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“But—”
“If I do get pregnant,” she said quickly, “I’ll take care of it. I’m not having a baby with a stranger.” She lifted her chin. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m your sister.” A pang hit my heart as her words and sharp expression sliced through me. Before the band took off, we used to talk about everything, and she wasn’t so snippy. “I’m responsible for you.”
“I love you, Addy, but you’re not responsible for me.” Rachel softened her tone, yet the hurt remained. “I’m responsible for myself. I’m all grown up now. You need to accept it.”
“You’re only a junior.”
“And you’re only eleven months older than me,” she said airily. “I don’t need a keeper anymore.”
Narrowing my eyes, I said, “I’m not so sure about that.”
“You’re just jealous because you and Collin still haven’t gone all the way.”
I flinched. Maybe I was a little bit jealous. But it was more that I was frustrated and worried that my lack of experience might disappoint Collin.
My phone rang, gratefully pulling me from my thoughts. I’d turned the ringer back on during the drive from Miranda’s. Knowing A&R agents had my number, I didn’t hesitate to take the call.
“Hello?”
“Addy!” Martin shouted. “Where the hell are you?”
“Downstairs,” I said and made a face.
“Get your ass upstairs,” he barked. “We have important shit to discuss.”
“Okay.” I ended the call and gave my sister and Miranda an apologetic look. “I gotta go talk to Martin,” I grumbled.
They nodded grimly. He’d shouted loud enough that they heard.
Crossing the room, I pulled open the door. Collin was just outside talking to Andy, but he paused and glanced at me.
“You and me,” I said, channeling some of my sister’s airy confidence. “We’re finishing what we started after your show.”
After making my declaration to Collin, I didn’t cling to his gaze like I usually did. I didn’t want to look into his eyes and learn that the real reason he didn’t want to go all the way with me was simply that he didn’t want to.
Upstairs, I discovered that the club was already filling up. The people who had been in line before were inside now. As it had been since ABCR became weekend headliners, Winston’s would be at capacity before the band took the stage.
The staff weren’t harried by the press of fans. They were accustomed to the throng and hustled to accommodate them. Bartenders, barbacks, and waitstaff continued to wear the club’s black-and-silver colors, showing who they belonged to.
If I had a bar or employees of my own, I would let them wear whatever colors they wanted. A place could be owned, not people, though Martin Skellin would certainly disagree.
Shoulders back, I prepared to meet with a man who I knew now didn’t just feel dangerous. Hewasdangerous. After months sitting beside him, not just Saturdays but Fridays too, I’d seen the company he kept. From well-dressed mafia types to upper-echelon La Rasa Prima, they deferred to him the way his staff and I did.
Weaving through the crowd, I headed to the newly expanded, roped-off VIP section. Stopping at the security guard, I gave him my name like I had the other man who’d been working this section the previous weekend.
While he checked his list, I untied the sash on my trench coat. I wasn’t going to Martin’s office. If he needed to talk to me, he could talk to me here.
Obviously, I didn’t want to be alone with Martin. He hadn’t crossed the line with me, but he had touched me and made suggestive comments. I’d rebuffed him repeatedly, and he’d apologized. Then the cycle continued.
But I didn’t tell anyone. If I told Collin or Barry, they would lose their shit, and ABCR would lose their gig. Martin didn’t even have to say so—the implication was clear.
“Thank you, Miss Footit.” The security guard waved me through.
I saw the flash of his sidearm holster. The upgrades to the fit and finish of Winston’s weren’t the only changes the club had undergone. Security had been increased significantly. Martin never went anywhere now without a bodyguard.
Draping my borrowed trench coat over my arm, I hitched the thin strap of the new lilac-purple Coach clutch that Miranda had given me higher on my shoulder. When I lifted my gaze, I caught the bodyguard ogling me. Yeah, the shimmery gold Stella dress, with peekaboo slashes over my cleavage and a midriff-baring midsection, wasn’t like my usual nondescript attire.
