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)
“You know me pretty well, don’t you?” he asked as we headed for the door. The stagehands were already on the other side, waiting to take his guitars to the wings.
“I’m getting there,” I admitted as we walked into the hallway, pausing so the guys could pass single file into the room, each returning with one of Nixon’s prized possessions.
“Good,” Nixon said with a smirk. Then he leaned down, letting his lips brush the shell of my ear. “Then I’ll trust you to pick one of those girls behind me for later.”
My spine stiffened.
He laughed as he lifted his head. “Aren’t you going to wish me luck, Shannon?”
Shannon. The pieces clicked into place. We were in public. Here, he wasn’t the Nixon I shared cider with, or the one who bought my mom’s cake. Here, I was his manager’s assistant, and he was every bit the rock star a hundred thousand people had filled a stadium to see. Now who was embarrassed? At least I had a reason. My career was on the line. What was at stake for him if someone caught him being human? His reputation as a card-carrying member of the asshole club? Was this just another way to get under my skin?
“I really hate you sometimes,” I whispered.
His eyes flared with delight. “Is that any way to talk to your favorite client?” He walked backward a few steps, then flashed a smile at the women who’d remained outside his dressing room with the hopes he’d change his mind. “See you later, ladies.”
Right before he turned around, he winked at me. Then he threw his arm around Jonas’s shoulders and they met Quinn outside her door and headed for the stage.
I fucking hated him and his ability to switch from hot to cold, like it was nothing more than a faucet setting. I loathed how badly I wanted his warmth back, but the lines were clear. He was a client. I was his manager’s assistant. But…what if I wasn’t?
What if I was already managing another account? What if I was just another girl? Would he still want me the way he’d said he did? Or was it all a game to him? The possibility was too painful to contemplate.
And if it wasn’t a game to Nixon, if he really did want me, then I was the one inflicting his wounds with my inability to bend my own rules or risk my reputation.
No risk. No reward.
I gnawed on my lower lip as Nixon walked away. Maybe the right question to ask wasn’t what I would risk. If Nixon had been real with me that night in the kitchen, at the festival, every time he was considerate or protective—if that was the real him, then what wouldn’t I risk to be with him?
I wanted him, and not just physically. I wanted the complicated man under all that ink, the one who bid on my mother’s cake and admitted he had nightmares. The one who battled his demons every day and still had the guts to walk right into their lair when it was time to show up for his friends and perform. The one who trusted me, defended me, and pushed my neat little boundaries.
If I had a shot with that man, I’d risk more than my reputation—I’d put my heart on the line. No regrets. No safety net. No guarantee.
If it wasn’t a game…and with Nixon, who knew?
“Hi, um, excuse me?” a brunette who was easily a foot taller than me asked. “You work with Nixon Winters?”
“Yep.” And speak of the devil, he looked back at me over his shoulder. Or maybe it was her. Hell if I knew when it came to him. That was the problem.
“Oh wow. Is there any way I could—”
“No.” I walked off down the hall, following the path Nixon had just taken.
I might have had some very complicated feelings for the asshat, but I wasn’t serving him up on a platter either. If he wanted another woman, he could damn well get one himself.
Then we’d both have to live with the consequences.
9
NIXON
The crowd roared, filling my bloodstream with my favorite drug—straight-up worship—as I hit the last note in the encore. The stage went black long enough for us to exit stage left as the lights in the stadium came up.
“That was good.” Jonas slammed his hand against my back. “Better than good.”
“Phenomenal,” Quinn added, coming up on my right.
“Yeah it was,” I agreed as energy pumped through me. I’d forgotten how it felt to get high off the crowd without the alcohol in my system. Back in the early years, it had just been that first shot to steady my nerves before we took the stage, but recently I’d taken to bringing out a drink instead of a water bottle.
Just another used to, I promised myself.