Page 92 of Fixing to Be Mine

His eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?”

I lean in and whisper in his ear, “I have contacts who could help her.”

His fingers thread through my hair. “Seriously?”

“I have contacts in every area of the entertainment industry. She could be the next Taylor.”

Colt just stares at me for a second, his whiskey halfway to his lips. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” I say, taking a sip of my martini. “That girl has talent. Real talent. And she deserves more than playing covers in dusty bars and hoping the right person stumbles through the door.”

He looks toward the stage, where London’s setting up with her band, adjusting her mic and laughing with the drummer. “But you literally stumbled through the door of a dusty bar. You’re the right person, apparently.”

I tilt my head at him and laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

I stir my drink once, keeping my tone casual. “I can’t guarantee anything, only an introduction or a conversation with someone at a label I know. The rest would be on her. She has the talent; it will be an auto yes.”

He drags a hand over his mouth like he doesn’t know what to do with that. “I’m shocked.”

“Colt,” I say, setting my glass down and reaching for his hand, “she’s gonna be huge. Take some video of her on your phone right now, playing in this bar. Trust me.”

His eyes soften, but there’s something fierce flickering in them too—pride maybe. “Right now?”

I laugh. “Yes. Go make her a music video with your cell phone. Walk through the crowd. But bring your focus back to her singing and playing with her band.” I grab his arm. “Go!”

Colt cuts through the crowd like he owns the place—camera up, grin wide, energy buzzing off him in waves. People laugh and cheer as he spins, recording the bartenders pouring drinks, couples two-stepping, and the band in full swing. But every few seconds, he brings the lens right back to London. She catches on somewhere in the second verse, brows lifting as her smile shiftsfrom confused to thrilled. Her voice doesn’t falter—if anything, it soars. She’s feeding off the moment now, playing like she’s standing in front of a stadium instead of on a hardwood stage in a Texas dive bar.

And Colt? He’s still filming, hollering her name between whoops like he’s her entire PR team and fan base, rolled into one man with a cowboy hat and a camera phone. It’s perfect.

I drain the last sip of my martini and wave Boone over for another, my gaze locked on Colt as he hops onto the edge of the dance floor and spins in a full circle for dramatic effect. He stays out there for the entire four minutes, making sure he’s got as much footage as possible.

London laughs into the microphone. “My brother Colt, everyone.”

He turns around and waves with a smile before heading back toward me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright blue.

He drops onto the stool beside me, slightly out of breath. “Like that?”

“Exactly,” I say, tapping the screen. “Don’t ever delete it. The first music video she has, use that. Any footage you have like that is gold and a documentation of the very beginning. It’s to be cherished, but also, she’ll be able to share it with her fan base.”

With his hand on my thigh, he leans in. “Who are you?”

I grab his phone and google my name, then hand it to him. His eyes slide down the countless articles, and he shrugs like he doesn’t give a damn.

“That’s your reaction?” I’m shocked.

“What? That’s supposed to impress me?” He shakes his head with a laugh. “It doesn’t, darlin’.”

I stare at him like he just handed me the whole damn world. “I’ve never felt sonormal.”

He shakes his phone. “This woman doesn’t matter. I don’t know her. Just the one who’s sitting in front of me.”

I blink at him, caught somewhere between undone and completely floored.

His arm is still casually draped across my leg, eyes steady on mine.

I blink fast, trying not to cry in the middle of a bar that smells like whiskey and barbecue sauce. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

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