I resist the urge to smile at her misery—because, man, it’s highly amusing to me—and, instead, shift my eyes to Dean. My golden goose. The face and voice and brilliant mind that launched my empire. He’s a fucking genius, that man. And a great guy, too. Can’t say the same thing about his best friend. Speaking of which... my eyes snap back to C-Bomb to find him glaring at me.
Fuck you,I shoot him nonverbally, with a little lift of my chin.
He returns the glare and the gesture. And then does something that makes my blood simmer. He looks at Georgina lasciviously, and then back at me, and flashes me a look that plainly says,Looks like we both missed out on that one, eh?He winks, like he’s taking great pleasure in knowing I won’t get to tap that ass, any more than he will.
And that’s it. My blood flash-boils. I look away, forcing myself not to shoot him a smug look that will telegraph I’ve already tapped that ass, motherfucker... and it was the best ass I’ve ever had.
Goddammit. Clearly, my scare tactics with that little PA workedtoowell, because there’s no doubt in my mind she didn’t tell C-Bomb, or anyone else, what she saw going down in that dressing room. Or, rather,whoshe saw going down. When C-Bomb heard I’d nixed Georgina’s plans to attend his party and tag along on tour, he must have figured I did that because I wantedGeorgina for myself... butnotbecause I’dalreadysuccessfully gottenher. And that pisses me off to no end. Sitting here now, IwantCaleb to know I’ve fucked Georgina. I want him to know I’m fucking her every night of my life. In fact, I want every fuckboy on my label to know it. Even the nice guys, too. I want thewholeworldto know Georgina is mine. In fact, I want to take out a full-page ad inRock ‘n’ Rollto broadcast the truth:I love Georgina Ricci... and, miraculously, she loves me, too, motherfuckers!
There’s more laughter that draws my attention. I look at Georgina. She’s having a great old time with the band. And, suddenly, I feel like a man possessed. Obsessed with the idea of C-Bomb, and the other band members, knowingI’mthe “boyfriend” Georgina just mentioned.
“Awesome, guys,” Georgina says. She rises from her seat. “That’s all I need.”
The guys thank Georgina. Dean wishes her a great time in New York and a happy birthday. The other guys follow suit, with Clay specifically telling her to have fun with her “boyfriend.” Georgina wishes the band a great show. And in the middle of all that, Owen arrives with a small group of VIPs who’ve come to meet the band.
I shake hands with the VIPs and introduce them to the guys, and then to Georgina—but only as a reporter forRock ‘n’ Roll.Not as my girlfriend. Because that’s what Georgina has specifically said she wants, whenever we’re interacting with my artists. But this time, unlike all times before, not getting to call Georgina mygirlfriendis driving me batshit crazy. I want—no, Ineed—the world to know she’s mine.
As the VIPs take their selfies with the band, I pull Georgina aside. “I need to talk to you about something.”
She looks concerned. “Are you okay?”
I glance at C-Bomb, and force myself, through sheer force of will, not to kiss Georgie, right here and now, so he can see me do it. “No, actually, I’m not. Come on, Miss Ricci. Follow me.”
83
GEORGINA
Reed leads me down a hallway into an empty dressing room, where he closes the door and guides me to a couch. “I can’t do it anymore,” he blurts. “I can’t hide that you’re mine and I’m yours. I want everyone, especially my artists, to know it.”
I exhale with relief. “Oh, God. I thought it was something serious.”
He pulls on me roughly, animalistically, sending arousal whooshing between my legs, and guides me to straddle him on the couch. “I want to shout from the highest rooftops, ‘She’s mine!’ I know you don’t want my artists to know, but I?—”
“Go for it,” I say, and Reed’s face ignites. “I don’t want to hide our relationship, either. If someone thinks I’m too young for you, or they don’t take me seriously as a writer because they think you pulled strings—screw ‘em.Ciao, stronzo.”
Reed crushes his mouth to mine, and we kiss passionately. Until, soon, predictably, we’re both on fire. Making out energetically. Groping. Grinding. Devouring. You know. Being us.
Reed pulls my shirt up and deftly unlatches my bra. With a growl of arousal, he buries his face in my breasts and sucks on my nipple, making me moan?—
“Oh, no!” a female voice blurts in the doorway, making me leap off Reed onto the couch and scrambleto cover myself.
“Don’t leave, little PA,” Reed says calmly. “I want to speak to you about this.”
And that’s when I see her. ThesamePA from the Rose Bowl. Standing in the doorway, her ashen face turned away.
“I didn’t see anything, Mr. Rivers!” she shouts. “Not a thing!”
“You can go,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to see this again.”
“No, you maynotgo,” Reed corrects firmly. “Come here. Miss Ricci’s got her shirt on now. I want to speak to you.”
“Reed,” I chastise. “Let her go.”
“Not a chance. Come here, little PA. Right now.”
With a loud sigh, the poor PA drags herself across the room like a shackled prisoner and stands before us, her brow furrowed with anxiety. “I didn’t see anything except two people having a conversation.”
Oh, man, Reed is smiling like a possum with a sweet potato. Obviously, he’slovingthis. “What’s your name, again?” he asks, his dark eyes glinting with the purest form of glee.
