Page 8 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

“If you had to work with someone you were in love with and their new fiancé,”he’d slurred at me, “you’d be pretty fucking cranky, too.”

Ohboy.

Liza and Brennan aredefinitelythem, and this just got exponentially more entertaining.

I take a seat across from Brennan, with Liza to my right and August to my left. Offering them a Harley Quinn-esque grin, I throw my hand in the air to alert AJ, the bartender, that I need a beer. Maybe I should ask for some popcorn, too, because I feel like I’m in for some kind of show right now.

“So,” I start, still grinning while my gaze ping-pongs back and forth at each of their faces, “are y’all from out of town?”

“No, we’re all from here,” Liza says on all of their behalf. She’s clearly in charge of whatever this is, and I like her already because she seems like a realboss.

“Oh.” I draw my brows together in slight confusion as AJ sets down my beer. Another fuzzy memory of August from thatothernight resurfaces in my mind, and I recall he’sfrom New York. Noneof them actually look like they’re from here, but it doesn’t matter. “Well, thanks for coming to my show. I hope you’ll come again. I’m working on a lot of new material.”

“Ohgood,” Liza gushes, and I cut a slight glance at August to assess his expression. He doesn’t look entertainingly annoyed at the former love of his life and her fiancé, nor does he appear to have any recollection of me at all. “That’s really good to hear. We’re actually with Frenchmen Street Records. One of our guys has been to a couple of your shows, really liked what he saw, and so we were curious if you have any kind of management or representation yet.”

Just as I’m drawing the beer toward my lips, I halt and blink.

Did I hear her right?

The club is kinda loud, but I’m pretty sure I did.

So, why would these fancy people becuriousabout whether or not I’ve got management?

Does that mean what I think it could mean?

I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, so I simply sip my beer and shake my head. “Nope. Just little ol’ me doing my thing.”

“Would you be open to something like that?” August finally speaks up, and I turn to him. His face is uber-pleasant, and professional, and still as handsome as it was the last time I saw him. The one thing it’snotis indicative of is him having anycluethat I’ve had his dick in my mouth before, andokay then.

“Open to something like what?” I ask, the slightest bit of skepticism flavoring my words.

August turns his palm over. “Professional representation.” I stare at his hand, arching one eyebrow because I can’t help thinking about what I know those strong, tapered fingers are capable of. “Recording and distributing your music.” He leans back in his chair, angling himself toward me in a friendly manner while gesturing with one of those fingers that he used to slide into my panties.

It’s suddenlystiflingin this already-warm club, and I take a long pull from my beer.

“I manage our artists and repertoire, and we’ve had a lot of success recently with another local musician,” August goes on while I eye him over the beer bottle. “We were able to launch her into the national spotlight while still maintaining the authenticity of her roots. I know it’s a concern of local musicians that partnering with a record label will compromise the authenticity of their work, however, the mission of Frenchmen Street Records has always been to keep the rich, cultural fabric of New Orleans alive and thriving. Are you familiar with Oscar Quinn Washington?”

I lower the beer from my lips, and my head tilts to one side on its own accord. “The kid from the Lower Nine who’s won Grammys and American Music Awards?Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

August offers a slow nod and gestures at Liza. “He started out with us. This is the team of people who equipped him to achieve those heights of success while also maintaining the authenticity of his craft.” He folds his hands on the table and leans toward me. “If you’ll let me, I can do that for you, too.”

I stare at him. It’s probably because I know all theother stuffAugust cando for me, but everything he’s saying seems to ooze with eroticism.

I must have stared for too long because Brennan finally joins the conversation. “If you’re concerned with compensation, we’re fully prepared to offer a generous contract.”

I tear my eyes away from August’s in time to see Brennan slip a card and a pen from his inside jacket pocket and scrawl on the back of it. He slides it across the table toward me, and I pick it up.

Lifting it to the level of my eyes, I nearly fall out of my damn chair.

Holy mother offuck.

It’s more money than I have managed to scrape together over the past threeyears. It’s more money than I ever thought I’d see all at once.

And suddenly, I forget all about the amusing show I was hoping to see by sitting down with these three people, because all I can think is…I did it.

This is what I’ve been trying to do.

This is me having it all.

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