi Hendrix.”

“Excellent choice.” He took a deep breath,
almost surprised he wasn’t getting hard. “I’d like to think I’m in
your top fifty.”

Her smile turned into a grin that almost
looked shy. That was odd and somehow a turn on from this confident
woman. “Oh, you definitely are.”

Both Clay
and
Jet were really digging
her.

* * *

The rapid fire part of the interview where
guitar god Jet pummeled her with questions about her favorites in
rock music was actually pretty cool, and it made her almost feel
connected to him right off the bat. That he respected and liked her
answers made her feel a sort of affection for him. He wasn’t some
musician, all high and mighty and full of himself. He was instead a
down-to-earth guy with a real passion for music, and by the time he
wound down those questions, she realized he wanted to hire someone
who felt the same way. She was pretty sure, based on the smile on
his face, that she had passed the test.

The sweet woman named Mary had just sat
quietly while Emily and Jet had volleyed words back and forth
across the table. Afterward, though, Mary had gotten down to the
nitty-gritty. She said, “I think you’ve definitely got the
education and skills, and I know Clay is impressed with your music
knowledge.”

Clay said, “Love. Not knowledge. Love.”

Mary looked like she was on the verge of
rolling her eyes. “
Love
. But I want to see how you would
handle some of the day-to-day tasks we’d have you doing.”

Emily raised her eyebrows and then nodded her
head. “Okay. Sounds fair.”

Mary stood. “To do that, we have to go to his
office.”

Clay looked over at Mary, and Emily sensed
that the man hadn’t expected his helper to do that. He didn’t say
anything, though. He stood around the same time Emily did, and he
motioned for her to follow Mary, and he would be behind them both.
She had to keep her cool, knowing his eyes were on her back.

Soon they were near the end of the long hall
on the east side of the house, and Mary opened a door. The room
wasn’t too terribly big, but it had a few book shelves and a huge
desk by the window. There was a laptop on top and a printer to the
side, on top of a two-drawer filing cabinet, but what caught her
attention was the daunting pile of what she guessed was mail in the
center of the desk, just in front of the computer on the side where
the chair was.

Unopened
mail.

Dear heavens. Did he get this much fan mail
in a day? A week? A month? She was surprised people still resorted
to paper mail nowadays when it was easy enough to write on your
fave rock star’s Facebook page or to send him a tweet. She would
have thought cyberspace would make snail mail contact of one’s
favorite rock star crush obsolete.

Well, that was okay. She considered herself
quite organized, and sorting through that kind of mail daily or
weekly wouldn’t be bad. She hoped her initial shock hadn’t shown on
her face. She knew if they looked at her now, she would appear calm
and composed. No big deal, she wanted her face to say.

Mary said, “Think of this as just another
interview question. I’d like to see you go through this mail and
organize it. There is no time limit. and if you decide it’s too
much, that’s fine, but I’d just like to see how you go through
it.”

Emily took a deep breath. Okay. That made
sense. She glanced over at Jet and he looked almost horrified.
Emily bit her bottom lip to stifle a grin. What the hell did girls
write him that he seemed freaked out having her glance through the
pile? Well, he’d have to get used to it if they hired her. She
planned to be cool and composed, and she would try not to read
anything.

She walked over to the other side of the desk
and sat in the swivel chair. She noticed a piece junk mail on top.
“Do you have a wastebasket?” Mary nodded and grabbed one from
beside one of the bookshelves and started to bring it to the desk.
Emily had another thought, though. This too was a test. Jet was a
famous guy and probably everything with his personal info that left
his house should be unrecognizable. “On second thought—do you have
a shredder?”

Jet tilted his head to consider her and Mary
said, “There’s one in the garage.”

Emily nodded. First stack: Crap that needed
to be shredded. She might not need the trashcan after all. To the
left side, she started that pile with the piece of mail that was in
her hand—a thick envelope with a credit card offer inside. She
somehow doubted Jet was shopping for a credit card. He probably had
all the credit he needed, and if he wanted more, she imagined he’d
go to his bank and hobnob with the president of the joint.

The next envelope she picked up was a bill,
from the looks of it—a sewer bill. So she started another stack
next to the junk mail, one for bills. So much for being all love
notes. Mary said, “You mind if we pull up a chair? Will that make
you nervous?”

Actually, a little, but no way was she going
to indicate that. “No, not at all.”

Jet asked, “You want a drink?”

