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)
Ben broke away from Ethan when he saw me coming. “Did you get a chance to listen to Seven to One?”
“Bass player needs to be replaced.”
He grinned and nodded like a proud father. “He does. Which is why I’m guessing they’ll be looking for new management soon.”
“How soon?” A little bubble of excitement fought through my practical pessimism.
Ben lifted a shoulder. “I would guess it’s going to take the other members another few months to figure it out. Timing might be right.”
“You think?” My head swam with the possibilities. In a few more months, I’d be looking to sign my first band.
“I do, especially since the Berkshire brothers formally gave me the approval to promote you once this is over.”
“Really?”
“As of this morning. They’re really impressed at how well Winters is doing.”
“Well, that’s all him.” My heart jumped. It was really happening.
“And you. Seven to One would be lucky to have you, kid.”
It didn’t matter that I was twenty-six years old, I’d always be a kid to Ben.
“Are you talking about me again?” Nixon asked, coming up behind me.
“The world doesn’t always revolve around you, Winters,” Ben lectured but smiled. “You look good, though. Feeling good?”
“Absolutely,” Nixon answered, flashing that million-dollar smile. “Straight and narrow too. Shannon here is quite the disciplinarian. Keeps me solid.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Glad to hear it. She’s going to make a lucky band even luckier when she branches out on her own here in a few months, although I hate to lose her.” His smile dipped. “You sure I can’t talk you into another year? At least until the new interns are potty trained?”
I laughed. “I think you’ll do just fine.”
Nixon tensed beside me, and my stomach sank.
“Fine then. Think about what I said, though. They might be worth keeping your eye on,” he said to me, then clapped Nixon’s shoulder. “You really do look good.”
“Thanks,” Nixon answered as Ben left, heading the opposite direction.
“Nixon—”
“Not here,” he ground out, then plastered a smile to his face as a group of venue staff passed by. His hand splayed over the small of my back, ushering me down the hall. The touch was possessive but nothing out of the ordinary to onlookers.
The gaggle of women outside Nixon’s dressing room perked up as we turned the corner, but he ignored them all, passing by the security guard with a nod as he led me into his dressing room and shut the door.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, pinning me in place with his gaze.
“No. Not exactly.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and leaned back against the counter. Why was it that dressing rooms all felt the same? “I’m staying at Berkshire, but I won’t work for Ben anymore.”
“You’re not leaving Berkshire. Just me.” He cringed. “Just us. As in, the band.”
“You’re not my band, Nixon. You’re Ben’s. I’m getting promoted, not leaving you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why am I hearing about it in the goddamned hallways?” He laced his fingers and linked them above his head.
“Because I just heard about it in the hallway, and until it was set, I wasn’t allowed to say anything! Nothing was official, at least not until right now.” I took a deep breath, trying to remember there were staff members and fans outside that door. “I take my job very seriously.”
“I’m well aware.” His eyes widened as his mouth fell slack. “Holy shit. That’s the deal you made with Ben, isn’t it? When this”—he motioned between us—“started, you said you made a deal with Ben. I just didn’t press the issue. You made a deal about me.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “Yes. The deal was that if I got you through the shows already on the books, I’d get my own band to manage, as long as the partners agreed.” My voice fell to a whisper.
“February,” he said softly, his arms falling to his sides.
“February.” I nodded.
The space between us crackled with tension. I just couldn’t tell if that crackle was electricity or the warning that sounded just before you fell through the ice.
Three heavy knocks sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Nixon called back.
Chris, the security guard, popped his head in. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s a woman out here who’s pretty insistent that she see you.”
My stomach pitched and rolled. So far, he’d kept his word, but how long would it be before I was too complicated, too physically unavailable for him to stick around for?
“Not interested,” he answered Chris, but stared straight at me.
“Okay. She’s not typical, if that makes a difference. She’s older than your usual…you know,” Chris added.
“Still not interested,” Nixon responded.
The nausea in my stomach subsided as Chris shut the door.
“I’m not leaving you,” I said softly, pushing off the counter.
“For another few months,” he retorted, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the couch.