Page 7 of The Fix
The manager nods, one hand massaging the ache from his snapped suspender.
“And keep it away from Jeffers?” I confirm with a quirked brow. “Are you sure?”
“Should be easy enough. Otherwise, he might open his mouth at the wrong time.”
Said every overly confident entrepreneur ever.
Chapter Four
Toby
“Dude, you gotta do something with that beard.”
I slap away Mac’s hands and grunt when he reaches across the bucket seat we share, aiming for my face again. “I’ll bite ’em, twinkle nuts.”
“Oh, you noticed?” Mac’s cheesy grin lights up his face as he leans back and arches his hips into the air. “I’ll tell J—”
“Seat belt.” The single growl from the passenger seat of our SUV has Mac slamming back into the seat and laughing.
“Seriously, Tyro,” Mac calls up to his bodyguard. “Tell Tob his beard is garbage attached to his face.”
“Fuck you.” I run a hand down the facial hair being harassed and flip a middle finger to Mac. “They’re not going to see our faces. It’s a damn radio interview.”
“Annnnd,” Mac draws, his eyebrow quirked high enough to disappear behind his bandana, “a fucking meet and greet after. Duh. Where have you been?”
“Not listening, clearly.” The quip comes from the driver this time, the seat filled with none other than Sentry’s second-in-command and the absolute pain in my ass—Lugh.
He’s no fun.
“I was listening,” I rebut, but then lose track of what we were talking about. “What’s this meet and greet shit?”
Mac bursts out in a laugh that has him slapping his knee. “Holy fuck, Tob.”
It takes more than a few minutes for Mac’s hysterics to die off enough for our bodyguards to resume their run down of the events before we park and walk in.
Talking with Nitro from Reaper Radio—live on air.
Answer stupid questions.
Get thrown into a room with a few people who paid a lot of money to see us.
Sign shit.
Go home.
Easy.
We pull up to a back entrance where another SUV is already parked next to a Prius and my top lip curls instinctively.
We’re ushered inside the brick building, with our bodyguards behind us. Mac leads the way down the long hall that looks familiar, but I can’t place it.
“You’ve got twenty minutes,” a female voice fills the space the moment Mac opens the door and leads us into a green room. “Read the questions, your answers are already prepped. Just say what’s on the cards and leave it at that. Oh, good—you two made it in one piece.”
I roll my eyes at the snarky comment from the woman I still have yet to see through the group when Mac passes me a card baton-style that has only two answers written neatly in handwriting I definitely recognize.
Shit.
“No one will see you during this interview, so if you get stumped, pass it to a bandmate or deflect.” Mac finally steps aside enough for me to stand shoulder to shoulder with him as he does the same with his twin brother on the other side.