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Oh, for the love of fuck. She’s evil. A shark smelling blood. A demon.
Georgina licks her lips. “Band members are allowed to bring guests on their tours, right? I bet that’s even stated in their contracts. So, fine, I’ll just be Caleb’s personal guest for the entire week and all my problems will be magically solved.” She snaps her fingers. “Don’t forget, C-Bomb offered to get me a hotel room at the Ritz tonight, on his dime, just to make things easier on me after the party. Wasn’t that sweet of him? So, I’m thinking, maybe, if I ask him really sweetly to get me rooms in every city along the tour, he’ll do it for me. Do you think he would? I bet he would.” She drapes her arm across the back of the couch. “And if not, then, gosh, maybe he’ll be willing to let me crash in his bed... every... single... night.”
Oh, my fucking God, she’s diabolical. Pure, unadulterated evil. A force of nature. A human asteroid hurtling toward my planet. How did I not see this coming? I’m normally brilliant at predicting my opponent’s tactical maneuvers. But this time, I must admit, Georgina Ricci has outplayed me. I clench my jaw, forcing myself to keep a poker face. But, damn, this diabolical woman just laid down a royal flush to my two pairs and I’m losing my fucking mind.
“What was that groupie’s name in Almost Famous?” she asks breezily.
I force myself to sound nonchalant. “Penny Lane.”
“That’s right. I bet I’d get a ton of great content for Dig a Little Deeper, if I pulled a Penny Lane this whole week with Caleb.” She swipes her palm through the air in front of me, like she’s imagining her name in lights. “‘My Tantalizing Week as a Badass Drummer’s Penny Lane.’ By Georgina Ricci.” She smiles wickedly at me and lowers her hand. “Gosh, with a scintillating title like that, I bet the article would fly off shelves. It’d probably be the best-selling issue of Dig a Little Deeper yet, doncha think?”
Oh, she’s good. But, still, as I sit here staring at her, I’m starting to smell her panic. To make out the chinks in her armor that betray the panic bubbling frantically underneath all that gorgeous bravado. Her shallow breath. Flaring nostrils. The crimson in her cheeks. Ah, yes. Despite this little show she’s putting on for me, gorgeous Georgina is actually terrified I won’t call her bluff, but will, in fact, let her walk out that door to become C-Bomb’s groupie this week. Now that I’m smelling her delicious fear, I’m positive she doesn’t want to do it. Doesn’t want to be his, whether she had his poster on her wall as a teen or not. If she did, at all. God only knows what this demon would be willing to say to fuck with me. But, no, either way, this girl is dying to be mine and nobody else’s. I’m sure of that now, thanks to the way her heart is visibly crashing behind her incredible tits.
Should I let her twist in the wind a little bit longer? Let her panic boil over? Yes, I should. Unfortunately, though, I’m too worried I’m wrong about her not wanting to fuck Caleb to risk it. Taking a long, deep breath, I drape my elbow over the back of the armchair, matching her posture. “I’d strongly urge you against pursuing a ‘Penny Lane’ strategy with C-Bomb. You might get one scintillating article out of it, but you’d likely torpedo your career. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, baby.”
“Would an article like that torpedo C-Bomb’s career?”
“Of course not. An article like that would add to his mythos as a sex god.”
“That’s sexist.”
“Maybe so, but that’s life. He’s the drummer in a rock band, and you’re a brand-new baby journalist who needs to be taken seriously.”
She presses her lips together, conceding I’ve just scored a point in our game of table tennis. A point she’s awfully glad I’ve scored, if I had to guess.
“Plus,” I say, “is doing an end-run around me, the CEO of River Records, really in your best interests, long-term? Even if the other night had never happened between us, even if I had no designs on you for myself—which, to be clear, I do—do you honestly think it would be wise for a summer intern at Rock ‘n’ Roll to defy a direct order from the founder and CEO of the very label she’s been assigned to write about? Tread carefully, Miss Ricci. Think about the full consequences of your actions. No more flying off the handle.”
Her chest heaves. And her nostrils flare. And I know she’s pretty much crapping her pants at her predicament—and the corner she’s painted herself into. “All right,” she says. “I’ll put my Penny Lane piece on the back burner... for now. But only if you offer me something that’s as good or better. Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to call my boss, who isn’t you, by the way, and say the assignment she gave me is off because, oh, gosh, the CEO of the label I’m assigned to write about wants to fuck me, and therefore doesn’t want me to be alone with Caleb Baumgarten.’”
