Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [10]
“Scouting trips are fun, but once an act is signed, your job will include a lot of hand-holding. You’ll answer questions, pump them up when they’re worried, do your damnedest to make sure the work stays true to their vision and ours, accompany them to media gigs, celebrate with them when their CD hits the shelves, and be available to take phone calls at two a.m. when they’re just not feelin’ the love. You’re basically the performer’s connection to Blue Night. Professionally. Artistically. Emotionally. And while you’re holding all these hands, you’re still out there listening for the next new sound that might be a little too left of center for BMG or Sony. Think you can handle all that?”
The truth was, Brenna hadn’t realized the far-reaching aspects of the job. But she could handle it. In fact, old Brenna had always been a pretty good hand-holder by nature. So she said, “Absolutely,” and he flashed a sexy grin in reply, making her pussy surge anew.
“Good answer,” he said. “Because all that was designed to make you balk, even though it’s true—and you passed the test.”
She raised her eyebrows, still confident, almost even flirtatious. “Will there be lots of these? Tests?”
He leaned back slightly, brown eyes seeming to size her up. But this look was about more than sex appeal—it was about whether she could do the job. He finally gave a succinct head shake. “I can already tell you’re a pro. From here on out, it’s all about teaching you the business.”
Brenna’s chest tightened with the pleasure of having earned his respect. Not to mention the pleasure of just being able to look at him and soak up all that male beauty.
After their entrees arrived, Damon regaled her with stories behind some of their biggest successes—where he’d found them and what had made him want to sign them. “I can’t teach that kind of instinct,” he said, cutting into his filet mignon, “but I can tell you what I was thinking, feeling—and hope you’ll glean something from it.”
Darkness was falling, the bright lights of the Vegas Strip starting to make the night glow, and traffic on the boulevard grew heavier as people set out for the evening. When another of those moving billboards came to a stop just beyond the sidewalk next to them, Brenna couldn’t help glancing up to see a doe-eyed brunette, topless, her hands barely covering her voluminous breasts. LONELY? CALL ME, the sign said.
Like before, it jarred her. It wasn’t surprising that Las Vegas was crawling with “escorts,” but it was somehow surprising to see the evidence so very out there, a blatant reminder that people came here to sin among the neon.
“Something wrong?” Damon asked, drawing her gaze back to his.
Swell—she’d been caught gaping at an ad for prostitution. “Just a little taken aback,” she admitted. “I’ve never been to a place like this before.”
“You’ve never been to Vegas?” He sounded surprised.
“No, I’m a Sin City virgin. Or I was until today.”
“So what do you think of it?” He tilted his head, appearing truly curious.
Glancing up the Strip, where she could see New York, New York and the Excalibur, spires and towers gleaming in the night, all that light somehow beckoning, she said, “It’s glossy on the top, but dirty underneath. It’s…seamy, yet somehow alluring.”
He pressed his lips together, nodding, clearly absorbing her response.
“It’s got a bit of a wreck-on-the-highway quality to it,” she went on. “With a wreck, you know you won’t like what you see, but you still have to look. Here, you know what you find may not be pretty, but you’re going to immerse yourself in it anyway.”
Draining his second glass of wine, he asked, “And how is it that an L.A. girl has never been to Las Vegas?”
Indeed, Vegas was a quick weekend getaway from the coast for lots of people, and sort of a home-away-from-home for the entertainment industry. “I’m not really an L.A. girl,” she explained. “I just moved west from