Cash checks his watch. “By two minutes.”
“Still late.”
They’re having some kind of stare-off. I glance between them—Cash raises one brow; Boone furrows both of his.
I’m happy to know it isn’t just me. Boone is equally, if not more, of a jerk to Cash, who probably commands more respect than most people in the industry.
I clap, successfully gaining their attention. “We should get to it, right?”
“Let’s,” they both say at once, then resume their stand-off.
This is going to be a long day.
I’m waiting outside at four-fifty-five—couldn’t stand to be in there with those two idiots any longer—when gravel crunches down the driveway.
Miles’s car appears, and I jog to the passenger’s side. I have the door open before it fully stops, and I climb in.
“Why’re you out in the cold?”
“Ugh. Don’t ask,” I say, even though I plan on talking his ear off about it.
He studies my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… an interesting day.” I buckle my seatbelt. “Boone and Cash have some kind of weird tension. I don’t know why, but they spent the whole day in a pissing contest.”
Miles’s mouth twitches in an almost smile.
I lean my head back against the seat. “I’m exhausted. Remember when I thought Boone didn’t like me when we first met? Yeah… that was nothing in comparison.”
Miles hums, listening.
“The two of them couldn’t agree on literallyanything. At one point, Boone and I went back to working on my solo stuff while Cash sulked on the couch. Then Cash pulled the ‘my time is precious’ act, which gave them something else to argue about. It was a mess.”
He reaches across and takes my hand. “Sounds like you need a drink.”
“Please.”
“And an orgasm,” he murmurs, and I laugh.
“Yes, one of those, too, please.”
“I’ll give you three.” He glances over at me with a smirk. And I take back what I said about not liking those.
THIRTY-THREE
I sink back,wishing this ugly couch would swallow me whole.
Seven days of mediating between two grown men who refuse to be in the same room without glaring at each other.
Seven days of “Boone, Cash has a point,” and “Cash, maybe try it Boone’s way,” and “Can wepleasejust focus on the music?”
To no avail.
Forget about writing a song. Recording? I scoff. If I make it through today without them killing each other, or me killing themboth, I’ll consider it a win.
“The tempo’s too fast.” Boone crosses his arms.
Cash leans back in his chair. “It’s right for radio.”
