Off Stage: Right excerpt
This is a small taste of Jamie Samms story ; Off Stage: Right excerpt.
Off Stage: Right excerpt:
THE lobby lights were killer on Damian’s eyes, although the elevator’s dim interior was much gentler as he rode sixteen stories up to the top floor of the building. He stepped out into a small but expensively appointed reception area. Everything was white and chrome and painful. There were windows on all sides, and it was all he could do to hold in a groan.
Judging from the smirk on the receptionist’s face, she probably thought he was hung over. Migraines never got the respect they deserved, but he was here, only a bit late, and he’d be damned if any of them were going to get his goat. Let them think whatever the hell they wanted. It didn’t have to be true.
Well. It didn’t have to be true all the time, and it just so happened that today, it wasn’t. Today, he had a migraine from hell that was going to kill him, but he hadn’t wimped out. Now if this dumbass agent could get his shit together any time soon….
The outer office door opened and Damian turned to see country music star Vance Ashcroft saunter in.
Damian wasn’t dead yet, and he’d have to be not to appreciate muscle- bound sex-in-cowboy-boots walking past.
Oh, he did not just say howdy. That shouldn’t be sexy.
Damian sank back into the couch. The migraine haze should be filtering out the way the singer’s deep voice vibrated against Damian’s chest in the small room. It had been way too long since he’d gotten laid, obviously. This guy should be too old and too straight to trip Damian’s gaydar.
Vance’s gaze raked over him, and sweat formed on Damian’s upper lip. Migraine shakes coming on, he told himself, forcibly turning his attention away from the man and schooling his expression to boredom. The singer didn’t stop, but took the coffee from the receptionist’s hand and swaggered into the inner office without even knocking.
Damian had done his homework, so he knew this agent had high- profile clients. Not many of them, but the word was, he picked and chose who he worked with very carefully. He went for quality over quantity. He had four clients that Damian could find out about. Those four were doing better than all right.
His speculation passed the time, because when he next looked up, it was to see Ashcroft leaving the inner office. This time, the musician didn’t even glance Damian’s way as he strolled out, leaving a wave and a panting receptionist in his wake. The office door closed again and nothing else happened.
So it was to be an object lesson in waiting his turn. The tactic annoyed Damian, but he propped his feet up on the coffee table and let the couch cushions cradle his aching skull. He could wait. They didn’t have to know he was pissed. Besides, it wasn’t going to hurt anything to listen to what the guy had to say. He could always stick with the representation he had. Anything, even second billing, was better than doing the band’s bookings himself, or dealing with a dick.
Eventually, Krane wandered out of his office, coffee cup in hand, and poured himself a fresh mug.
If Damian thought the cowboy in his jeans and sports jacket fitting snugly across broad shoulders had been a bit of all right, this guy injected a whole new level of fine into the atmosphere.
The dark wool suit hugged his shoulders and hung in just the right way to hint the body beneath was muscled, toned, and very, very well formed. Damian’s mouth watered at the sight, almost like his head wasn’t splitting open.
“You want some coffee?” Krane asked over his shoulder, sparing a brief glance for Damian’s sprawled form.
“Two sugars,” Damian managed to say calmly. He knew he shouldn’t. The caffeine would only make his head pound worse, but if this guy wanted to keep him waiting, the least he could do was make Damian a cup of coffee, even if he wasn’t going to drink it. Besides. There was something about the way his hands moved, surely and smoothly through the task, that kept Damian’s attention fixed, as he examined the possibilities of those hands doing other things.
“Sorry to keep you.” Krane held out the freshly-made drink and smiled. A flash of straight white teeth between full lips, the bright overhead lighting flashing off intelligent brown eyes, and Damian found himself straightening and pushing out his chest, like he could compete with the other man’s broad build and heavy muscle. Despite the headache, Damian found himself staring and his palms sweating.
“Not a problem,” Damian replied, getting to his feet and accepting the drink. “I’m sure you have more than enough to keep you busy.” He congratulated himself on not showing his discomfort.
“Shall we?” Krane motioned toward the office.