All Note Long by Annabeth Albert Read Free Book Online Page B

behind your release if you don’t find a way to come out of this with some positive PR of some kind.”
    â€œHow do we do that? People are going to—”
    â€œThat’s my job. Trust me. And you might be my first gay country singer, but, honey, I rehabbed Billy Huggins’s reputation after that DUI that injured a minivan full of Girl Scouts. I’ve got this.”
    Michelin nodded because, really, what choice did he have? He believed in Cold Sunrise, every bit as much as he had Hard Water. And Cold Sunrise was the album he was dedicating to his mama, and he couldn’t let it languish just because the label wanted to play hardball. If the record label thought he needed some spin on this whole mess, then he’d take a whirl in Gloria’s washer.
    â€œI guess the real question is how are you going to convince Lucky?”
    â€œLeave it to me.” Gloria winked at him, which reminded him of all Lucky’s winks last night. It was entirely possible that the two of them matching wits and carefully timed winks might be the highlight of this whole damn mess.
    * * *
    Lucky was no stranger to shit days, but this Saturday was on track to make his top five list. First, his landlord was having kittens about the paparazzi camped out on the lawn. Then Lucky had had to dodge said cameras and questions just to get to his piece-of-shit car to get to work. Not to mention all the texts from angry family members, curious friends, and random contacts who all wanted to make their opinions on the GoZZip article known.
    And now he was at work, and he knew there were more paparazzi lurking around, waiting for some drama or a few pictures of him shaking his ass. And ordinarily he didn’t mind club goers who ignored the “no pictures” signs, but tonight he was in a mood and so didn’t want to deal. And no surprise, both Dwayne and Rod had called in sick, which meant a condensed rotation with fewer breaks for the rest of them. Carlos had been nowhere to be seen, but Lucky had a feeling a smackdown was coming from that corner, too.
    Adding to the fucked-up-ness of his evening, a female patron was sitting at the bar, nursing a Manhattan and eying him with undisguised speculation. Blond, rail thin, and somewhere between forty and sixty—in this town with all the plastic surgeons, it was hard to guess. She wore an expensive white linen pantsuit that no more fit into The Broom Closet than Lucky would fit into whatever country club she’d fallen out of. He’d already fended off two rude patrons wanting to know what his price was. Last thing he wanted was to tell some wannabe sugar mama no way, no how, but as he hopped down from his platform, she made a beeline right for him, blocking his path to the hallway and his microscopic break time.
    â€œLucky Rain?” she asked in clipped tones.
    â€œNot interested.” Lucky tried to step around him, but she stopped him with a proprietary hand on his arm.
    â€œOh, I think you will be.” Her smile reminded Lucky a bit of that cartoon fox that his nephews loved to shout at on the TV. Sly and up to no good. She pulled him closer so that she could talk directly at him, ensuring there was no chance the club music ate her precise words. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of. I’m here on behalf of Michelin—”
    â€œThe hell?” That was fast. And it figured that fancy lady was a lawyer type, not looking to collect a boy toy. When Lucky had seen the headlines, his first thought had been what a damn fool he was. And his second thought was lawsuit. Which was why he’d done the incredibly stupid thing and called Michelin in a panic. He knew about the big judgments stars had gotten for defamation. And fuck if he could lose more cash over this mess. Or more reputation going down the drain. As it was, no one would hire him for a while, unless it was out of morbid curiosity.
    â€œYou’ve been ignoring your