It was Razer, one of the rockers who played at the club. Of course, it was Razer. The staff here knew better than to interrupt me and most of the bands didn’t even know this office existed.
"Razer, what the hell are you doing in here? Get the fuck out."
I’d told him a bunch of times not to disturb me at work but he never listened.
"Settle down. I'd just dropped by to see if you could slot us in soon. We need to play some more gigs. We're getting restless."
The bulk of him in the doorway blocked the light from outside. He was a big guy, the kind of guy women swoon over, if you like that kind of thing. Tall and dark, with chiseled cheekbones, close-cropped hair, and a hard body covered with tattoos kind of thing, I mean.
I knew women who'd kill for a night with Razer but I wouldn't be joining that queue. Razer was like an annoying older brother to me and I wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want him looking hot in my office.
"More like you've run out of money. And there's this invention. It's pretty amazing. It's called the telephone. You should look into it sometime. And, hey, once you master that, you can move on to this other amazing thing called the Internet. In fact, there are heaps of amazing devices you can use to communicate with people nowadays without ever having to leave your house. Go try them and I'll see if I can fit you in somewhere."
He grinned. “You’re so cute when you’re cranky.”
That crack made me look for my other boot. He knew stuff like that only annoyed me.
He ducked. “Sorry,” he said with a grin.
I rubbed my eyes, all hope of sleep gone now. It was fine for guys like Razer. They could nap when they wanted. Seriously, if you want to ask someone a favor, you should do it by letting them sleep.
After helping Drew and doing my own work, I’d only managed to get a two-hour sleep break and now Razer ruined that.
Razer moved into the room and leaned against my desk. He let a lazy grin unfold over his face, like that could charm me.
I’d let him know more than once that I never dated rockers. Never slept with them. Never even swapped spit. I'd been in this job long enough to know what a bunch of screwed up, egotistical jerks they were. Some of them might seem okay at first but that's just because they've learned to hide it better than others.
I had a job to do and there was a hard line between work and play. Don't shit where you eat. Even if I’d been the tiniest bit tempted, Chuck made it loud and clear what the rules of this job were. And there was no way I’d put my job on the line by getting on Chuck’s bad side.
I got why Razer was hanging around. Things were slow at his day job and he had nothing to do until his bandmates got off work and they could rehearse. Even if he did annoy me, he’d jumped in and gave me a hand when I’d had to move a bunch of equipment around in the band room last week. He was as much a part of this place as anyone, even if he didn’t officially work here.
He moved so close, I could smell him. Even my nose was being invaded by him. Rockers, they have this smell. You pick it up even if a dude is behind the counter in the bank working his day job. Something like the lingering undertones of sour mash whiskey mixed with late nights and an overinflated sense of self-worth.
I always found it strange that Razer didn’t have that smell.
I'd seen him on stage, singing and playing guitar, and he could sure rock the hell out of the place. Nothing missing there, that's for sure. When he was on stage, even I gave him a second glance. Occasionally. When no one was looking. So why didn’t he smell like a rocker?
"Is that all you wanted?" I said, waving him away.
"Yeah, that's all I wanted. Is there anything wrong with that?" Then he winked.
When Razer winked, his face fell into sexy creases and his slight dimple showed out. That damn dimple. It gave him a boyish charm that softened his whole look and stopped him from seeming like nothing more than a mountain of muscle.
"Yeah, there is something wrong with that. You know everything is wrong with that. Because you are overstepping your boundaries. This is my office and – stop looking at me."
He leaned over with a cheeky leer in his eyes. "Well, you are sitting there in those skimpy little shorts. You have amazing legs, Violet. A man could write songs dedicated to your legs. Although I’d write them about your eyes..."
"Do you want to ever play a gig here again? Because if the answer to that is yes, you will stop talking right now."
The leer left his eyes to be replaced with concern.
“You should be careful. You never know who is going to come in here and see you like that.”
“Nobody comes in here, except you and Carlie and sometimes Drew. And you really shouldn’t be in here.”
“What about Chuck?” Razer added.
I sighed. “Well, yeah. That is a problem but my skimpy shorts are the least of it. Just his general Chuck-ness is enough. And I’m not his type. You’ve seen the women he has hanging around. The blonde hair, bimbo type who are so int