“Did you find someone for me, then?” I throw back at her. “You know, since I make you do everything?”
Her mouth drops open in shock, not expecting me to show any fight. Nothing comes out as she blinks slowly, trying to come up with some kind of response. “You have to learn responsibility at some point, Raina.”
Dickless rolls his eyes and holds up his hand to silence her. It only sends a small amount of pleasure zipping through me to see her shut up so dismissively. “I take it you didn’t do the one thing I asked for after I gave you grace the other day?” He sighs, but his disappointment seems fake and over-the-top. “Why would you do something to purposely let me down?”
His question is meant to be a missile, attacking me right in the heart and exploding for maximum damage. Too bad for him, I built a wall around it and moved it somewhere he can’t reach. I hang my head, giving him the reaction he wants while holding my tongue. He’s all about listening to himself, anyway.
“I have someone who I was planning on placing with another band… It goes against my better judgment, but I’ll loan him to you. It’ll cost you, though.” He stares at me for a moment. “First, I’d like you to meet him. Make sure it’s the right fit.”
Nash shifts beside me, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of replacing Tristan, but we’ve talked about it in moments of weakness. They know we’re in a hard place here, backed against a wall with contracts we all signed. Until we find out what happened to Tristan, the show must go on.
That doesn’t mean we’ll give up though.
Alyssa stands, crossing the small space to the door and opening it before I even have a chance to reply. She waves her hand to guide someone into my home turned office space. I’m distracted from watching whoever it is when Nash leans into me, his breath feathering against my ear.
“Well, isn’t that a walking snack.” I barely stop myself from lashing out, fisting my coffee cup in my hand and contemplating the need to sacrifice the holy drink to pour it in his lap. Myroasted bean juice is too sacred. I angrily take a sip, squinting my eyes at him as his attention remains trained on whoever walked in.
Where’s a fork when a girl needs one?
In lieu of stabbing him with an eating utensil, I search for whatever girl has stolen the attention of my bass player. My gaze sweeps over the room, but the only bitch who deserves to die is Alyssa. There is no other woman.
Realization comes to me all too slowly. I almost feel like I’m in a daze as I watch Dickless stand and hold his hand out. My eyes trail the movement as I watch a man with gorgeous mahogany skin reaching for it. I bite my lip as his tendons flex with the movement. Can I find a forearm sexy? Is that actually a thing?
I’m certifiable if an arm turns me on.
Shaking my thoughts off, I take in the rest of him. He’s wearing a teal band T-shirt for Whispered Words, the logo worn out like it’s well loved, not something he’s recently picked up. I nearly let out a sigh with the way his chest fills out the fabric, and as my perusal travels south, I suck in a slight gasp with the way his skinny jeans hug his legs before ending with sneakers that match the color of his shirt.
“Darius, I’d like to introduce you to one of the label’s biggest stars, my niece Raina.” I wince at him calling me his niece, it feels like a subtle undercut, like I didn’t earn my fame. Dickless’ gaze flicks down, and I catch how the corner of his lips want to curl into a snarl. He hates any band that isn’t signed with him, even if he rejected them. It kinda makes me like this Dare guy, just a smidge.
He turns to me, holding out a hand which I obviously take, I’m not an asshole. His hand wraps around mine, solid and warm. Of course I can’t avoid looking at his face. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it.” His voice washes over me, making my heart skip a beat.
He’s British… The man has that sweet sweet foreign accent that makes my knees weak. As if he needed anything else to make him more attractive. Our eyes meet, and I swear I forget the English language for a moment.
Striking greenish-blue eyes threaten to take my soul. They gaze deeply into me, making me feel exposed to him. His complexion is smooth, complementing his prominent cheekbones and well-defined jawline. His lips split into a smile, like he knows how freaking gorgeous he is. I bet he gets this reaction all the time.
Untangling my tongue before I embarrass myself further, I say, “Nice to meet you, Darius. I’m glad we could find a lead guitarist so quickly.”
Darius tilts his head, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion. I’m positive he’s about to speak when the asshole claps his hands together, claiming the attention of everyone in the room.
“Now that everyone has met, Raina, do you find Darius an acceptable replacement?” It doesn’t get past me that he ignored the rest of the band, you know, the people who’ll be playing with this new guitarist…
I wish we weren’t pushed into a corner, but as it stands, I really don’t have a choice here. “As long as he can play the songs and keep up, I’d be happy to have him.”
Darius’ smile takes over his face, a confidence joining it. “You don’t have to worry about that; I have perfect pitch. I’ve been able to play your music from the first time I heard it.”
Okay, now he’s bragging. A good amount of performers have relative pitch. We can hear something and identify the way notes relate to each other. But perfect pitch is the rare ability of being able to play something you’ve never heard before after listening to it once. No sheet music needed. It’s hella useful in the music industry, especially for someone like him.
“Excellent,” Dickless says with fake enthusiasm. “Darius, are you still willing to join them?”
He scans the room, taking a moment to acknowledge the other members of the band, which adds to his character, as he wasn’t willing to completely ignore them. “I am.” He keeps his answer simple, which I appreciate after the brag.
“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind leaving so I can speak to my niece for a moment, I’d appreciate it.” He uses a tone that makes it clear it’s not a question.
“Not a problem,” Darius says, giving the asshole a nod of respect that he doesn’t deserve as he turns to the door with Alyssa on his heels.
Nash and Blake both look at me, questioning if I want them to ignore the request and stay instead. I want to hug them, squeeze them tight for choosing me over what anyone else asks, but instead I give them a nod of my head, and they follow him out the door.
“You too, son,” Dickless practically hisses with restrained anger. It makes me glance behind me to where Keaton stands with his arms crossed. It’s clear he has no plans of moving and simply stares at the owner of the label like he’s challenging him to try and make him leave.
