“I don’t think Bax is gonna love this.” Linx’s voice drifted from Bax’s kitchen.
They had company, but they always had company.
Bax growled. He actually growled. That was pretty cute, really.
She was certain that Linx and Becca and her parents continued showing up as observers for when things imploded. There was probably even a bet going as to when it would happen. She hadn’t asked. But she sort of figured it sounded reasonable. It was what she would’ve done if she were them.
Knox was always there because he had moved into the spare bedroom. The spare bedroom on the other side of the six-thousand-square-foot house.
“What am I not gonna love?” Bax asked as they turned the corner to the ginormous kitchen, still in epic grump mode.
Here’s the thing. Bax’s kitchen was the bomb. If she were the type of woman who loved to cook, she’d be in heaven.
She wasn’t a woman who loved to cook; she was a woman who enjoyed heating things up. All the same, she could appreciate the attention to culinary detail that had gone into this room. Slate-gray cabinets with white quartz countertops, dark hardwood floor, and backlighting in the glass-front cabinets. Everything was clean lines and seamless edges.
“Have you seen the new ads?” Linx asked, slipping his gaze to Courtney with awhat the fucklook she’d become accustomed to as a kid.
Right. The new ads. Courtney’s graphic artist had played a little with Bax’s hair, and honestly, she thought the concept was awesome. Hans thought so too. So they ran with it.
Made an entire campaign around Bax and his haircut.
“New ads?” Bax moved to look at Linx’s phone—where he was apparently flipping through the new advertisements.
Bax’s expression went slack.
Yep. The ads werethatexceptional.
“What happened to my hair?” he asked, mirroring Linx’swhat the fucklook.
“Your hair is fine.” It was. Still looked great.
“Courtney.” He heaved a breath. “I appreciate you are doing such a great job with the publicity.” He paused, as though seriously considering his next words. “What did you do to me?”
Shehad done nothing. But graphics guy had experimented with various hairstyles and that had sparked a concept of “Where’s the real Bax? Rock out. Find out. Buy your tickets now!”
Each ad had a different version of Bax: Cowboy Bax. Construction worker Bax. One where he wore a firefighter’s hat. One with his old long-hair style. One with the new. Another with Bax’s face replaced by a T-Rex head—that one was Hans’s idea. The one with him in pirate garb—that’d been hers.
The other guys, of course, stayed the same in each ad.
If the campaign took off, Hans had a T-Rex head for Bax to wear when they wrapped up their tour in Telluride.
Courtney hadn’t said a peep about it, because itwasHans’s idea. She had minimal involvement—other than instructing her graphics guy and ordering the costume head. That was it. The extent of her involvement.
Also, she figured Hans would’ve told Bax by now.
“Can I just say that it’s nice to hear you two bickering again?” Knox kicked back on one of the kitchen chairs—balancing himself by leveraging his feet on the table.
“We’re not bickering,” Courtney assured. “Just talking.”
They couldn’t be bickering, because they were not in a pirate ship.
“Well, it’s good to hear you twotalkingagain.” Knox rolled his eyes.
“I’m not convinced that sounded like talking.” Linx shook his head. “I could grab Becca though. She’s sort of the expert on talking and communication. She’ll know for sure.”
“Courtney”—Bax said her name like he was trying to strangle it with his tongue—“appears to have issues with my trying to ensure the safety of her and Tiny Badass.”
Courtney shook her head. “That is not true.”
