Page 88 of Selling Out
I shake my head. “Nope. My mind was in la-la-land.”
He takes my cheeks in his hands and stares into my eyes. “Then listen up this time. We want you to open tomorrow’s concert.”
I blink and give my face a shake. “Sorry. It happened again.”
He laughs and presses a kiss to my lips as my breathing quickens.
I’m torn between the need to see this kiss out for the next twenty minutes and to pull back because I need more information urgently. I give myself another five seconds, then pull away. “You’re 100%, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die serious?”
“Apart from thehope-to-diething, yes.” He crosses his heart with his free hand.
I stare, and he lets me. For a very long time. Fusion wantsmeto open Austin’s second Paris concert? “What would I even sing?”
“Whatever you want. Fusion’s words, not mine. They loved your last two performancesandall your videos on social media. You’ve been a hit.”
Fusion watched my stuff andlikedit? I know true confidence comes from within and all that, but man, that’s validating. There are just one or two problems. “But I haven’t practiced!”
“We have all day for that. And tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t have backing tracks. Oranytracks.”
He shrugs. “So you go organic and use a guitar. We’ve got a team of people ready to make it successful. I know you hate help more than anything”—he dodges my elbow—“buttake the help, Mia.There are no real solo acts in this industry.”
I swallow. I know he’s right.
“What do you say?”
Hic!
He laughs and pulls me toward him so our lips are almost touching again. “I kind of hoped that would be your response.”
And then he kisses me. On the cobbled banks of the Seine in Paris, thirty-six hours before I open an Austin Sheppard concert.
What is even happening?
He probablyshouldbreak up with me, because nothing will ever top this moment. It’s all downhill from here.
His phone rings, and we reluctantly break apart.
“It’s Paul,” he says, showing me the screen.
“Go ahead.” I need a second to process this news, anyway. To catch my breath. Thanks to Austin, though, those hiccups are gone.
I face the river and blow air through my lips slowly, trying to take things in. Tomorrow night, I could be singingmysongs in front of a crowd of thousands.
How is that possible?
But I know how it’s possible. Austin made it happen by going out on a limb for me with Fusion.
I glance at him. His brows are pulled together as he talks on the phone, and my joy checks. That doesn’t look like a happy conversation.
He hangs up and slips the phone in his back pocket.
“What did he say?” I ask.
He shakes the frustration off his face and smiles at me. But it’s not genuine. “Nothing.”
“Come on. Tell me.”
