Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Okay, okay, sorry. I actually wanted to let you know I’ve managed to fill the schedule until Wednesday.”
Four days. “And after that?”
Mark shrugged. “We might have to hire more talent or extend some contracts.”
“Or?”
“Maybe forget the extras a few days a week.” And become like every other nightclub in NYC.
Mark didn’t say the rest, but he didn’t have to. The extra acts were what made Switch special, exciting. Without them, they’d be nothing more than a place to get drunk and dance to overplayed pop music.
“We’re not lowering our standards.”
Mark nodded once like he’d expected that answer. “Want me to start holding auditions?”
Rafe eyed the list in front of him. Tameron Kis, the choreographer, was next. “No.” He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?” Tameron sounded out of breath.
“Mr. Kis, this is Rafe Marson. Please don’t hang up.”
“Why would I hang up?”
“I’m Rafe Marson, the owner of Switch.”
“So you said.”
Rafe met Mark’s eyes across the room and silently told him everything would be fine. Mark shot him a thumbs-up and left.
“I’m calling to ask you back,” Rafe said.
Silence.
Rafe tapped his pen. “Mr. Kis?”
No reply.
Rafe looked at the display of his phone, but the line was still connected.
When he put it back to his ear he heard Tameron say, “On count five the left hand goes wham. Keep it sharp. Got it? No, Karen, your wrist needs to be straight.”
A moment later music played. There was a rustle, a crash, and then the line went dead.
Grinding his teeth, Rafe called back. Tameron picked up on the fifth ring.
Before Rafe could get a word out Tameron said, “Sorry, Mr. Marson, I’m in the middle of class. About your request, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you. Have a great day.” The last bit was dripping with sarcasm.
Rafe pushed away from his desk with a curse. He entered the next number.
“You’ve reached Z, make it quick.”
“Mr. Hayes, this is Rafe Marson, I’m calling to ask your group to come back to Switch.”
Z snorted. Fucking snorted. “Mr. Marson? Fuck off. You think we’re so desperate we’ll say oh thank you, sir. Whatever you want, sir. Please. You fucked up. We don’t need you.”
Gritting his teeth, he tried the next number on the list.
“Jae speaking.”
“Mr. Kim, this is Rafe Marson, the owner—”
“Sorry, no English.” Click.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Rafe barely held himself back from throwing his phone across the room.
There was only one more number left. Hopkins was his last chance. Wasn’t that ironic? How many times had he whisked Hopkins out of trouble, brandishing the Lockwood name? And here he was, needing help from the one person who’d only ever given him grief.
It felt like the universe was playing a sick joke on him. He dialed.
And waited. The ringing continued on and on. Just as Rafe was about to hang up, someone answered, “Frankie’s Pizza, what can we pie for you today?”
Rafe did toss his phone then, chucked it as hard as he could. It landed on the couch with an unsatisfying bounce.
The Sassy Boyz were bold motherfuckers. All of them.
If Rafe wasn’t so pissed off, he’d be impressed.
Chapter Seven
“You look awful,” Rafe’s sister said as he bent to kiss her forehead.
“Lori,” Rafe’s mother chided.
“What? It’s true.”
“Thanks, sis.” She was four years younger and had always teased him. With a pang of sadness, he sat on the sofa nearest her wheelchair. “You look beautiful, as always.”
“Obviously, there’s no hiding this gorgeousness.” She flipped her hair with a twinkle in her brown eyes. Not even monthly treatments and daily physical therapy could dull her sass.
“Where are James and Kyle?”
His mother put a steaming mug on the coffee table. “Basketball practice.”
“It’s Sunday morning.” The brew was black and strong, exactly how he liked it. His mom always made the best coffee. And fuck did he need it this morning. He was dragging. Barely any sleep for weeks did that to a person, but there was an extra layer of stress in Rafe’s shoulders these days.
As much as he’d wanted to sleep late and hibernate in bed for the entire day, it’d been weeks since he’d visited home. His guilt wouldn’t allow him to cancel.
Both Lori and his mother shrugged. “They’re starting this year,” Lori said.
She didn’t say it, but there was a hint of expectation in her tone. His brothers were starters on their college basketball team and he’d yet to see them play in even one game since they were in middle school. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to go. He’d love to be able to take time off and enjoy a game without feeling like his obligations were going to bury him alive.
As it was, sitting in his mother’s living room had him itching to get back to the office. It was his money paying their college tuition. His hard work making sure Lori had all the best treatments and care. His sacrifice keeping his mother in the only home she’d ever known.