I gasp over his rudeness, although his voice doesn’t seem mean or antagonistic.
Before I can even respond, he adds on, “Because I apologized to you last night. I also would have assured you that it wouldn’t happen again, but you walked away from me back into the bedroom, which of course prevented me from saying that.”
My shoulders sag back into the original position they were in before my dad called. “You’re right,” I mumble as I look at the laptop. “I remember that.”
“Emma?” Evan says in a low voice that sounds sympathetic.
I look back up at him.
“I’m sorry. I’ll respect your space from now on, and no partying on this bus. I promise.”
“Okay,” I say meekly. “Thank you for that.”
“Sure,” is all he says, and then pulls his coffee cup from the Keurig and takes a small sip.
“So did you stay out late partying?” I can’t help but ask. He apparently came in very quietly as I didn’t hear a thing after I fell back asleep. Still, I will admit my mind has wandered, wondering what he and those other people did after they left. I know that woman with them wanted to play strip poker and the thought of Evan getting naked with her makes me feel unsettled for some weird reason.
“Maybe another hour,” he says casually, but doesn’t elaborate, instead walking over to the couch where he pushes his blanket to the side and sits down gingerly so as not to spill his coffee.
Hmm. You could do a lot in an hour when you were inebriated.
Turning back to the laptop, I exit from the browser and pull up the first record label contract that Evan had emailed to me. My goal today is to read through all three of the offers made to him, and take copious notes so I can compare them all against one another.
“Do you want to come to the show tonight?” Evan asks casually.
A tiny jolt of surprised pleasure pulses within me, but I push it down hard. He’s just being polite, nothing more.
“No thanks,” I tell him as I lean closer to the laptop screen and focus on the first line of the contract. “It’s just not my thing.”
“Concerts aren’t your thing?” he asks conversationally.
I push back into my chair and swivel it halfway to face him. “Well, yeah… I mean, I’ve gone to concerts with friends before, but it would be weird sitting out there watching by myself.”
“You can watch from backstage if you want,” he offers, and then takes another sip of coffee, looking at me over the rim of the cup with those swirling, magnetic hazel eyes that are only enhanced by dark, thick lashes to the point—
I give my head a hard shake to clear it, and turn back to the laptop as I hedge, “I’ll think about it.”
There’s a knock on the bus door, and Evan gets up to see who the visitor is. With a push to a button by the driver’s seat, the doors open with a hiss, and I hear Evan say, “What’s up, man?”
“Just checking in,” I hear in response.
I swivel my chair around to face the front of the bus. Evan is walking back in, followed by a guy who looks to be roughly Evan’s age, maybe a few years older. I know from reading his biography that Evan’s twenty-seven and this guy could be late twenties, early thirties. He’s got cropped, sandy-blond hair and ice-blue eyes that look at me over Evan’s shoulder.
“Want some coffee?” Evan asks over his shoulder.
“I’m good,” the guy responds.
Evan sits back down on the couch. With his empty hand, he waves toward me. “Tyler Hannity… this is Emma Peterson.”
Tyler moves past Evan and extends his hand out to me. I stand from my chair and offer my hand back to him. He gives me a brisk shake and says, “Nice to meet you. I’m Evan’s manager.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I say.
When we release hands, Tyler takes a few steps back, plops down in one of the swivel chairs, and addresses Evan. “They’ll be ready for a sound check and for you to walk the stage around three PM. I’ve got dinner being delivered to you around six. You’ll need to be over in the dressing room by at least eight.”
“Got it,” Evan says, and even though his voice is firm and sure, I don’t miss the hard swallow after. I imagine he’s got to be nervous.
Tyler then turns to me. “Emma… we’ve set up a small press gathering at seven-thirty. Evan will do most of the talking, but any questions about Keith’s death or the copyright lawsuit will be taken by you.”
“By me?” I squeak, even though I knew this was part of the deal. I was to act as a publicist for Evan as well, particularly regarding any sticky questions that could impact him legally.
Tyler doesn’t answer me but turns to Evan. “Is she qualified to talk to the press?”
“Yup,” is all Evan says in response, and that does nothing to boost my confidence.
Tyler just stares at Evan a moment, trying to ascertain how truthful he’s being about my abilities, but then he turns back to me. “Have you gone over the label contracts yet?”