Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Fight harder for your songs, Harley. You deserve that much.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“What’s the worst that can happen? They threaten to drop you from the label? You walk away from a shitty situation?”
Jamie, who’s been listening to all of this, butts in. “He has a point. Isn’t this the last album you’re contracted with them for? This could be your out to go to bigger and better labels.”
“There aren’t any labels bigger than Joystar.”
“Okay, better labels, then,” she says.
“And if I put my entire career on the line?”
“Isn’t more creative freedom worth the risk?” Brix asks.
Is it?
Some fans would hate a new sound—that’s a given—but it’s not like I’d be completely changing my whole musical aesthetic.
Haven’t I earned the right after ten years of doing what I’m told?
They say my career reset when I left the highest-grossing act of the last decade, but how long am I supposed to pay my dues?
It’s time they saw my worth, and they sure as shit aren’t going to see it if I don’t make them.
I stand tall. “You guys are right.”
And then I do either the smartest or dumbest thing I’ve done my entire career.
I storm into the studio control room and look my manager dead in the eyes when I say, “I’m keeping my songs.”
Gideon relents. “Let me try again with the label.”
“Thank you.” I turn to my sound guys. “I’m not doing the shitty happy song, and I’m done for the day.” On my way out, I stare at Gideon over my shoulder. “Those songs are nonnegotiable. Unless they want this to be the last Harley Valentine album on their label, they’ll approve them.”
Now to wait.
And maybe freak out.
Brix’s heavy and familiar presence in my bed has been so easy to get used to. So easy to embrace and … miss.
My hand flies out to the cold side of my bed.
“Wha …?” Rolling over, I crack my eye open. “Brix?”
The mattress dips as my fully clothed bodyguard kneels next to me. I don’t like it when he’s wearing clothes.
“I kinda have to.”
My eyes fly open. “Did I say the clothing thing out loud?”
Brix laughs. “Yeah. You did.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Iris is already outside at the pool. Apparently, you’re having a pool day. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
I narrow my tired eyes. “You made him do that, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” He leans in and captures my mouth, kissing me softly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can today, okay? Try to put the label mess out of your mind.”
Easier said than done because it’s been days and I haven’t heard anything. Good or bad. Just … nothing.
“I wish you could stay.” I run my hand down his chest.
Brix smiles. “I’ll only be a few hours. You can go that long without needing to worship me like I’m some sort of god.”
I laugh. This is why I don’t want him to go out today.
He has quickly inserted himself into an important role in my life, especially since Webber sent the letter. Everything on that front has died down since then, but Brix has been there time and time again, especially with this label bullshit and encouraging me to finally stand up for myself and what I want.
Brix and I go to bed together, wake up together, and right now as I watch him leave for his day off, I can’t help but want him to come back.
I remain in bed for a while, smiling and sated, my muscles jelly, and it takes me a second to realize … this is what happy feels like.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in and take in the scents and overall feeling I rarely get to experience.
I kind of thought the smell of happiness wouldn’t have so much sex in it, but apparently it does.
When I finally get up and make my way outside, the sun beats down on my skin. The clear water from my pool glistens in the light, and the view over LA is as breathtaking as it was the day Brix tried to drag me out here to enjoy it.
“You’re so tense,” Iris says as I stretch out on the lounger next to him. He has no problem sinking into his spot and letting his body soak up the sun. Unlike Brix, who constantly wears tactical pants and tight T-shirts, Iris is in boardshorts and no shirt.
He’s a real professional kind of guy.
“This is wasting time.” I could be writing. What, I don’t know, but I could be doing something.
I need to work.
“Still haven’t heard back from the label after you told them to shove your future up their ass?” Iris asks.
“What a positive way of putting it.”
“Right?” Iris says, upbeat. “I think I know what your problem is.”
“That I finally stood up for myself, and now I have an uncertain future, so I’m allowed to be stressed?”