I could try talking to him again, I thought. But given the track record between us so far, I’d probably sooner convince a pig to fly than convince Jax to find a different "challenge" elsewhere. Feeling awful about the whole situation, I decided cleaning myself up might help calm my nerves.

Searching the first floor, I found my luggage in a small storage area, pulled out a spare skirt and tank top, and went to the bathroom to put them on. Because I was still covered in muddy water, I did a quick rinse of my hair and makeup. And then I reached into my purse for a badly needed lifesaver and ate it. When I finally came out, I was surprised to find a girl waiting for me.

"Hello! I’m Sky," she said with a light, lilting voice. Her figure was slim, and she was wearing black yoga pants with a matching tank top. Her tightly braided bleach blonde hair made her look like she had walked out of a punk video, but her huge, fawn-brown eyes softened the effect. "I heard you’re our new accountant. And that you saved Jax!"

I’d been expecting Chewie to give me a tour since I’d met him earlier, or at least a guy, but I didn’t realize there was a girl in the band. There were a lot of things I didn’t realize because I had been so focused on Jax that night at the bar. Otherwise I would’ve recognized Chewie the moment I met him.

"Hi, I’m Riley," I said. I smiled and extended my hand. "He was exaggerating about the life-saving part. It was just a bit of pepper spray."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Just a typical day in the life of Jax Trenton. Women and men alike love him. But the men that have girlfriends hate him. You get used to it over time."

She made it sound like this was a regular thing for him. I grimaced. "Seems like his good looks are a curse."

"Blessing and a curse, I guess." She shrugged. "Wait a second," she said, squinting. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

An awful thought occurred to me. Did she remember me as the girl Jax picked out from the crowd at the bar? I laughed uneasily. "Probably not. I think I just have one of those faces."

"Hmm . . . I feel like we went to school together or something. Did you go to the Anderson School?"

I shook my head. "No, never." I’d heard of the school before—it was up on the Upper West Side, which was culturally and socially about a million miles from where I grew up on Staten Island.

Sky shrugged. "Ah, okay, my bad. I’m not so good with remembering people and I’ve seen so many faces from doing shows that it’s almost always like: wait, haven’t we met before?" She laughed and I did as well. "So how much of the bus have you gotten a chance to see?"

I gestured to indicate the living area we were in. There was basically the kitchen, bar, bathroom, couch, and a small storage area for luggage. "This, mostly. Stud—I mean, Jax—didn’t get a chance to show me anything upstairs."

One of her high-arched eyebrows rose when I called Jax, "Stud", but she didn’t say anything about it. "We’ll start from the top, then," she said, taking my hand and leading me to the staircase. "So if you’re a tour accountant, I’m guessing you enjoy music. Do play anything?"

My cheeks warmed slightly. I was on a bus full of musical talent, but the truth was, I had almost none. "I mostly play Angry Birds," I said with a laugh. "I like listening to music but every time I’ve tried my hands at playing an instrument, it sounded like a dying cat."

Sky chuckled as we took the stairs. Once we arrived at the top, she opened the door onto a large sundeck. Half-walls made the space open to the air, and I could hear the cars on the highway below us. A table and two chairs stood next to a bar—bigger and better than the one on the first floor—toward the front, and a larger, round table was at the back.

"This is incredible," I said, looking around in awe.

"You haven’t seen the best part of the sundeck. This bus has the only one like it." With that, she stepped to the far side of the deck, and pulled the top off the table. When I saw what it really was—a hot tub easily big enough for four people—my jaw dropped in surprise.

"Are you kidding? A hot tub on a bus?" My mental calculator shifted into overdrive. It wasn’t just the installation of the tub that I found extravagant. It was the chemicals, the electricity, the plumbing . . . It would be expensive to maintain even while operating perfectly. And if it broke . . .

She grinned. "Amazing, right? Use it whenever you want. It gets better." She pressed a button on the deck’s back wall. A noisy hum began, and a shadow fell over the two of us from above.

I looked up to see a cover rolling over the bus, making a ceiling. I gasped. It was a convertible. I couldn’t imagine what it had cost. I knew the details would be in the email from Palmer, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the band was spending their money as fast as they could possibly be making it.

"Now I know I’m dreaming," I said, trying hard to keep the disapproval out of my voice. I didn’t want to get a reputation as the party pooper on my first day—I knew from experience that being too harsh, too soon with a client could lead them to hiding expenses from me. "Want to show me the other floors?"

"Suit yourself, but this is the best one."

She led me down the stairs, to the bus’ second level—a cramped hallway with four narrow doors. "All the bedrooms are here along with another bathroom."

"Only three bedrooms?" I asked.

"Kev and Chewie share," she said, pointing to one of the doors. "Chewie’s my big brother, and a pretty great drummer . . . even if I’ll never say that to his face." She smiled. "Kev is Chewie’s bunkmate, the band’s lead guitarist, and a dead ringer for Ryan Gosling. But if you’re smart, you’ll never tell him that. He’s a little sensitive about being a baby face."

I made a mental note of it—but that wasn’t the only reason I’d asked. "Where will I be sleeping, exactly?"

"Good news is, you’ve got a couple of options. Bad news is, they’re all couches. You can borrow a pillow or two from me if you don’t have any. I’ve got tons."

I was grateful. A pillow hadn’t been on my packing list. "This, over here, is my room," Sky continued, her words fast and light. "I’ll even open the door. Just ignore the mess, okay?"

She pulled open a door to reveal a bedroom not much larger than a closet. A double bed took up almost the entire floor, leaving a space in front of the mattress edge just wide enough to stand in. Rock concert posters, old and new, covered the walls. On the bed was a bass guitar, along with papers around it. As I looked a little closer, I noticed hand-drawn music notes, some scribbled out, on the papers.

"Wow. Do you write the songs for the band?" I asked, pointing to the papers.

"Me?" She laughed. "I just play bass. This is something I’ve been working on for fun." It struck me how different her life was from mine; I couldn’t have imagined getting home from my job and working with more numbers just for the hell of it.

She closed the door to her room, and pointed to the third door. "That, over there, is Jax’s room, AKA the Fortress of Solitude. He likes to go in there and hole up."