Sometimes, it was too much.

Yes, there was the big office, the massive house, the lingerie model wife, the porn star mistress. Being Alan Gentry had its perks.

But was any of it worth it? On days like this, he just wanted to get on a plane and just take off to somewhere random. Someplace like…

“AMSTERDAM!?” Gentry bellowed, face red, eyes bulging, spittle flying.

Paul Cross leaned back in his chair, smiled. “Ease off, Al. You’ll burst something important.”

“Oh, I bet you think this is real funny you creepy prick. This is only my GODDAMNED life on the line.” He fell back into his chair, exhausted. “If that flaky piece of pitch-corrected jailbait isn’t back by Saturday…if I have to cancel another show…I’m done, Cross. DONE.”

“Don’t borrow cash from guys named ‘Nails’, maybe? Just a thought.”

“Look you smug son-of-a…”

“Unclench, Al. I’ll bring back your little song-bird. But remember…”

“I owe you. Anything you want, Cross. Name it.”

Cross smiled. “Oh, Al. Let’s not say something you’ll come to regret.”