Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Chapter Seventeen
Harley
Normally, waking to someone standing over you would be creepy. It sounds creepy. But when Brix does it, it’s the best wake-up call I can get. He’s got a plate in his hands, and I know without looking he’s made me a breakfast burrito.
I’m hungry for something else, though.
I sit up and untuck his black T-shirt from his tactical pants so I can kiss my way up his stomach.
My lips barely get to touch him before he’s stepping away.
“As much as I want more, Gideon’s downstairs. He’s coming to the studio with us today.”
I pull back. “Why is Gid— Wait, us? It’s Sunday. Iris is coming.”
“I called him and told him not to worry. I’m with you today.”
This is the second Sunday he hasn’t taken the day off since we started hooking up. “Don’t you have stuff to do today?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Now eat your breakfast.” Brix hands me the plate.
“I’m beginning to think breakfast burritos are the only thing you can cook.”
“Are you complaining?”
I take a bite. “Not one fucking bit.”
Brix smiles. It makes me want to kiss him.
“You can’t stare at me like that. Especially in front of Gideon.” I won’t be able to control myself.
“I know.”
I’ve been busy recording the album. Every day we head to the studio, and I do my thing while Brix and Jamie watch from outside the booth.
I’ve laid down three full tracks already, and I’ve put in excruciatingly long hours even though staring at Brix through the glass as I’m working is one big temptation to go home early.
“Eat up. We leave in ten,” Brix says.
I watch as he walks away, taking his tight, round ass with him.
It looks good in his tactical pants. Or any pants.
No pants would be even better.
Focus, Harley.
Food, dress, leave.
I head downstairs when I’m ready to go and find the three of them waiting for me. “Why are you coming?” I ask Gideon.
“The label wants to hear what you’ve got so far.”
“No.”
“No?” Gideon asks. He seems more amused than pissed off.
“They always do this. They want to hear the songs before they’re completed, and then they hate them.”
“They don’t hate all of them.”
“Majority,” I mutter. “They’ll get the songs when they’re done.”
“This isn’t negotiable, Harley.”
Behind Gideon, Brix scowls. Damn, he’s hot.
Nope. Focus. I need to focus because I know what the label is going to say about the songs I’ve already cut.
“Let me lay down something I know they’ll like—a chart-topper with a dance beat. The ones I have now are … a little off brand.”
Gideon slumps. “How off brand?”
“Political, kind of a love sucks one, and … uh … sex.”
Gideon rubs his chest. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m just … going where the inspiration is.” I force myself not to glance at Brix right now.
“And where are you getting inspiration for songs about sex?”
“Maybe from my lack of getting any.” Okay, yep, that was not convincing even to my own ears, but apparently, he buys it.
Gideon huffs. “Let’s get to the studio, and I can see what we’re working with.”
This is going to be a rough day.
On our way out the door, Brix pulls me back. “They’re great songs,” he says low. “I can’t get ‘Anti-Love’ out of my head.”
I smile. “Well, your hatred for the concept of fate and soul mates practically wrote that song, so it’s no wonder you like it.”
“Problem?” Gideon calls back at us still standing in the doorway.
Brix takes the lead. “Not at all.”
As a bodyguard, he’s easily slipped into a protocol of his own. He’s the first out of the gate, the last to get into the car, and he doesn’t leave my side unless I’m in a secure part of the studio, and even then he only leaves to do a check and make sure no one’s lurking outside or existing where they shouldn’t be.
A poor intern on her first day got reamed for not having a pass to the studio.
Overkill, maybe, but he makes me feel safe, which I think is the point of his job more than actually protecting me.
When we arrive at the recording studio I bought a few years ago, paparazzi are there again. It’s been two weeks since Evah moved out, and we’ve both been bombarded, but at least there are only a couple today. It’s worse here than at home right now. They’ve pretty much given up on getting anything good other than me in a car pulling out of my driveway at home.
Brix shields me with his big body but never crosses the line into lawsuit territory. Sure, paparazzi can shove their cameras in your face, follow you, and practically stalk you, but if we touch them in any way, even their cameras, bam, assault accusations.
Brix is good at getting them to back off.
The first time he put his arm around me to shield me from them, I got worried thinking they would read into it, but it’s a bodyguard loophole it seems. And it’s true it is his job. If Iris had done it, I wouldn’t have blinked.