Page 12 of My UnTrue Love
It had taken a bit of time, but Bill’s methodical approach had worked. Getting to know Johnny some, it was inevitable that the unmitigated asshole would sink himself. Bill had just hurried things along by drilling holes in the boat. …And he planned to keep on drilling.
Bad enough that Johnny had tried to lay claim to Bill’s stolen-mate, before Bill even met her. Bill was still a mite put-out about that, truth be told. But then Johnny went and fired Clem. Made her cry. Cut her out of the band she’d helped to found. Bill didn’t appreciate that. So now that motherfucker was going to drown with Bill’s boot on his head, holding him beneath the waves.
In a quiet, indirect kinda way.
“Now, don’t be nervous.” Clementine told him earnestly. The two of them were walking down the wooden sidewalk, past the Saloon District’s numerous music venues. This early in the day, most were dark and quiet. “Just be your usual charming self and everything will be fine.”
“My usual self ain’t real charming.”
Clementine laughed like he was kidding with her.
“I’m not kidding with you.” Bill stressed. “I can’t be charming. I’m the opposite of charming. I’m whatever word ‘uncharming’ is.”
“That’s not true. You’re charming to me, all the time.”
Bill doubted that. A lot. “If I’m ever somehow charming with you, it’s because you’re Clem. And nobody else is Clem. Nobody else is evenclose. So, I won’t be charming with them.” It was best she didn’t get her hopes up about his social skills.
Green eyes flashed up to his face and she gave him a shy smile.
Damn if the heart-coyotes-weren’t- supposed-to-have didn’t flip over in his chest. He cleared his throat. “I think you should be the one who negotiates with this Dinah lady.”
“Dinah thinks I’m ditzy.” Clem wrinkled her nose. “I guess because I look… ya know… like a muse.”
“Nothing wrong with how you look.” Bill assured her with total conviction. “Not a damn thing.”
She sent him a grateful glance. “Most folks aren’t as high-minded as you are. You probably don’t even notice appearances.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed yours.”
“So many others make snap judgments, based only on how a person looks.” Clem went on, blithely unaware of his lustful thoughts. “That’s why muses are stereotyped as kind of airheads. We don’t look like serious businesswomen. And Dinah’s known me for so long that I’ll always be ten years old to her. She’ll talk like I’m not even in the room, if I let her.”
“So you won’t let her.” Bill didn’t like it when Clem felt intimidated. He enjoyed her spunky, cheery bossiness and he respected her knowledge of music. “I support professional women.” Maybe his ma would’ve made different choices if she’d had more job opportunities. “You’re the best manager there is. You know what you’re doing in this business, as well as anybody.”
She firmed her jaw. “You’re right. It’s time for me to be my most assertive. I don’t want Dinah to bully you.”
“Impossible. I know my manager will keep me safe.”
Bill was ambivalent about working for this scary woman and even more ambivalent about building his new solo career. He was pretty damn sure his guitar playing wouldn’t come to anything. He’d only joined The Yellow Roses because he fancied a certain blonde.
One look at Clem and he’d seen his whole future.
Wherever she was going, he was headed there, too. If Clementine had favored glassblowers, he would have developed an abiding passion for making crystal paperweights. For whatever reason, the guitar seemed to interest his Clem, so he’d instantly become a professional guitar player. Not a hardship. He liked music. Give Bill an instrument and he could play anything. But there was no way in the world he’d ever be a star.
Bill allowed Clementine to herd him through the swinging doors of The Kitchen. It was a large, open space, with a bar on one side and a stage on the other. Overhead, a wagon wheel chandelier flickered. Round tables were set up around the perimeter. Sawdust covered the dance floor, pictures of country music celebrities decorated the walls, and it seemed like songs were soaked into every surface.
It gave him a weird feeling in his gut to be standing there.
It was only 10 am, so the saloon was deserted. There were just two men visible. One was a satyr. He let out a wolf-whistle from where he was sweeping the stage. “Come perform some magic on me, little muse! I got somehugeinspiration for you!” He made a thrusting motion against his broom and laughed.
Clem’s lips compressed into an unhappy line. “Shut up, Dusty. I don’t have time to deal with you.”
Bill hadplentyof time to deal with him. He didn’t much appreciate the man’s sexist remarks or the way Clem tensed under his leering gaze.
He didn’t appreciate it,a’tall.
Bill’s head swiveled to look at Dusty, his eyes beginning to glow coyote-blue. “I believe you just upset my manager.” He said very calmly. “Apologize.”
It belatedly dawned on Dusty that Clementine was standing next to a coyote-shifter. That the coyote-shifter had his hand possessively resting on the small of Clem’s back. That the coyote-shifter wasfucking pissed offto have another man harassing his stolen-mate.
