Page 114 of Just My Type of wrong guy

Oh, I hope you know I will carry you home

whether it's tonight or 55 years down the road.

Carry You Home - Alex Warren

I open the door for Alexandra after hearing two knocks, and I’m surprised by her outfit.

“I would ask what bit you.” I close the door and take in her outfit. “But I know her name and surname,” I say, making her laugh.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, almost doubting, and does a little spin.

Dear God, she looks amazing.

Maybe it’s the short boots, or the high-waisted skinny jeans, or maybe it’s the long cardigan that hugs her curves… But the spirit of Daniele that’s possessed her body really suits her.

“If this look depends on my approval, you have it. You look amazing,” I say, winking at her – doing my best not to imagine the shorts she mentioned – as Alexandra walks toward the bed in our cream-and-gold room. Just a little less monochromatic than the ones in Europe. “Don’t sit down, our car is downstairs,” I say, extending my right hand. “We need to be at the airport in an hour and a half.”

“What about the others?” she asks, holding my hand, and I pull her closer.

Alexandra stops in my arms, and our eyes study each other while also trying to look away.

“Richard and Daniele left, Guilherme and Bia are eating some spicy wings they love, and Thomas… didn’t say anythingin the group. But we’re leaving soon, because I need to sort something out when we get to the airport.”

“Did you know I was snooping through your Instagram, the guys’, and even the label’s this morning trying to see which other artists were at the party – and found nothing?” she grumbles, stepping away.

I take four long strides to my backpack.

“There weren’t that many people, it was more of a Vicious hangout, but you wouldn’t find photos there.” I say, checking the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything.

“Why?”

“No phones allowed at those parties.”

“You were talking to me!”

“From the bathroom, because I hid my phone so you could call me if you needed to,” I explain, pointing to the exit, and Alexandra, in this outfit, pouts at me.

This woman’s going to be the death of me.

“That was sweet of you,” Her expression softens. She wasn’t expecting it, but liked it more than she’ll admit. “But the day with the girls was really nice, I’m glad I didn’t have to bother you.” Alex says with a smile while we walk toward the elevator, where I press the parking button.

“Things with the label were formal. We schmoozed with Victor, some of the investors, talked about going back to the studio to record the next album, and we’ve already received feedback that the next tour needs to be bigger.”

“Bigger? You’re already filling stadiums!”

“But no artist at our level does shows only on the weekend. The plans for the next one will involve, at least, four shows a week.” I repeat Victor’s words as we leave the metallic box.

Alexandra blinks twice. With the intense rhythm of the shows, the two hours of soundcheck, plus the show and howmuch energy we put into it, it’s not hard to see how exhausting it’s going to be.

“Doesn’t sound fun, but… I don’t know, maybe it’s worth doing crazy things for a while.”

“We don’t have a problem with that, the problem is getting less than thirty percent of the net profit we generate. But our contract renewal meeting will be before we start the next album, so we’ll fix that…”

“That’s really too little.”

“Yeah, so Victor covers our expenses, got us the black card... But we want a fair contract and a private jet for the band. Things that will improve our lives, especially with the increase in shows.”

“Seriously, GenZ has been exploited too. We made money with commercials, advertising, because the soap opera and the band… went almost entirely to the network—which also owns the record label.”

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