“I thought you might want to meet me where I am rather than at your offices.”
I heaved a sigh. If this guy was playing with me, I was going to roast his nuts on an open fire. “And where is that?”
“The Rusty Nail in Soho.”
Never heard of it. “Sounds like the kind of place that has a sign on the door that reads ‘Enter at your own risk.’”
“You’re not wrong. Don’t worry, though. I’ll protect you.”
My jaw locked. “I don’t need protection, Mr. Raynor.”
He let out another one of those throaty chuckles that probably made his female fans drop their panties and throw them at him. “You’re an independent gal, got it. The type who takes Krav Maga classes on a Sunday afternoon, insists on cleaning herself up after sex, and always makes her own eggs the next morning.”
He was either riling me on purpose or was completely oblivious to just how much of a jerk he was being. The jury was out on which one until I met him.IfI met him.
Oh, who are you kidding, girl? Of course you’re going to meet him.
“Will your manager be in attendance?”
“No. Why, do you need a chaperone?”
“Not at all. But if I find out you’re wasting my time for the second time today,youmight need someone to patch up your bloody nose.”
If my father heard me talking to anyone like this, let alone a man I was trying to sign to my record label (and, if he did, one who would make countless millions for my family), he’d fire me on the spot. But there was something about Joz that stripped away the layers of professionalism, leaving me feeling raw and, I’d reluctantly admit, a little unhinged.
Maybe this was why he was out of contract. The official PR line was that he’d grown tired of working with the larger labels and was looking for a more personal touch from a smaller, family-oriented business. The real story could be that they got rid of him because he caused too much trouble.
For the fourth time, he laughed. This man appeared to be impossible to rile, which, in my experience with artistic types, was extraordinarily rare. They usually needed handling with kid gloves and a plethora of ego strokes.
“I’ll see you soon, Spitfire.”
I stared at the screen. Ugh. He’d ended the call before I could.
I stuffed my cell in my purse, paid for the umbrella, and headed out onto the street. A few minutes later, I was situated in the back of a cab on my way to some dive bar to meet an unreliable rock god.
Only one of us would emerge the winner—and my money was on me.
Chapter 2
Joz
Life’s full of surprises.
I wasseventeen the last time talking to a woman on the phone had turned me on. I’d called one of those 0900 numbers, not realizing that they cost a fortune. My old man had beaten me when the phone bill arrived, but the resulting orgasm from that sultry voice at the end of the line made the bruises hurt a little less.
Good times.
My attention was on the stage, waiting for my reason for being here to appear, but I kept flicking my gaze to the door in anticipation of the fiery Aspen Kingcaid to walk through. I needed a distraction, and she could be it.
A laugh rumbled through my chest. I’d earned my egotistical reputation. Considering I’d spent fifteen years at the top of my game, with women throwing their underwear on stage and making it clear they were up for, well, pretty much anything, it was sometimes difficult to keep my ego in check. Although, afterour conversation, I imagined Aspen Kingcaid would rather get into bed with a rattlesnake than fuck me.
Not a problem. Challenges fueled my competitive streak. As did casual relationships. The bigger the number, the more of a winner I felt. Far better than the alternative—a full blown relationship.
A shudder ran through me. I’d only ever been semi-serious about one girl, and that had ended in a head fuck I still couldn’t bring myself to think about. Burying my feelings about the whole shit show had worked for me so far. In fact, it had caused me to clean up my act, and not before fucking time.
The band I was here to see trudged onto the stage. A smattering of the audience applauded as the lead singer adjusted his guitar strap. I sat up straight in anticipation. I wasn’t in the habit of ducking out of appointments, but when a pal of mine messaged to tell me this band was playing here today, I’d momentarily forgotten about my meeting with the CEO of Kingcaid Music, and hotfooted it over here. I’d been dying to hear the lead singer live.
He cleared his throat, then signaled to his bandmates. When he opened his mouth, I lost myself in the cadence of his voice, the way his baritone resonated, and how he commanded the stage. His band mates were fucking awful, but this lad had something special. I’d stumbled across him by accident online, and ever since, I’d hoped the stars would align to let me see him in the flesh and figure out if he was as talented as I’d hoped.
