Free Last Night at Chateau Marmont by Lauren Weisberger Page B

taller than her, which immediately made Brooke feel girlishly slight and dainty. She wished for the umpteenth time that Julian were as tall as this mystery man but then forced the thought from her head; Julian probably wished Brooke’s body was more like Nola’s, so what right did she have? The guy wrapped an arm around Brooke’s back and squeezed her left shoulder, so close she could smell his cologne. Masculine, subtle, and expensive. She blushed.
    “You must be the wife,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, a gesture that felt oddly intimate and impersonal at the same time. His voice was not nearly as deep as Brooke would’ve expected from someone of his height and obvious level of fitness.
    “Leo, I’d like you to meet Brooke,” Julian said. “Brooke, this is Leo, new manager extraordinaire.”
    A gorgeous Asian girl walked by at that exact moment and both Brooke and Julian watched as Leo winked at her. Where the hell was Nola? She needed to warn her early and often that Leo was off-limits. It wasn’t going to be easy—Leo was exactly her type. His pink dress shirt was open one button more than most men would dare, and it highlighted his lovely tan—dark enough but without a hint of booth or aerosol. His pants were low-waisted and European slim. He dressed as though his hair should’ve been slicked back with heavy product, but he smartly let his thick, dark locks wave freely just over his eyes. The only flaw she could make out was a scar that bisected his right eyebrow in a hairless dividing line, but it actually worked to his benefit, taking away any hint of effeminate over-grooming or perfection. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on his entire body.
    “Pleasure to meet you, Leo,” Brooke said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
    He didn’t appear to hear. “Okay, listen,” he said, turning to Julian. “I just got word that you’re scheduled as the final act. One down, one to go, then you.” Leo peered intently over Julian’s shoulder as he talked.
    “Is that good news?” Brooke asked politely. Julian had already told her that none of the other musicians scheduled to perform that night were in any real competition. One was an R&B group who everyone thought sounded like a modern-day Boyz II Men, and the other was a heavily tattooed female country singer who wore frilly dresses and her hair in pigtails.
    She looked at Leo and saw that once again, his gaze had wandered. Brooke followed it and saw he was staring directly at Nola. Or, more precisely, Nola’s pencil-skirt-swathed bum. She made a mental note to threaten Nola with banishment and worse if she went anywhere near him.
    Leo cleared his throat and took a swig of whiskey. “The chick went already, and she was decent. Not mind-blowing, but mildly entertaining. I think—”
    He was cut off by the sound of voices harmonizing. There wasn’t a stage, exactly, but there was a cleared area in front of the piano where four African-American men in their early twenties stood, each leaning in toward a central microphone. For a moment it sounded like a really good college a capella group, but then three of the guys stepped back and left the main singer alone to croon about his childhood in Haiti. The crowd nodded and grooved appreciatively.
    “Listen, Julian,” Leo said. “Just forget where you are and why you’re here and do your thing. Got it?”
    Julian nodded and tapped his foot furiously. “Got it.”
    Leo motioned toward the area in the back of the room. “Let’s get you set up.”
    Brooke stood on her tiptoes and kissed Julian on the mouth. She squeezed his hand and said, “I’ll be right here the whole time, but forget about all of us. Just close your eyes and play your heart out.”
    He shot her a grateful look but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Leo led him off, and before she could finish her wine, one of the A&R guys announced Julian over the microphone.
    Brooke looked around again for Nola and spotted