Another test? She was going to be
professional. “No, thank you.” She couldn’t imagine she’d be doing
this long enough to grow thirsty. Now that she knew she wasn’t
going to be just reading through teenage girls’ letters with offers
of losing their virginity to the man across from her, she was
feeling a little better about going through the pile. If it was
just junk mail and bills and things of that nature, she could
handle it. She started pulling out one piece of mail at a time and
finding a place for it. There were a couple of questionable things
that were not junk mail or bills, but she didn’t want to open them
up to find out. She wasn’t an employee yet and hadn’t signed that
nondisclosure agreement the ad had mentioned yet, so she wouldn’t
feel comfortable encountering any secrets. As his
real
PA,
she would have to get used to any weird stuff she came across, but
as an applicant, she really didn’t want to know. Bad enough she was
learning a few things just picking through the mail. For example,
how and when did this guy ever pay his bills? She’d already picked
up four gas bills—or five. She couldn’t remember. What a mess.

But she suspected they were having her do
this task for a couple of reasons—one was to see how quickly she
could sort the pile into tasks that could be accomplished. The
second was to see what kind of tasks she decided upon using her own
good judgment. Even though they had said the opposite, she
suspected they didn’t want her to take hours to do it. Fortunately,
seeing messes like that one drove Emily crazy. It was easy for her
to want to organize it.

“I’m gonna get something to drink. Sure you
don’t want anything? Glass of iced tea? Monster Energy drink?”

She smirked at him. “I think I’ve got
this.”

“C’mon, Mary. Let’s give her a little time to
herself.”

Emily was still looking up, and she saw a
concerned look cross Mary’s face. Did the woman not trust her? Did
she think Emily would walk off with something? Well, she could
understand that. These two didn’t really know her. They didn’t know
she was honest. She’d have to earn their trust. She said, “That’s
okay. I really don’t mind if one of you has to be here.”

“That’s all right,” Mary said, standing up
from the chair she’d been sitting in. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

Once they were in the hall, Emily breathed a
sigh of relief. Her job just got easier. She didn’t have to pretend
to peruse anymore. Now she could fly through that damned stack. She
knew she could have it done now before they got back, especially
considering she was halfway through. And if they were worried about
her taking anything, she could take her jacket off and let them
look. They’d be able to see she had nothing. If they were super
paranoid, they could—she supposed—request that she show them her
phone to ensure she hadn’t snapped any photographs.

She shook her head. She was damned either
way. This interview was turning out to be a pain in the ass…no
matter how much she was starting to like the guy who could become
her potential boss.

Chapter Five

CLAY DIDN’T PLAN to be gone too long, but he
was seriously questioning Mary’s interviewing techniques. Once they
were out of earshot—in spite of Mary’s reluctance to follow him—he
asked, “What the fuck, Mary? What’s that gonna prove?”

Mary gave him a look he was quite familiar
with. It was the one that said she wanted to slap him upside the
head. In deference, however, she’d never done it, and the words
coming out of her mouth were calm and respectful. “There is only
one
way we’ll know if she can handle the job, and that is
through a real-life situation. I know you already want to hire her,
and we still have several people to interview. So I set up your
office as a real-life test.”

Clay frowned. “What do you mean you
set it
up
?”

A small grin curled her lips upward. “It’s
mostly all the stuff that was there before, but…with a little
surprise.”

Oh, what the fuck was this woman up to?
“What, Mary? What—”

He couldn’t finish because he heard Emily’s
voice shouting, “What the hell?” His mouth turned in a scowl, and
he darted off toward the office. Jesus. If Mary stuck pictures in
there of some of the shit he’d done with groupies or something
else…he’d have to seriously reconsider her employ with him.

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d have to
reprimand her, but he couldn’t get rid of her. She was too good,
and he knew she really cared. It showed in what she did. This would
probably turn out to be another one of those situations, but right
now he was a little worried about what he’d discover once he got
back to the office. Mary was right behind him, but she knew. She
had planted something, something she’d called a “surprise.”

They both got to the office, and he walked
through the door, followed by Mary. It took him a minute to figure
out what he was looking at. There were three neat stacks on the
desk, and they somehow looked less intimidating that the huge pile
all that mail had started out to be. He wondered if Emily knew that
was real stuff. But then, in the middle of the desk, sat a paper
plate with a desiccated-looking slice of pizza. It had once been
pepperoni, by the looks of it, but it was petrified. The plate had
dried orange grease near the end of the slice where one bite was
missing.