“Have a little faith in yourself, Ty.”
This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming. Eric Ambrose did not just spend the last three months tracking me down to offer me a job. I must have dozed off in the break room, and the fact that Velvet Shadows is all over everything right now brought him to the forefront of my mind. It’s the only explanation.
I reach out and touch his arm, jerking my hand back when I realize that I can feel the cold leather of his jacket under my fingers and that he is, in fact, standing in front of me right now.
“What was that for?” he asks, laughing.
“You’re here. Like,reallyhere.”
“I’m here, Ty,” he says.
“This isn’t a dream.” I say, and he shakes his head. Our eyes meet, and once again, I have to fight the urge to throw myself into his arms.He’s here to offer you a job, not date you.
“Okay, so…how would that work? We sit down for a few interviews, and I write your book?”
“No,” he says, his mouth twisting up into a knee-weakening smile. He slides his ringed fingers into the front pockets of his jacket, and I realize he’s shaking. Like he’s nervous. Or cold. It has to be the cold.
“Come on this tour with me. You’ll have unlimited access to me and everything that happens on the road. We’ll sit down for interviews when we’re traveling between cities.”
Holy shit. This is…too good to be true. This man barely knows me. He’s never even read anything I’ve written. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I can’t just pack up and leave for six months,” I say. “I have a job and bills to pay.”
“At the end of the tour, I’ll pay you five hundred thousand dollars,” he says. “And when the book is finished, you will get fifty percent of the initial deal plus fifty percent of all sales.”
I can feel the color drain from my face and the urge to sit down comes on strong, but I shake it off and take a deep breath of the frigid January air.
“When do you need an answer?”
“Tonight,” he says. “I’ll be at Pour. Come find me if you decide to be brave and finally chase that dream of yours.”
He turns and disappears down the street.
I rush back to the salon and out of the crisp air, heading straight to the breakroom, where I splash cold water from the sink on my face and try to process what the fuck just happened.
“So,” Mya drawls from behind me. “That’s Eric?”
“That’s Eric,” I say.
"What did he want?”
“To offer me a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“A writing job,” I say, trying to replay our conversation in my head. “He wants me to write his biography.”
“Ty, that’s…that’s incredible!” Mya squeals. “Are you going to do it?”
“Doubtful,” I scoff. “He’s probably just trying to get me to sleep with him again.”
“I don’t think that’s what this is.”
“Why not? Nothing else makes sense.”
“Well, for starters, you’ve already proven that he doesn’t need to do anything this grand to get you to sleep with him,” she says with a shrug, and I narrow my eyes at her. “And,” she continues. “You’re a good writer, Ty. You’ve just had shit luck, that’s all. So, a writing job and six months on the road with one of your favorite bands of all time? I don’t see the problem.”
She’s right. She’s right and I hate her just a little bit. This is literally a dream come true. Except…six months on the road with Eric Ambrose. The one man I don’t trust myself to be around.
