Monty raised his eyebrows expectantly, so I glared at him for good measure. Later, I’d wipe the smug smirk off his face.
“This looks decent,” Laurel said, having cut his veggie burger in half.
“Enjoy your meal.”
With his mouth already full, he nodded and hummed.
And at that very moment, Monty opened his piehole and said, “So you’re, like, burned out?”
Laurel coughed and chewed frantically while knocking on his chest with his fist.
Hunter lifted his gaze to me as if I could save him from something. “You know what? I’ll have another.”
I could only imagine how many times this evening Monty would shove his foot in his mouth. Could I stop this? Invent a crisis that would force him out of the booth?
I couldn’t protect Monty from everything, least of all from himself. He was the last guy on earth who deserved any shit from anyone, but even if I wrapped him in bubble wrap and stood guard by his side twenty-four seven, he’d find a way to get into trouble.
Eyeing Laurel as he cleared his throat and drank some beer, I tried to guess how bad it would be.
Please, don’t pounce on him,I wanted to say.He means well.
“Jordy!” Sedric called from behind me.
I had work to do, dammit. If this was about to become a shitshow, I would have to let it happen.
4
LAUREL
I swallowed the chunk of food that nearly got stuck in my throat and chased it down with beer. It seemed Montgomery Wolf was either extraordinarily stupid or extraordinarily clever, but nothing in between. Hunter eyed me with worry, probably expecting me to tear Monty a new one.
Had anyone else said something like that to me, I would have gone full-on tantrum mode. Who would dare to criticize the multiple award-winning genius that was Laurel Riley? While assholes online wrote the most heinous things, nobody had risked saying anything to my face since I had sold out the first stadium.
This big bear with his guileless brown eyes was gazing at me adoringly, even as he was poking at my sorest wounds.
And I didn’t have it in me to lash out at him.
Was I burned out?
So I said, “Blocked, maybe. I haven’t written anything new in a while.”
Monty sighed, his mighty shoulders rising and sinking. “After two years on tour, who wouldn’t be wiped out?”
“Most people think I live the life of their dreams.”
“Really? Every other night in another hotel? Sleeping on planes and in cars? All those crowds?” He shook his head. “You would have to pay me a lot to endure that for a month, let alone two years.”
“One year and nine months, ninety-four million,” I clarified.
Hunter whistled. “I’d risk a burnout for that.”
But Monty looked unimpressed. “It’s a lot of money, sure. What will you do with it?”
“Put it away in different pots and drawers with all that other money, I guess.”
I eyed the designer shades on the table next to my beer. I didn’t remember how much they cost. I used to buy a lot of shit, especially the first year when I went big, but that lost its appeal fast. The forest here and the chalet were my last venture, and they barely made a dent in my account.
“I’ve read somewhere that the tour earned roughly one billion in ticket sales,” Hunter said. “Strange that barely 10 percent of that goes into your pocket, when it’s all about you.”
