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)
“Mr. Winters?” the wannabe Shannon asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. She was straight out of college, with that first-year oxymoronic mix of ball-busting confidence and naivete that all interns seemed to be issued when they started at Berkshire.
“What?” I snapped, looking over the Seattle skyline and wishing it was the Rockies.
“Quinn’s here to see you.”
“I’m sorry?” Last time I checked, Quinn was in Bozeman. We weren’t due in the studio until next week.
“She said Quinn is here to see you,” Quinn called out from inside the penthouse, walking right past wannabe Shannon onto my deck.
“So I see.” I lifted my open bottle of orange soda and drank, wishing it were something a little clearer and a little more like vodka.
Quinn plopped down on the chair next to me and gave me a blatant once-over, clearly assessing my sobriety, just like everyone did now that Shannon was gone. But she wasn’t gone, was she? She was working in this very city. Living within a twenty-minute drive. Going on with her life because I’d forced her out of mine.
“Will you need anything?” Wannabe Shannon asked, flashing a smile that implied anything meant anything.
“Go play with your dollhouse, Malibu Barbie.” Quinn waved her off without even looking. “How long are you stuck with the intern?”
I shrugged. “She’s only here during the day. I’m being weaned off supervision. You want something to drink?”
“Not if it’s that orange shit.”
I leaned to the right, opening the mini fridge that was built into the outdoor cook station, and handed Quinn a bottle of water. “WBS keeps it stocked.”
“WBS?” she questioned, twisting the top.
“Wannabe Shannon.”
“You’re unreal.” She rolled her eyes and took a drink. “I saw her, by the way.”
“Oh yeah?” My heart—whatever was left of it—clenched.
“Yep. She signed that band she loved. What are they called…Nine to Five?”
“Seven to One,” I answered. Good. At least her career was moving forward. She’d gotten what she needed out of her deal with Ben. “Did you seriously fly here to tell me that?”
Quinn watched me carefully, taking in the way my knee bounced and my fingers drummed on the soda bottle. “I was already here, which you’d know if you ever checked your damn phone. It’s spring break, and Graham and Colin wanted to spend it in the city. Meanwhile, I stopped into Berkshire to sign something.”
I scoffed. “Bullshit. You stopped into Berkshire to see Zoe.”
“Guilty.” She shrugged. “She looks like shit, and you’re even worse.”
“I’m fine.” I willed my body to stop fidgeting.
“Try saying that to someone who doesn’t know you.” She snorted. “What the hell happened in Colorado? You two were wrapped around each other in Houston. You wore a guitar strap with the woman’s name on it, for crying out loud. Three days later, I find out you’re locked in your penthouse like a hermit and won’t even let the housekeeper in.”
“I let Jonas in,” I argued.
“Because he has a key,” she retorted. “One he had to fly out here from the East Coast to use.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve always been an asshole, but in my defense, I would have opened the door if she’d told me she was running to Jonas to tattle.” I still felt like shit for pulling Jonas away from his family once again.
“Jonas was scared you’d fallen into a bottle.” She leveled me with her stare. “Imagine his surprise when he burst through the door to find the only thing that had fallen was your phone into your toilet.”
“I’m sober. Fucked up, maybe. But sober.” Barely. The first twenty-four hours had been touch and go, but I’d locked myself away up here. “And I apologized to Jonas.”
“It’s not about that. You know you have an open invitation at both our houses. Pretty sure Kira has already stocked three cases of orange soda on the off chance you finally admit that you might need a little support.”
“I’m fine.” I was going to tattoo that shit on my forehead pretty soon.
“What happened to you and Zoe?”
“What did she tell you happened?” I rolled the bottle between my hands and told my chest to simmer down with the whole heartache shit.
“Is this high school?” Quinn shook her head. “I’m not carrying a note to fourth period.”
“Pretty sure everyone just texts now.” Except Zoe. No calls. No texts. No carrier pigeons or emails. My guitars had arrived at the penthouse two days after I left Colorado, along with a bag of things I’d left behind. Leave it to Shannon to keep picking up my shit after I was gone.
“She said what happened between you two was private.” Quinn lifted the bottle of water like she was looking through it.
“Did she?” My hands paused.
“She did.” Quinn put the water bottle down. “She also said I was right, and she should have gone for higher ground.”
My head whipped toward hers. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”