“We’ll be there,” Mike said. “You’ve got yourself a killer deal, Ms. Kingcaid, with the best in this business. Congratulations.”
The bitter note to his tone didn’t go unnoticed by Aspen. She side-eyed me, one eyebrow faintly raised.
I grinned, then clapped Mike on the back. “Chill, bro. S’all good.”
“It’s good, yes, but it could have beenbetter.”
“If I spring for lunch, will you attempt a smile?”
“No promises,” he muttered, already halfway out the door.
I let it close behind him before addressing Aspen. “Thank you for flying over. I would have come to New York, but I had a couple of things to deal with that would’ve made it difficult to get away.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m used to operating on who-the-fuck-knows-what timeline and sleeping with the sound of engine noise rattling through my head.”
Her response pulled an easy smile from me. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”
She shook her head.
I swallowed down disappointment.
“I don’t trust your manager not to poison my food.”
I winked. “That’s a good call.”
“He’s not happy that you agreed to terms without him, then?”
My right shoulder popped. “He’ll get over it.” I grabbed the door handle, then paused and turned around again, an invisiblecord pulling me back. “I’m looking forward to working closely with you. I think you and I will make beautiful music together.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How is it that you can make an innocent comment sound like an invitation into your bed?”
“Who says it wasn’t?”
The skin around her mouth tightened. “I look forward to having aprofessionalrelationship with you, too, Mr. Raynor. I think we will make a beautiful stack of money together.”
I threw back my head and gave a hearty laugh. “God, you are fucking incredible. I’ll see you soon, Aspen.”
I caught up to Mike by the lifts. “Okay, then, where am I taking you for lunch, you salty fucker?”
The lift dinged, the doors opened, and Mike strode in. “Somewhere fucking expensive that has at least two Michelin stars.”
“Taco Loco it is, then.” About as far away from a Michelin starred restaurant as you could get.
Mike cast a withering look in my direction. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”
Flinging a casual arm around his shoulders, I planted a kiss on his bald head. “Yeah, but you fucking love the money I make for you. Now, shut up and put a smile on your face before you put me off my tacos.”
Chapter 7
Aspen
Smug is a horrible look.
While curledup on the couch at the owners suite of Kingcaid Kensington—sans Penn and Gia this time—I marked up a few changes to the press release. Considering I hadn’t given them much time to pull this together, my PR team had done a great job. I was glad now that I’d preempted Joz signing the contract. Unlike Presley, who’d also signed earlier today, there was a rush to get the news out there before it leaked. Signing a megastar like Joz wasn’t something I could leisurely take my time over. Sooner or later, someone would blab and ruin the big reveal.
Hell, an innocent meeting such as our dinner at this very hotel a few days ago could set tongues wagging, but confirmation that he’d actually signed with my label was the kind of news where I needed to control the narrative.
My phone buzzed on the glass coffee table to my left. I glanced at it. Joz. Frowning, I picked it up.
