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so forward with him, as if I could go head to head with this kind of guy.
    But he pissed me off and turned me on at the same time, and I wanted him to know that. I wasn't going to let him push me around, like everyone else had always done. I was through being the person who rolled over and begged for more when someone made me feel bad or confused or upset. If the past four years hadn't made me a stronger person, nothing would.
    Hudson swerved into the short term parking garage and swung the car into the nearest spot. "I expect you to act like a professional," he said stiffly, turning off the car. The engine shuddered to a halt, but my engine was still going a hundred miles an hour. "I only wanted to underscore the fact that you'd have to deal with people who are rude and possibly want to harm you."
    "I've been harmed," I said. "I can handle myself. Don't try to teach me any lessons, by the way, unless you're sure I haven't already learned them." Unbuckling my seat belt I opened the car door and got out.
    God, it felt good to tell a jerk off. He may have been very pretty and I may be aching between my legs to fuck him with abandon, but that didn't mean I had to put up with bullshit. I'd thrown him off balance, just like I wanted, and when he got out of the car with me he wouldn't meet my eye. That was good, because my face was probably as red as stoplight.
    "Let's go," he said, his voice clipped. "We'll be late." And he took off at a pace even more brisk than before.
    I ran a hand through my hair and hurried behind him toward the check-in counter. I wasn't going to let him lose me. I wasn't going to be intimidated. I was going to win this job, and when I got it, maybe I would laugh and rip up his contract and throw it in his face. Yeah. That would feel good.
    Setting my jaw, I jogged after him.
    ––––––––
    D aniel didn't make it to the airport on time, so it was just Randy, me, and Kent boarding the plane to Vegas. Our seats were scattered over the plane, and I scored one right over the wing. I hadn't really planned to go on a plane trip so I didn't have a book with me, and I'd chewed through the money Rose had slapped into my hand already—LA is expensive—so I had to sit in my seat and stare out the window at the jiggling wing as we climbed into the sky. I hate how plane wings jiggle. It always makes me think they are about to fall off. That'd make a great headline, but would be a bad way to go.
    Kent Hudson hadn't talked to me the entire time we sat in the boarding area. This was partly because I think I managed to actually shame him somewhat, but mostly because Randy couldn't stop jawing away at him about all his contacts in the industry and how this job would be his big break, thanks for considering him, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
    It was embarrassing. I'm not industry bigwig, but even I could tell that Randy was committing a huge faux pas. Kent sat in his seat scrolling through his phone, clearly bored and annoyed with the entire situation while I surreptitiously looked up information about the band on the internet.
    The Lonely Kings of Lifeless Things took their name from the poem Ozymandias. The lead singer, Sonya, came from a classical background, their drummer had been a prodigy percussionist, and Kent and Carter Hudson had both grown up in LA under the tutelage of their manager father. Everything he knew about the industry, Kent said—according to Wikipedia, that is—came from their dad. Kent played the bass and managed the band while Carter was the guitarist. He was the one who actually wrote the songs.
    They'd been together for almost five years now, but had only recorded their debut commercial album a year ago. They got lucky and it launched into the stratosphere on the first try. The major record label that signed them was rumored to be making bank off their deal, but I suspected that while Kent had a nice car and nice clothes, the rest of the band was like most bands—barely getting by.