“They’re one of the few breeds that do.”
“How clever.”
Brandon laces our fingers together, ruminating on something for a long moment. “You know, I may not be a manager anymore…but the day may come when you feel ready to take your music further.”
“Possibly…” I agree, wondering what he’s getting at.
“I’ve been thinking…should you ever decide to pursue music professionally—not just for yourself, but as a career—I’d be willing to represent you.”
“As amanager?”
His eyes meet mine. “As someone who believes in you.”
A warmth flows through me. I would let him, I realise. I know he has my best interests at heart. But it would venture into territory that’s sensitive for us both. He is contemplating a return to the world he left behind, and I’m trusting someone with not only my heart, but my career as well. We’ve both been there, but with different people.
I understand what he’s really offering. Not control, but trust. Not management, but love.
“And who’s going to manageyou?” I whisper, crawling forward and pushing his chest until he falls back against the mattress.
He stares up at me as I sit astride him, his voice hoarse. “Perhaps we could take turns?”
“Hmm.” I lean in and nibble his ear, breathing warm air until he shivers. “I think it’s my turn now.”
The doorbell rings.
Brandon freezes. “Don’t move.”
“Can’t we ignore it?” I plead as he carefully sets me aside.
He smiles secretively as he shakes his head. “Wait here.”
I sigh and flop onto my back laughing, because of course the universe has terrible timing.
A minute later, he returns, carrying a guitar case.
I sit bolt upright as he gently sets it down on the bed. “The courier just dropped it off.”
My breath catches. My guitar. It’s finally here.
And it’s still broken.
I’ve been trying not to think about this moment. I was starting to hope it wouldn’t be returned until after we left for the road trip, so I wouldn’t have to face it.
“Not going to open it?” he asks.
“No,” I say glumly, opening the paperwork that came with it.
A consignment form from the courier.
And an invoice.
Invoice?
Of course there’s an invoice for the assessment, even though nothing was fixed. How much did that cost me?
I peel the thin plastic open and unfold the page.
I baulk at the figure printed there. It’s a lot. And in British pounds—Idon’t even want to do the conversion. Why on earth is it so much?
