He looked me over and pursed his lips before focusing on Indie. “He just needed a minute.”
“How long ago did he need this minute?” I asked.
He twirled a Sharpie through his fingers. “And you are?”
Keys snatched the marker from him. “She’s a suit. Can’t you tell?”
He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “So, suit—what are you doing here? And why do you give a shit where Hunter is?”
I tipped my head back to meet his gaze. Show no weakness. “Because it’s my job.”
His eyes flicked to Indie. “That true?”
“Mr. Lewis has hired Ms. McManus—”
“Kennedy,” I said. There was no way I was going to get in close to this group by being Ms. McManus. Sometimes that worked—depending on the client. Some needed that business side, some needed to know I was on their side. I went with instinct here.
“All right, Kennedy is here to capitalize on the press we’re getting because of Hunter.”
Keys rolled her eyes. “It used to be fun to bust his balls about the magazine, but now he just snarls.”
That was good to know. Unfortunate, but good to know. “He may hate the attention, but you guys want to use the spotlight for the album. That’s what matters. Any way to get ahead of the rest is a good thing.”
“Tell him that,” Keys muttered.
I couldn’t tell if the jealousy thing was going to be an issue yet. Right now, they just seemed protective. That, I could work with.
“So, where is he?” Indie asked. She took off her hat and swatted Hudson with it. “Wyatt, come on.”
He sighed. “You know where he is.”
Indie’s shoulders sagged. “Great.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Keys grinned. “Check the kitchen.”
“The what?” The Ace Hotel was one of the largest establishments in the city. It had multiple bars, restaurants, not to mention hotel rooms.
Indie looked around and fisted her hands. “I don’t have time for this. We released more tickets this morning thanks to a few radio spots, and a last minute fan club thing. I have over two thousand fans waiting for these guys.”
“I’ll find him.” I held up a hand. “I’ve been babysitting actors and musicians for over five years. I can handle him.”
Wyatt pressed his lips together, but didn’t say a word. He just turned on his heel and went back to the couch with the stack of glossies waiting for him to sign. There were cases of actual records sitting on table, as well as a precious box of the Rolling Stone magazine.
I was tempted to snag a few more copies, but I didn’t. That box would build even more of a frenzy for fans that were salivating over getting a copy. And if Hunter had to scrawl his signature over his very flattering pair of jeans all night, he might as well get some happy faces to go with it.
I crossed the stage, down the stairs, and then back out to the theater seating. The seats were filling up. Fans were on their phones taking selfies and video. I snapped a few shots with my iPad and posted it to the Ripper Records Instagram as I walked up the aisle to the lobby.
Hammered was trending on Facebook and a bunch of hashtags were multiplying on Twitter. I checked Keys’s Instagram and saw that she was definitely killing it there. The band Instagram, however, needed work.
When I got through the lobby into the main part of the hotel, I spotted a harried man in his fifties. Had to be a manager. “Excuse me, sir.”
He turned to me, his face dotted with sweat at the temples and forehead. “Yes, what can I do for you?”
“I’m working with the band.” I flashed my lanyard. “Could you tell me where the kitchen is?”
He took out a colorful red and blue handkerchief from his pocket. I had a feeling it had been a pocket square when the day started. He blotted over his lip. “Why do you ask?”
Okay, definitely getting warmer. I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice. “Hunter likes to cook. Fancies himself a chef of sorts.” I was ad-libbing my ass off, but when the man’s brow smoothed I knew I was on the right track. I glanced at his discreet tag. “Mr. LoBrutto, I just want to make sure he gets back to where he’s supposed to be without too much fanfare. If you could just let me know where he is, I’ll take care of it for you.”
I smiled brightly, widened my eyes just a touch so I looked as sweet and non-threatening as possible. It worked because the guy practically sagged into a puddle.
“Past the bar is a back entrance into the kitchen for the restaurant. I don’t know how he got back there, but he’s…” He trailed off.
Because he was a nightmare. My last client had a penchant for stealing cars. I could deal with this one, no problem. I patted his arm. “I’ll take care of it.”