Page 22 of Fame & Obsession

“Ditto. But you’re calling me at work in the middle of the day so this must have to do with Castellano.”

Damn, he’s good. “Lucky guess?”

“Habitual guess. Now, spill.” Gage’s voice lowers with concern.

“He gave me a feature article.” I sigh, hugging one knee to my chest.

“That rat bastard!”

I twirl sharply in my chair. “I’m serious!”

“So am I.” Frustration edges his tone. “I thought getting more responsibility was the plan?”

“It’s not thewhat, Gage, it’s the why.” I fill him in onVinyl’shierarchy and Castellano’s cryptic weirdness about required equipment.

“Well, it does sound a little out of left field,” he agrees. “But sometimes you just have to take the barista by the balls and say, ‘fuck it.’”

“I thought the expression was take the bull by the horns?”

“I thought I was having a hot, Italian cappuccino maker for lunch. I was wrong too.”

Talking with Gage fixes my crappy mood, and I’m about to return the favor. Smiling, I run my fingers along the edge of my desk. “So along with this little assignment of mine, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I’m not getting dragged on another assignment, Pheebs. One a week’s my limit.”

I grin, twirling a piece of hair that escaped my updo. “No problem. I’ll find someone else to go with me to the Lords of Lyre album release party.”

“Shut. Your. Face! You’d better not be lying. YouknowI’ll throw myself at their feet.”

“You don’t say?” My sarcasm is lost in the throes of his excitement.

“Whatever. We really get to go?” His voice shakes with excitement.

“We really get to go.” With my disinterest evident, I brace for backlash, but Gage holds his tongue.

“Chin up, baby doll. You can enjoy the epic sight of me getting turned down by a gorgeous and very straight rock god.”

Feeling victorious over making my best friend’s day, I promise to text him later. Finally centered, I focuse my attention back on writing my article.

* * *

By six o’clock, I’ve finally finished the Prime article. After three obsessive rounds of spellcheck, I’ve just sent it to Castellano when my phone vibrates with an incoming text from Gage.

How’s the pickled liver? You still vertical?

Grinning, I type my response one-handed while closing out my workstation.

For now. Liver still attached. How’re tricks?

I ride alone in the elevator from the seventeenth floor to the lobby. As I step out, a text buzzes again.

Tricks are tricky. Parker coming for dinner. Chinese okay with you?

I can’t stop myself.

Fine. Who’s Parker?

Old Navy Guy.