“By far.” I inhale deeply again. “God, that smells amazing. What is it?”
“Scrambled eggs with turkey chorizo, onions, jalapeños, and spinach.”
I give his arm a little squeeze. “I meant your cologne, Tiger.But breakfast smells amazing, too.”
“Did you do a couple shots of tequila before coming down here?”
“Nope. I did a couple shots of Reed Rivers. I’m punch drunk on nothing but you, sexy man.” I give his ass cheek a playful little pinch. “Knowing I’m going to get to be a butterfly caught in your net all week long is making me giddy.”
Reed turns off the burner and reaches for a pepper shaker. “Don’t get too attached to the sex swing. I get bored easily. I like mixing things up.”
“Yes, I’ve stalked you online, remember? I’m well aware you get bored easily and like mixing things up.” It’s a reference to the many different women photographed on Reed’s arm, as I’m sure he realizes—and I instantly regret saying it. Yes, I’ve kept my tone flirty. But it doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to know the comment is borne of insecurity, an uncertainty about the rules of engagement here. After the life-changing sex we just had, I can’t help wanting Reed all to myself. Is that an unreasonable expectation?
Reed puts down his spatula and grabs my shoulders gently. “Georgina, don’t go psycho on me, okay? I meant I’m going to be mixing things up withyou,and only you. The mere thought of you kissing another man while you’re working on the special issue makes me want to commit murder.”
I’m tentatively elated. But I can’t help noticing Reed didn’t make that last comment mutual. “And what will you be doing while I’m kissing only you for the entire summer? While I’m working on the special issue, will you be all mine, every bit as much as I’m all yours?”
He looks stern. “Georgina, I told you, quite clearly, the first night we met at the bar: it takesa lotto get me to agree to exclusivity.”
I press my lips together, and he bursts out laughing at the expression on my face.
“Georgina, of course, it goes both ways! Yes, it takes a lot to get me to agree to exclusivity. But, baby, to put it mildly, you’re...a lot.”
I giggle and throw my arms around his neck. “This is going to be so fun.”
He kisses my cheek enthusiastically. “What your body did in the swing this morning was just the beginning. Oh my God. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”
He kisses me again before we reluctantly disengage from our embrace.
“I’ve instructed Owen to clear my calendar of all nighttime engagements this entire week,” he says. “So I can focus all my attention on you.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. There’s no place I’d rather be, every night this week, than with my butterfly, showing her all the amazing things her body can do.”
I kiss him enthusiastically, and he squeezes my ass with equal fervor, making me squeal. But, finally, it’s time to eat. Reed turns off the blaring music, grabs two plates, and divides the contents of his pan, and then we sit down at a small table in the corner of the kitchen to devour our feast.
After complimenting the meal, I ask, “So, what’s on your schedule today, Music Mogul?”
“A meeting at my attorney’s office, followed by my weekly Monday afternoon meeting with my team.”
“Is your attorney that guy I met with his teenage daughter last night at the concert?”
“Yep. Leonard Schwartz. We’ve got some stuff to go over regarding a frivolous lawsuit.” He tells me briefly about the lawsuit—basically, that some band has claimed Red Card Riot stole their song, based on a common chord progression that can be found in a million other songs.
“Can I come to the meeting with Leonard?” I ask. “I’d love to ask him about you.”
He chuckles. “Sure. You might have to leave the meeting at some point, if we’re going to talk about something that’s attorney-client privileged. But you can certainly join the meeting at the beginning to interview Leonard.”
“Great. I want to get an overview of what it takes, from a legal perspective, to run your empire.”
“Knock yourself out.”
We eat and talk, falling into easy, comfortable conversation. In response to my questions, Reed tells me a bit more about the copyright infringement lawsuit and I agree it sounds incredibly stupid.
“I took a class called Journalism and the Justice System this past year,” I say. “It covered the intersection between journalism and the law. Like, how to report on trials and court cases and stuff. I learnedso much. My professor said ninety percent of all lawsuits wind up settling—that only about ten percent of court cases ever go to trial.”
“Those are probably national statistics,” Reed says. “I think the rate of settlement is even higher in California, where litigation is like breathing. Either way, those numbers would be reversed for me. I wind up settling only five to ten percent of the cases filed against my various companies, and fighting the rest with everything I’ve got.”
