One Wicked Lick from the Drummer (The One Book 3)

don’t want to start again with someone new. Figure we could just say that happened and move on.
She came back with, You’re more pragmatic than I gave you credit for.
What are you wearing? Delete. He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. I’m full of surprises. I don’t know how to answer your other questions.
That’s an answer in itself. Thank you.
What next?
He looked at the new merch artwork while he waited. It slapped hard, and he approved it, and then Mena came back with, I’ll finalize my recommendations for you in the next week. I suggest we meet with your accountant and broker to discuss the way forward. Once you’ve approved things, I can work with them directly on implementation.
Wait, that was it? Ah hell, that was a bit too damn businesslike. That wall was ninety-foot tall and electrified. Hold up. I need you to see the escape room experience.
His phone rang, and he scrambled to grab it from inside the house. “I’ve read the investment proposal for Seven Gates,” Mena said.
Her tone wasn’t unfriendly, but it was crisp, like the snap in a stick of celery. “Yeah, but that’s not the same thing as seeing the concept.”
“I don’t need to see the concept to understand the investment potential.”
And that was almost wintry. “It’s because I stripped off, isn’t it? I thought about going in dressed but I didn’t want to have to ride wet or wear soaked clothes to drum practice at the school.”
Mena sighed. The sound of her thawing out came down the line at him like a struck match. “You want me to go see an escape room.”
“The test prototype, Gate Five. I like it, but it could be my next tea-tree plantation so I want your reaction.”
“Grip,” she said, with the same snippy tone his mum used when she wanted him to behave a different way.
“Yes, Mena,” he said, in the same pseudo-obedient tone he used to answer his mum when he didn’t intend to change anything but her mind.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea?”
“There’s no water involved. I promise.” Silence. This was the part where you wore them down. “I’ll stay fully dressed at all times.”
She sighed again, it was almost a balmy sound and he knew he’d hooked her. “Only because you were magic with those kids.”
He couldn’t take any credit for that. “All kids are magic on their own. Some of them just need a little encouragement to let it out.” The only thing he’d done was buy the instruments and show up.
“You’re incorrigible.”
He grumbled in happy agreement at the full thaw. “Occupational hazard.”
They met late the next afternoon at the doors of Gate Five. As a potential investor, Grip had organized for them to have the place to themselves for an hour without other paying participants being around.
Mena got out of a taxi wearing a lavender-grey dress with its own matching coat and towering heels. With her hair pulled back in a low bun, she looked untouchably glamorous. She offered her hand to shake. “Mr. Grippen.” She was smiling, messing with him.
He went with it. He was lucky she’d agreed to come. “Ms. Grady.” He took her hand, held it, didn’t shake it, only just stopped himself from rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, enjoyed the way her lashes fluttered.
“Let’s do this,” she said. No flutter in her voice, must’ve been dust in her eyes.
Gate Five was like a theme park ride on steroids. Part Ghost Train scare fare and part treasure hunt. The game was simple. They were guests checking into a hotel and had to find their room. The idea was to find it as quickly as possible and beat a clock.
They checked in and left their gear at the registration desk, which was styled like something out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, complete with a gum snapping receptionist who was a Harley Quin clone and a snoring big-bellied bellhop. They signed a waiver that essentially covered management for anything and everything that might go wrong and received their room key.
Grip had been through this before and he knew the ropes. His plan was to stand back and make sure Mena got the full experience.
“This looks like a place that might specialize in spiders. You probably should know I’m not keen on things with more legs than a cat.”
“No spiders that I’m aware of, but I’m your spider man if it comes to it.”
Did I really just call myself Spiderman? He’d Goddamn ghosted on his own cool.
The look she gave him was the kind that made him wonder if he had his shirt on inside out. Quick check revealed that no, the flaming airship on his fake vintage Led Zepplin tee was facing the right way around.
She pushed the double swing doors that opened out on a long corridor, off which were a series of other corridors and doors. There was no map. None of the doors had room numbers. Some of them had no handles. Mena looked at her key in time to see the number fade to nothing. She flung her hand out at him. “Show me yours.”
He held it out; blank already.
“Clever.” She put her blank key down on a rickety plant stand, which lurched violently and almost toppled, making her take a step back and smack into him. He steadied her briefly, fingertips to her hips, conscious of not wanting to touch her inappropriately, but not wanting her to fall on her gorgeous arse either.
“I read about the animatronics,” she said. “Very Disney.”
“Try a door,” he prompted.
She scoffed. “You try one.”
He reached for the nearest handle and the dim emergency-style lighting stuttered and went out, leaving them in darkness.
“Very funny,” she said. Next minute she shrieked. “Something touched my leg. If that’s