Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Declan, but I would appreciate it if you would not speak to me that way. I was simply calling to see how you’re doing and talk to you about your future.” And here we go… “You’re only twenty-five years old, so it’s not too late to go to college, and if you’re in need of a job—”
I laugh. Fucking laugh. Because she’s lost her damn mind. And if I don’t laugh, I might snap at her because I don’t have it in me to refrain from doing so.
“Mom, I am never going to work for you and Dad. I’m a musician, not a hotelier. I play the bass guitar and sing, and even if the band never produced another album, we’re worth millions, so please fucking stop. I love you, but I can’t deal with you today. Let’s call this a loss and try again tomorrow. Goodbye.”
Without waiting for her to respond, I pull the phone away from my ear and hit end on the call, throwing it onto the bar top, facedown. I pour another double shot and am bringing it up to my lips when a feminine voice, one I would recognize anywhere, says, “Drinking alone?”
“Got no one to drink with.”
I swallow down my shot, set the glass on the bar top, and glance at the gorgeous woman occupying the seat next to me. Her naturally blond hair is pulled around to the side in a braid that would make most women look young and childish, but it looks sexy as fuck on her. With her hair swept up, leaving her face completely visible, the light makeup she’s sporting makes her bright blue eyes pop and her lips look glossy and plump. She smiles softly at me while she removes her jacket, hanging it over her chair and revealing a long-sleeved white shirt that shows off the swells of her breasts, skintight jeans that, if she were to stand, would showcase her toned legs and ass, and those fluffy boots women always wear.
My gaze ascends back to her face, and I notice her eyes are a bit glassy and the area under her eyes a tad swollen, like she’s been crying and did a good job of covering it up.
“You okay?”
Scrunching up her adorable button nose—that, when she’s not wearing makeup, houses a cluster of freckles—she waves me off while she grabs the bottle and pours herself a shot, slinging it back. “How’s Gage?”
“Alive.”
Her eyes flit over to me. “Because of you.”
“No, he almost died because of me.”
I reach for the bottle, but she pours the shot for me, then hands me the glass. “You saved his life, Dec.” Her words are soft and matter of fact, but they don’t change the guilt I feel about everything that went down.
“His life never should’ve needed saving in the first place.” I down the shot and slam the glass on the table, glaring at her.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she insists.
“Yeah, it fucking was.”
*Two weeks ago*
“I love this. It’s sexy and sweet and so perfect.” Kendall reads over the slight changes to the lyrics and music I made and grins, nodding in excitement. “This is it. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Yeah? You sure?”
“Definitely. There’s no way my dad won’t be all over this.”
Her dad is the owner of Blackwood Records, the label both she and I are signed with. Kendall is a pop princess—think Taylor Swift meets Ariana Grande—and I’m the bass guitarist for the rock band, Raging Chaos—think Maroon 5 meets OneRepublic. We couldn’t be any more different if we tried, but that’s precisely what Kendall wants—to shake shit up a bit. And since the band is on a bit of a hiatus, with our lead singer—her brother—Camden and his wife, Layla, having a baby, I had some time on my hands, so I said, fuck it, why not? We had written a few songs together while we were messing around, so all we had to do was figure out which one would be the best and make it perfect. Then we could pitch it to her dad, Easton.
When we first discussed it, we were both on tour, so it got thrown on the back burner, but now that she’s living in New York, she brought it back up, saying it would make the perfect single—and I agreed.
The truth is, even if I didn’t agree, I’d still say okay because I can’t say no to Kendall. I’ve been in love with the damn woman for as far back as I can remember—even though she has no clue—and would go along with whatever the hell she wanted.
“We should totally record it, so he can listen to it when we pitch it to him.”
“Sounds good.”
We spend the next hour singing our hearts out until we agree it’s as good as it’ll get without having the professionals produce it.