Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll Read Online Free PDF

job is worth this.”
    There’s something in her voice that strikes a chord within me… perhaps resonance of the same exact feeling I’ve had on occasion as I struggled to determine if I was supposed to be a musician or not. Emma turns quickly away from her chair and cracks her knee against the leg, but barely winces before she lurches to the side of the table with her briefcase in hand.
    “I’m sorry,” she mutters again, her voice cracking this time. Her head down, she practically stumbles past me as she rounds the table and before I even know what I’m doing, my hand shoots out and locks around her wrist.
    “Wait,” I say softly.
    She stops dead in her tracks, but doesn’t look at me, instead resolutely staring at the floor. Her wrist is so small in my grasp, and I can feel the mad fluttering of her pulse there.
    “Emma,” I say firmly as I tug on her, forcing her to turn.
    She does, and her eyes lift slowly. There are no tears, which I half expected since she had pointedly lowered her face, but they are filled with confusion coupled with a low-boiling anger.
    I feel sorry for her.
    Still pissed at her, for sure, and I’m completely baffled as to why Midge sent her here—or shit… why she even employs her at all—but I can’t seem to stop myself when I say, “Sit down. I’ll tell you everything I can remember about last night and then you can tell me whether to give a statement or not.”
    Her eyes flick back and forth between my own, trying to ascertain how much I really mean with this sudden change of heart and confidence in her abilities. I look at her without flinching, because I totally don’t have any confidence in her, but for some reason, I don’t want her to go running out this door because I pretty much said she sucked at her job.
    I nod at the other chair and release her wrist. “Sit. Get your notepad out.”
    Emma takes a deep breath and gives me a curt nod. The hand I just released drops down and she nervously swipes her hand against the black material of her demure skirt. Her spine is stiff as she walks back to the chair and gets her materials out again.
    Gone is the woman that just had fire in her eyes. Now I have back the prim, uber professional attorney.
    When she’s ready, I start from when the first partier arrived at my house and talk for a solid twenty minutes, going through all the details as best I can remember them. For the most part, I was with someone all evening who could account for my actions. Even though I had quite a bit to drink, I can remember everything, which means I also clearly remembered about thirty minutes where I was utterly alone. I went into my music room, which is basically a large, empty room that has a piano, my guitars and a desk with a laptop. It’s where I write my lyrics and bang out the initial chords. I went in there because as I was talking to some friends I went to high school with and who have suddenly become very “close” friends since I became famous—and yes, that’s sarcasm—I was struck with inspiration for a new song idea about how to tell the fake from the true. And anytime inspiration hits me, I have to get it down before I forget it.
    “So for about thirty minutes between roughly quarter after eleven and quarter ’til twelve, you were alone,” Emma asks me.
    “Yeah… roughly that time period,” I confirm with a nod. “When I came out of the music room, the um… red head chick was there waiting for me. Was with her the rest of the time.”
    I’m relieved that I don’t see that same judgment on her face that was there before, and it seems the conversation flows without any unease between us.
    “And you don’t know who she is?” Emma asks again. “Remember anything that could help us find her?”
    “Sorry,” I mutter, and I truly am sorry. Turns out this anonymous fuck could be my saving grace, and I feel like I’m learning a very valuable lesson here.
    “We’ll get our investigator on interviewing all the witnesses