Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell
Chapter 17
Angela Morales
“And now, you K-rockers listening out there, I’m opening the line for requests. You can also shoot us a message through the app.” I opened the phones, allowing a caller on the air. “Thanks for calling K-ROC. Who are we speaking with?”
“Uh, hi. My name is, uh, Mandy.” She sounded young, maybe sixteen or seventeen.
“Great, Mandy. What’s your special request, and do you want to dedicate it to anyone?” My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to program it for the next song. I loved the old-school way my station handled the music. Such nostalgia, yet technology still creeped its way in, but the other DJs and I tried to make it a seamless merge.
“Yeah, um”—she giggled—“can you play ‘Push All Night’ by Angry Gods?”
The breath caught in my lungs. No matter what I did, Viktor Farrow seemed to follow me, even if it was just his music and name.
I coughed and cleared my throat. “Sure thing.” Remembering how he belted the first verse out last night, forcing me to let him in unless I wanted the entire complex to hear, caused a small smile to curve my lips. “Anyone you want to dedicate it to?”
When he isn’t being an ass, he’s kind of sweet. What man had ever been so desperate to apologize to me that they’d threatened me with a song—and then followed through? Certainly not Jeff. His apologies were so empty and lame they’d meant nothing.
But then I remembered how Viktor had scoffed at my little apartment and made me feel so low compared to him. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.
“Yeah, do you think you could let Viktor know I’m in love with him, and if things don’t work out between you two, maybe you can put in a good word for me?”
I froze, unable to speak. Remember, I’m on air. Breathe. “I’ve got it loaded and ready to go, but just so everyone knows, there’s absolutely nothing going on between me and…” Swallowing, I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to say his name out loud because, even though he was the world’s biggest jackass, tingles coursed through me thinking about his soft eyes and how his name sounded in my mouth. “And Mr. Farrow. We’re colleagues who happen to frequent some of the same circles, that’s all. So, everyone speculating online might as well find something else to do because, believe me, I’m not looking. And even if I were, he’d be the last on my list.”
“Oh.” Mandy said. “Um. Okay. Thank you.” The line went dead.
I wanted to bash my head against the counter. Plodding through the callers, only five minutes remaining on my shift, I couldn’t wait to go home and curl up with a book and hot bubble bath.
The last song played and I leaned back and sighed, then yanked off the headset.
Johnny, the night DJ, walked through the doorway. “What’s shaking, Angie?” A mysterious smile played about his lips.
What’s he up to? “Not much, besides being the station’s hottest piece of gossip thanks to that jerk face Farrow.” I stood and stretched my arms to the ceiling.
“Well, Terri seems mighty pleased with everything.” He took my vacated seat, checked the time, then twisted to stare in my direction. Older by thirty years, Johnny’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles—the kind that happened after years of happiness and laughter. He was a good man and loved his job.
“Yeah, I can’t blame her. At least it’s bringing in some revenue.” I retrieved my purse. “Welp, I’m headed out. Remember, I’m off tomorrow. One of the university interns is filling in for me.”
“All right. You enjoy your time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winked. “Especially with Viktor Farrow.” His blue eyes twinkled with mirth.
Being mad with Johnny was impossible. “Well,” I deadpanned, “I’ll certainly keep that in mind.”
When my hand reached the doorknob, he spoke again. “Angela, I’ve been around the block a time or two. I was a young roadie for big bands back in the day, and I got to know people like Viktor. They’re under tremendous pressure to perform and deliver, and it’s easy to fall into all the trappings of a fast-paced life of stressful obligations.”
I frowned over my shoulder. “What are you trying to say?”
“He’s older now, and if the past couple of years are any indication, clean and sober. Why not give him a chance if he asks for it?” He adjusted the microphone and grabbed the headset. “Don’t we all deserve a little grace from heaven?”
“It’s not just that, Johnny. He’s an arrogant asshole who expects the entire world to drop at his feet and worship him.”
“So? Just because he expects it doesn’t mean that’s what he actually wants. He’s played a role his entire life. Maybe he needs someone to remind him that’s what it is—just a role.” Johnny twisted toward the monitor. “Or ignore me. Maybe I’m an old romantic fool with crazy notions.”
“You’re definitely not a fool, Johnny.” I thought about his words. They had a ring of truth and comfort. “It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m definitely not Farrow’s type, thank God.”
“I think you’re exactly the type he needs.” He grinned his secret smile. “He just doesn’t know it, yet.”
God, I hope I’m not his type. Inwardly, I shuddered and tried to forget the gorgeous line of women in Viktor’s past. After opening the door, I turned and gave Johnny a little wave. “Keep ’em rocking.”
“Night, Angie. Relax and ignore all the stories out there. The public will get bored soon enough and move on to someone else. You know how it is with celebrities and gossip.”
“I will. Good night.” I closed the door behind me and scurried to the front, mulling his words again. Maybe he was right about giving Viktor a chance, but it was too late. I’d already blocked him and cut the cord. Someone like Farrow would move on from me, a nobody with nothing to offer him.
A call vibrated my phone, and I peeked.
Unknown. No way am I answering that. For the first couple of months after moving here from Texas, I’d relied solely on my credit cards until I’d gotten this gig. The interest rates were killing me, and I struggled to keep up with the minimum payments. At least two or three times a week, a bill collector called.
They can leave a message. I couldn’t deal with any more drama this late into the evening.
My phone dinged with the incoming voicemail, and I stuffed it into my purse. I’ll give them something tomorrow to keep them off my back.
I unlocked the front door and stepped outside into the cooling night air, turning the key in the lock once more and giving the handle a tug to ensure it was secure on the outside. The single light post near the entryway reflected off the station’s tinted windows, bathing my hands in a warm glow.
Off in the distance, a pack of coyotes howled, their high yips bouncing across the flat desert, sounding closer than they probably were.
“Evening, Angel.”
I jumped a foot into the air and yelped, my keys jangling in my hand.
The smooth, accented voice could only belong to one person. Viktor Farrow.
My heart did a somersault, then tried to pound its way through my sternum.
Oh, shit.