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Maybe Mia’s right.
Maybe I should just give up on my dream of making it big as a singer in New York, and head back to Ohio with my tail between my legs.
Defeat is a crippling word though. And it’s not a word that usually plays on high rotation in my vocabulary. But lately, I don’t know anymore. As it is, I owe two months’ worth of rent to my landlord, I have a carton of out-of-date milk in my refrigerator, and I still have to pay for the headshots I got done six weeks ago. The guy’s been emailing me like it’s his full-time profession, and I know I have to pay him eventually. If he can just wait until my next paycheck clears, then I can maybe give him, likehalf?
So, yeah, I’m living the dream.
But worrying about all that isn’t going to get me inside this building any faster. So, I grab my purse off the passenger seat, lock the car, and race toward the double sliding glass doors at the very front of the building.
The foyer is all marble and polished brass, and I rush straight over to the bank of elevators to the left of the entrance, despite the very put together, very la-de-da receptionist calling me back to the desk to sign in. Ignoring her, I push the button for the fifth floor. The doors eventually slide open, and I hurry inside before she catches up to me.
Checking my reflection in the mirror as the elevator ascends, I straighten my skirt, fix my hair a little, and glance down at my watch again.
I’m officially late.
Great.
Joanie is going to kill me.
Reed
“Is this a fucking joke?” I grumble under my breath, glaring at the enormous black metal clock that’s situated on the wall at the opposite end of the room. “How long are we supposed to sit here?”
“Settle down,” warns Nick, scowling at me from across the boardroom table. He reaches across and taps his fingers on the highly polished glass. “And watch your language.”
“We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes. This is bullshit!”
Nick hangs his head, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. He looks as frustrated as I feel, but Delaney grabs my forearm beside me and leans into my side.
“Shut your mouth before you say something you’ll regret,” he cautions sternly, but then he looks across at the middle-aged, wiry-haired woman who’s sitting at the head of the table. The woman assigned to mediate today, or so we were told when we first arrived.
On time, I might add.
“He does have a point though. How long must we sit here waiting for someone who may or may not even show up?”
A very attractive blonde woman sits on the opposite side of the table from Delany, an empty leather chair positioned beside her. She holds up her hands defensively. “She’ll be here.”
“Really, Joanie. When?”
“She must be caught in traffic. I’ll try calling her again.”
“You do realize my client is in the middle of rehearsals for an upcoming tour, and I’m not in the habit of pulling my clients away from doing what they do best, just to gratify some –”
“I said she’ll be here, so quit the blame game, Delaney. I’m not in the mood for your self-righteous act. You’re just sore because you lost that case against Petersen last week, and you still owe me a drink if I remember correctly. I’ll take an espresso martini whenever you’re ready.”
“You free tomorrow night?”
“Sure. I’ll take a double since you didn’t pay up on time.”
“Fine with me.”
What the fuck is this shit?
I glare at Delaney. Is he being serious right now? He wants to exchange flirty banter with this woman while my entire career is on the line. My eyes shoot across the large glass table, directly at Nick, and I can tell he’s growing impatient as well.
He has deep horizontal lines engraved on his forehead, and he looks like he could murder Delaney on sight.
“I’ll call you,” says Joanie, in her too-tight skirt and her too-high heels, batting her too-long lashes. She checks her watch for the umpteenth time since we all arrived. “Look, I’m sure Miss Thomas will be here just as –”
