Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
My underwear was green. Both the lace bra and the matching thong.
I hurried into a set of pajamas but left my bra on under the “I heart Colorado” tank top. When I came out, Nixon already had our current binge-watching show cued up. No devices, no planners, no work whatsoever during TV time—those were his rules. Had to admit, they were growing on me. It was nice to turn my brain off for those hours.
“I’m jumping in the shower,” he said. “Will you sign for room service when it comes?” He yanked his shirt over his head, and my mouth went dry, just like it did every time I got a good look at his torso.
“Yep.” I swore he did that on purpose, like he’d moved from the annoy-Zoe-for-fun game into the torture-Zoe-with-sexual-frustration edition, but I kept a smile on my face as he disappeared into his room. A minute later, I heard the shower start up.
I flipped through my messages while he was in the shower, then answered the door when room service rang.
But it wasn’t room service.
Ben’s eyebrows hit the ceiling as he looked down at me. “When I said loosen up around the office, I didn’t mean pj’s.”
“It’s ten o’clock, and I’m in my hotel room.” I rolled my eyes. “Did you need something?” Reason number five hundred and nineteen I couldn’t act on my craving for Nixon—I never knew who would show up at Nixon’s door…like my actual boss.
He nodded, then walked in the room without being invited. “Sorry. I would have come by earlier, but I was checking out a new band. Tiger Kiss, or something else equally awful. Decent vocalist, though.” His gaze swept over the room, taking in every detail.
“Nixon’s in the shower.” My tank top and flannel pants didn’t seem nearly professional enough next to his tailored suit. I should have stayed in my dress.
“Good. Alcohol?” His gaze narrowed.
“None.”
“Drugs?”
“Zero.” This whole trip was starting to feel like less of a show and more like a report card for Nixon.
“Excellent. Women?”
“This question is getting old. My job is to keep Nixon sober, not monitor his love life. He deserves a little privacy.” Besides, the only person he was kissing was…well, me, and Ben was the last person on Earth I was going to discuss that with.
Ben arched a brow at me but continued. “Is he writing?”
“Some. Nothing that he wants to share yet, but he sits down to write every day.” I’d begun scheduling my work around his just so I could listen from the next room.
“He’s going to blow the deadline.” Ben’s posture stiffened.
“Like I told Harvey—move the deadline. You have to give him some time.”
“How much time?” He glanced at his Apple watch as a text rolled in, and for the first time in my career, I didn’t want to know what it was about.
“I can’t even begin to guess.” I didn’t want to know the details of Ben’s life, or how I could make it easier. I didn’t want to lessen his burdens or prove my worth by stepping in for his bands when he was called away. The last few weeks with Nixon had shown me I didn’t just want my own bands to manage, I was ready for them too.
“You can’t speed things along?” His jaw popped.
“You so much as try to rush Nixon and he’s going to go twice as slow just to show you he can. You know that. Quinn and Jonas are fine with the delay, so we back our clients, right?” I folded my arms across my chest. “That’s who we advocate for, go the extra mile for. Our clients.”
Ben blinked, then studied me. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“I’m sorry?” My mouth gaped for a moment. He’d never questioned my ethics, but I’d never given him a reason to either.
“Are. You. Sleeping. With. Nixon? Because I’d hardly consider that—”
“Be careful what you say next, Ben,” Nixon said casually from his doorway. Thank God he hadn’t come out shirtless after Ben had crossed that line, or he would have jumped to the conclusion anyway. “Because the only way to finish that sentence without me losing my shit is by adding the words, any of my business.”
Ben sighed, then glanced between the two of us, as if he were measuring something I couldn’t see. “Fine. But keep your dick in your pants with this one,” he said to Nixon. “She’s not some intern, and we all know what happened the last time you—”
“Fuck off.” Nixon’s eyes narrowed to slits, and his posture stiffened. “No one gave a shit who I was fucking when I was drunk, whether it was on the bus, in my dressing room, or in the lobby of a hotel. You didn’t care if it was a different woman or even two every night.”