Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“What was his name?”
“Rhys, no.”
“Just tell me his name, darling,” I whisper. I stare over at her. “Please.”
“Fuck, fine…it was Harrison something,” she answers. “He said that he works with the press?”
“Got it.” I nod, hastily rising to my feet. “You should get Marina and go home, darling.”
“Rhys, please don’t do anything stupid—”
“I’m not going to do anything stupid.” I smile down at her. “But I think you’ve probably spent enough time at the party, my darling. Seriously, when you start crying on the sidewalk, I think it’s time to head back to your apartment, don’t you?”
“Rhys, I’m not kidding around, okay? You don’t need to do anything—”
“Go home, darling,” I instruct her. “And let me take care of the rest.”
Alyssa flashes me a suspicious look before she rises to her feet. She then pulls her phone out of her purse and hastily shoots off a text.
“Are you telling Marina to come meet you outside?” I ask.
“Yes, so we can go home,” she replies, without looking up at me. At that moment she seems very far away.
I try to lighten the moment. “I’m glad that Van isn’t the only one who can tell you what to do.”
Alyssa cheeks redden, but she still avoids my gaze.
The smirk on my face grows a little wider, despite the rage that’s building up inside of me as the thought of anyone making my Alyssa feel so helpless and hurt causes me to see nothing but red.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Harrison shouts as I knock him into a VIP section at the warehouse, our frames hidden behind tinted glass that surrounds us on all sides. It hadn’t taken me long to find the asshole inside the party, as the female musicians were all too eager to point him out to me, like they were hoping I was finally going to be the one to do something about him.
Harrison Wentworth.
I’d heard of him before, mostly as a creep who likes to sleep with up-and-coming musicians, basically running his press connections like a casting couch for their careers. Unfortunately, Harrison isn’t even special in the music business. There’s a million guys just like him: old dudes who circle around new talent like sharks, who seem to think getting a younger person to sleep with them is some kind of fucked up fountain of youth.
“Fuck you!” I spit back at him, forcing him to sit down on the leather couch in front of us, my fist twisted into his T-shirt, my knuckles resting right below his jaw. “Don’t you ever talk to Alyssa Smith again, you piece of—”
“Oh, fuck, Rhys!” Harrison interrupts, a pained noise escaping his throat. “Fuck! You should’ve just told me that Alyssa was one of yours! Do you really think I’d ever go for someone who’s off-limits—”
He cuts off his own sentence with a round of coughing, weakly pointing at my grip around his neck. I loosen my grip, but keep my knuckles close to his jaw, just in case he needs to be knocked out anytime soon.
“How did I not know about you and Alyssa?” He’s still coughing as he speaks. “No offense, but you’re not usually shy about who you’re fucking this week.”
“Fuck off,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Did I say Alyssa and I were sleeping together? She is the lead singer of our band now, which means I want to make sure she’s safe from your typical bullshit, Harrison.”
“…Do you want an exclusive?” Harrison suggests, his eyes lighting up with hope as he goes on. “Do you have any idea how lucrative that could be for you, Rhys? For the band? Just picture it, a full-page spread about you and Alyssa! Hollywood’s latest rock-and-roll couple! Combine that with an album release, and you’ll be trending on every social media network within minutes—”
“I swear to God, Harrison, if you even run one story about me and Alyssa, I’m going to break both of your fucking legs.”
“Jesus Christ, Rhys!” He lets out a nervous chuckle which turns into a cough. “Lighten up, kid. I’m just throwing out some ideas.”
“Leave her alone, Harrison,” I warn. “Don’t make me leak some shit to one of those gossip blogs about how you get off on trying to sleep with a new starlet every other week.”
“Right. Because I’m the only one of us who gets off on that.” Harrison rolls his eyes, before he shifts away from me, my hand falling away from his neck. “How about this instead? How about I help pump your band up to all of my media contacts? No romantic angle to it. Just pure praise of you and your talent.”
“And why would you do that, Harrison?”
“Because I can tell you’re not kidding about breaking my legs,” he admits. “And because Alyssa Smith must really be something special if she’s making you act like this, especially because you know all I’d need to do is make one phone call to Gregory and he’d throw you out on your ass—”