Page 11 of Chasin’s Surrender

I glared at Chasin, which only amused him more.

Asshole.

“Now that we’ve established that Chasin and Ms. Ellison know each other, maybe we can all sit,” the man who’d introduced himself as Nixon Swagger said. “I’d like to go over what the label sent us and ask a few questions.”

Bobby tugged at my hand but I didn’t take my eyes off Chasin.

Why did he have to be so damn good-looking?

“Just so we’re clear, five orgasms or fifty won’t ever earn you the right to boss me, asshole.”

“Noted.” The disbelief in his tone wasn’t lost on me.

Total asshole.

And with another lopsided smile, Chasin sat and looked to Nixon. Bobby and I sat across from Chasin.

“I’m Alec.” A man cleared his throat and introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Genevieve.”

“Got that.” He chuckled and I could feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment.

As the mortification of my stupidity set in, which I firmly blamed on Chasin and his highhanded order, I looked at the table.

“Ms. Ellison,” Nixon called.

“Please call me Genevieve,” I muttered.

“Okay, Genevieve, how long have you been in Cliff City?”

“Ten days,” I answered.

“And since you’ve been here, has anything happened?”

Other than meeting a man, spending the weekend with him, and thinking that I’d met the man of my dreams?

“No.”

“Something happened back in Tennessee,” Bobby answered and my gaze snapped to her. “We didn’t want to say anything until I met with you, but another letter was left at her home in Oak Hill.”

“We?” I asked.

“Leslie, Mel, and I.” There was a beat of silence then, “Don’t be mad,” Bobby rushed out. “We know this is a lot for you. We didn’t want you upset.”

No, they didn’t want me stressed. They wanted me writing music.

“Bobby, you know I love you. We’ve been friends a long time and you’ve been by my side from the beginning. All of you keep saying I’m not taking this seriously. Well, how can I when all of you are trying to handle me?”

“It’s my job to—”

“Fuck your job, Bobby. You’re my friend. You’re supposed to have my back, not listen to Melissa and Leslie.” My friend’s eyes widened and her brows pulled together. Fuck me, she didn’t understand why I was pissed. Whatever. “What’d the letter say?”

She opened up her big, slouchy handbag, pulled out two Ziploc bags, and set them on the table. “I opened it. Once I saw what they were, I tried not to touch them and put them in the bags.”

And there it was—proof there was no getting away from this person.

Enjoy Maryland.