Waking Up in Vegas(35)

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“How was your first night?”

“What?” I stared at Carmen, sitting behind the reception desk.

“Jensen staying at your place. How’d it go?”

Sweet Christ on a tricycle, was nothing even remotely private in this place? Not that her sleeping in my guest room (or on my sofa, as it were) was a big deal, but still. “Oh, that,” I said, making it perfectly clear that Jen in my house wasn’t the foremost thought in my head. “She brought pizza and our dogs seem to like each other.”

Carmen’s smile seemed a little too bright. And much as I’d like to tell you Or maybe that was only me, I knew it wasn’t. If I know anything in this world, it’s people of the female persuasion, and this particular female thought she knew a secret.

Hah. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. Move along, Little Miss Receptionist, move along.

Jensen breezing down the hall into the reception area saved me from actually saying that out loud.

“Morning, Carmen. Why are you in so early?”

I was wondering that myself. The reception area was normally empty when I got the previous day’s mail and messages at seven a.m. Which was exactly why I did it then.

“I guess you haven’t read your memos yet. You’ve got a really big-name interview coming up next week, so I have to tidy up the whole front area.”

I glanced around the lobby; it all looked fine to me. Even the leaves on the plants were shiny and dust-free.

Carmen had apparently noticed me looking. “I know, it doesn’t need a thing. But BK is freaking on it, so he ordered me in early. I can sit around and drink coffee while he pays me overtime—no sweat.”

A squeal sounded from my left and I turned to catch Jensen bouncing on her toes, an enormous grin plastered on her face. “Did you see this yet?” She shook a piece of paper in my general direction.

I scanned my copy. “JT Blackwood from Slanker Knox? He’s been in before. Nice guy.”

“My God, I’m going to babble like an idiot. We never got, like, really famous people in KC.”

“You do know he’s married, Jen.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep with him.” She scowled at me and went on, “It’s just that he’s world-famous, and I’ve ever only interviewed local celebrities.”

“You could send him over to The Morning Crew if he’s too much for you two.” I hadn’t noticed when Milo arrived. If I had, I’d have been irritated sooner.

“We’re fine. You won’t be getting a ratings boost off our backs, Emilio.” I knew he hated his first name as much as I despised mine, so of course, I used it whenever possible. “Besides, Slanker Knox isn’t even in your station’s rotation—why would you interview their lead singer?”

In typical Milo fashion, he was reduced to walking away without another word.

Too bad. I wanted to rub his face in my and Jen’s ever-increasing demographics. And the fact that JT and I were acquaintances who traded dirty jokes via email.

Freaking Milo. Hard to believe I shared a studio with that guy for a couple of years and not one bit of personality rubbed off on him. I didn’t expect him to be a Mini-Me, but for chrissake, did he still have to be Velveeta and mayo on white bread?

Jen and Carmen were squealing and drooling over the mere idea of JT Blackwood and his English accent, so I left to go back to the studio; we had several songs queued up to play, but I was still leery about trusting the software completely. That’s what I told them, anyway. Truth was, those two needed a time-out in the Sexual Harassment Lounge far more than I did.



Jen and I had our usual smalltalk in the booth—at first. It sort of petered out by nine into an easy quiet. I was scanning news headlines; I have no idea what Jensen was up to on her side of the counter.

I was a little startled when she interrupted the silence with, “Tack?”

I looked at her over the top of my laptop screen with raised eyebrows, the universal guy-face for “What?”

“Are you heading straight home?”

“Almost. We need more coffee and milk. Why?” Look at me with all the we and shit.

“I was thinking of swinging by my condo after work to make sure they got started on time, and wanted to make sure you’d be home to let me in after.”

I realized we hadn’t addressed much since Come to my house, I have a spare bed. “No sweat, Jen. My mom has a spare key for when I go out of town. I’ll pick that up on the way home, too.”

She just sort of stared at me for a moment, and I swear I couldn’t define the look in her eyes if you put a gun to my head. “That’d be great. Thanks, Tack.”