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I sit in the armchair across from Reed, my heart racing. “Just listen to me.”
He puts up his palm. “Tread carefully. Whatever you’re going to ask for, make sure it’s worth risking what I’ve already put on the table. Maybe, in response to whatever new things you demand, I’ll demand something new, too. Something you don’t want to give. Or, maybe, I’ll start taking things off the table. Stuff you thought was already settled and done. Do you really want to risk that?”
Shit, he’s intimidating. Confident and sexy and formidable beyond belief when he flips into his “music mogul businessman mode.” But it can’t be helped. Just before I shook Reed’s hand, I realized I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t get two more items sneaked into our deal. “Yeah, both things are worth it to me,” I say confidently, even though I’m shitting a brick.
Reed scoffs, leans back on the couch, and motions like he’s giving me the floor. “Let’s hear it, then.”
My stomach somersaults. I take a deep breath. “Okay. First off, about that party tonight—”
“No.”
“Listen. I want you to take me there, Reed, in my official capacity as a writer for Rock ‘n’ Roll, solely to—”
“No.”
“Listen! I want to observe how RCR lets off steam after a show. And I also want to break the ice with them for my future group interview of them and my solo stir-fried interview with Dean. Reed, come on. Readers would want to read about a star-struck fan getting to party with rock royalty, and you know it. It’d be a huge missed opportunity for me to not go. In fact, I’d even say it’d be a gross dereliction of duty if I didn’t go, which might get me fired.”
Reed’s dark eyes are unmistakably unimpressed. Well, damn. I thought I was being pretty persuasive. But, okay, I’ll try another tack.
“Reed, like I said, I had a RCR poster on my wall as a teenager. ‘Shaynee’ is one of my all-time favorite songs. My fourteen-year-old self would never forgive me if I missed this party. I know you party with rock stars all the freaking time. For you, it’s as ho-hum as eating a bag of chips. But it’d be a once in a lifetime experience for me, and, selfishly, I reallllly don’t want to miss out.”
Reed exhales like he’s painfully bored. “Are you finished? Have you now exhausted all your less than persuasive arguments regarding item number one?”
“Only if you’re going to say yes. If not, I’ve got another ten minutes all cued up.”
He can’t resist smiling at that. “Okay, so, if I’m understanding this correctly, Little Miss Georgina Ricci is dying to party like a rock star, huh?”
“She is. But for professional purposes only.”
Reed can’t help chuckling. “All right, sweetheart. I tell you what I’ll do. Actually, I was already contemplating doing this exact thing. I talked to Owen about this yesterday, as a matter of fact. A week from today, next Saturday, I’m going to throw a party at my house—a fucking awesome rager, celebrating the special issue. And you and the other writers assigned to the project will be my guests of honor.”
I leap up from the armchair and squeal and jump around with glee.
“Every artist on my label who isn’t on tour will be there, so they can meet you and the other writers. It’ll be a chance to break the ice and brainstorm. And, of course, you’ll have the chance to party like a rock star, exactly as your fourteen-year-old self would have wanted.”
I can’t stop jumping around, laughing and hooting like a maniac, and Reed can’t stop laughing at my silly display.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, laughing.
“I feel like it!” I say, giggling. “Thank you!”
“I take it we’ve reached agreement on your item number one?”
“Yes!” I shriek, doing a stupid little twirl. “Thank you so much!” When I come out of my spin, I have the impulse to hug him, again, but jerk back sharply at the last second, same as last time, as if I’m saving myself from a burning pyre. For the love of fuck. I can’t hug this sexy man. If I do, then I’ll kiss him. And if I kiss him, then I’ll fuck him—maybe even in this room. And if I fuck him, especially here, then I’ll lose all my bargaining power on item number two—which, frankly, is the far more critical item for me to secure.
I stand stock still in front of Reed, my chest heaving from my little dance, to discover Reed’s cheeks blazing red and a massive erection bulging behind his pants. Oh, God, that hard-on is making my mouth water. I want to rub myself against it... and then pull it out of its bondage and ride it like a pony.
But, no.
I have to remain strong.
I have to get through my second demand without folding like a beach chair, or I’ll never again have a shred of bargaining power with him. That much is clear.
