Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
I stare at the tattoos on his wrist, the tattoos that disappear into the sleeve of his tight black Henley, before accepting. His grip is firm and his palm is callused and rough, harder than I expected.
He pulls me to my feet.
Chapter 4
Ansell
I shouldn’t have punched a Crawford in the face, but I’ll admit that it felt good. That brief bit of pleasure pierced through the otherwise impenetrable veil I keep wrapped around my emotions.
“How’s the girl doing?” Baptist’s voice comes over the phone. The background is loud and he’s still back at the dive bar, watching the band finish up their set. He’ll talk to them, get a feel for their dynamic, and give me a rundown on what he’s thinking tomorrow. Pride is a good band, they’ve got all the metrics we look for, but I need to be sure they’re not going to implode due to petty bullshit the moment they get a taste of success and fame and money. Fortunately, Baptist is extremely good at reading people.
“Battered. Bruised. Scared. But fine.”
“Fucking William Crawford. You’ve got to be kidding me, Ansell.”
“I know.”
“The Crawford family is no joke. You realize that, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“And the girl is in your apartment right now?”
I lean against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. Marie is sitting on the couch holding ice against her lips and scrolling through her phone with this hunched-over posture like she’s collapsing in around herself.
“Yes, right now.”
“Fucking hell. Do you know what’s going on with those two?”
“I don’t live under a rock. He cheated. She aired their dirty laundry.”
“It’s a goddamn mess.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you threw yourself into the middle of it.”
I sigh and rub my face. “Baptist. Is there a point to this?”
“No, not really, just trying to make you understand how you can be such a fucking asshole sometimes.”
“Yes, thank you. Should I have let that trust-fund prick beat my employee to death in that alley?”
Baptist hesitates. “He’s a Crawford.”
“And you’re the nice one.”
He sighs. “No, you did the right thing, I know that. I’m just very aware of the shit that’s coming our way.”
“I’ll handle it. I’m friendly with the Crawford patriarch. I’ll smooth things over.”
“I hope so. Look, the band’s finishing up. I’m getting back in there. Just make sure you don’t do something even worse, okay?”
“No promises.”
He laughs as I hang up.
I don’t go to her right away. I stay back and watch, studying her like I’ve been since she did that presentation on Wednesday. I could tell she was distracted at the time—and now I understand why—but she still spoke with a passion that’s rare in our business. People in the entertainment industry are jaded, too used to bad behavior, scammy shit, blood and guts and hell, and all that cold hard cash. And there was Marie, standing up in front of the conference room speaking about the artistry of Pride, about their cohesion as a group, about their songwriting abilities. Yes, she spoke of their fundamentals, their numbers, their socials, but it was the way she talked about their music that sold me.
There’s something fascinating about that girl. Any woman that would burn a Crawford like that, especially knowing that that family is capable of, must be worth keeping around.
Except I don’t want to get dragged into her drama.
Bringing her here was a mistake. I’m sure of that. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am only to fuck myself by drawing the ire of Magnus Crawford himself. Punching his oldest boy in the face was one thing, but taking the side of this girl over them will ensure that the entire Crawford machine will turn against me.
And yet here she is.
I step away from the wall and go toward her. She’s pretty, fucking beautiful. I’m drawn to the way she glows. Her skin’s tan, though still light, and her hair’s shoulder-length and dirty blonde. She has a heart-shaped face, soft lips, dark eyes, small cross earrings dangling from her round ears. Her crop top shows off a tight midsection and hints at her breasts. Her shoulders are small, her hips wide, her ass lovely. I’ve tasted a thousand women like her and more. And yet none have interested me so intensely and so quickly before.
“How are you feeling?”
She looks over, surprised to see me standing a few feet away, and shrugs. “I’m okay. Thanks for the ice.”
“Your face is going to swell. You should keep that on for as long as you can stand it, but don’t be surprised when you have a nasty bruise.”
She smiles slightly and winces. “Are you an expert on getting punched in the face?”
“I’ve been punched a few times in my day.”
She laughs but I can tell she’s not sure if it’s a joke. It’s not, but I don’t need to clarify.