Sebastian looked at the wall, counting to fifty, then counting again.
There was precious little he hated more than being stuck in the antechamber of Jack’s office, waiting for his manager to get finished with whatever the fuck the man was doing to make them all more money so that he could sign whatever bullshit contract he needed to sign.
Jack was lucky he was in Nashville this week.
“Quit pacing, boss.” Beverly grinned over at him from where she was messing with her phone.
“Are you playing solitare?”
“Bejeweled. You’re making me nervous.”
“Yeah, right.” Bev wasn’t the nervous type. Stubborn, yes. Emotional, sure. But not nervous.
Sebastian plopped down in a chair, foot tapping. “Am I busy this afternoon?”
“You’re co-hosting something at the EXSTV station. Most extreme singers. Alan Oliver asked, you said yes.”
“I did?” He did like the man, snowboarders were a fun group, even if they snacked a lot.
He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. God, he was so fucking tired of this shit, all of it. The interviews, the mess, the way Jack was on his back, all the time, about getting his face out there, dating some girl he had no interest in fucking.
Maybe he should see if Bev wanted to date.
He stopped, pondered that a minute. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. It would keep the media off his back, Bev put up with all his shit anyway. He could take her out, spin her around, let people take pictures of her.
He looked over at Bev. “Hey, Bevvy…”
“No.” She didn’t even look up from her game.
“Whatever it is, no. I’m not interested. I don’t get paid enough. I don’t want to. It’s against my religion. No.”
“But you don’t even…”
“I don’t have to. You have evil written on your shirt.”
He actually looked at his t-shirt. It said, “Real Men Last Eight Seconds”. Sebastian grinned, the smile just growing and growing on his face. She was amazing.
It was no wonder he kept her around.
“I love you, Bev.”
“Uh-huh. You love pineapple and guitars. Me, you use for your own nefarious purposes.”
He nodded. “But I pay well.”
Jack’s door opened, the old man standing there. “Sorry, son. Phone call. How do you feel about Tokyo?”
“I wouldn’t be the shortest man there, and they have shrimp.” That was the best he could do, on short notice.
“Good. Come on in.”
He stood, rolling his head on his shoulders. “I don’t have long, Jack. I have a TV thing.”
Grateful for everything, but… he could use a nap in the worst way.
Sebastian's story is in Fighting Addiction -- http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=3702