Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Of course, I am,” he grumbles as he types on his phone.
“Mal?” He looks up from typing. “Thank you.” I bite my lower lip. “I know I’m not easy, and you’ve had to deal w—”
“Don’t do that. You’re a goddamn Queen. Fuck everyone,” he growls, then grins as he goes back to texting. I turn, letting his words build me back up since I’ve been knocked down over the last few hours, and I make my way upstairs.
“You’re a goddamn Queen. Fuck everyone.” He’s right, I am a Queen, I’m in charge of my own destiny, and I’m not about to crumble.
I’ll meet with Ammo, and be professional, because that’s who I am.
My main focus is my music and my career.
So yeah, fuck everyone.
AMMO
“I’m your biggest fan. I saw you guys play at Sofi.” The woman gushes as she moves closer, her breathing coming in fast, excited pants.
“Thank you, darlin’.” Signing her phone case, I look up and wink. Her cheeks that were already pink, deepen. Christ, I really hope she’s not going to faint, but it would not be the first time.
“When are you going back on tour?” She bursts into tears as I hand her the phone. “I’m your biggest fan, I’ll treasure this.” She sobs, repeating herself as she clutches the phone to her chest.
“Amy? I’m sorry, it’s Amy, right?” Rafe, my manager and one closest friends, turns to address the woman who’s causing the few other people in the place to stare.
“Yes, it’s Amy,” she practically cries out.
“So, Amy, I don’t want to be rude, but I need to speak with Ammo. Here is my card, please email if you need anything at all concerning The Stuffed Muffins.” He reaches into his suit jacket pocket.
“Oh my God. Thank you, thank you.” She bobs her head up and down, looking around the restaurant as if she just bought the winning lottery ticket numbers and needs everyone to see it.
I grin and lean back in my chair, watching Rafe. He’s definitely mellowing with age.
He used to just be a dick. Now he’s way more relaxed, especially when dealing with fans—aka women.
At fifty-two, Rafe has more than likely seen and done it all. After all, he’s been in the business for over thirty years. We owe all our success to him. He’s babysat, cleaned up scandals, invested money, got us in and out of rehab when needed, and that’s just scraping the surface of all the things he has done.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Amy.” He flashes her a big grin as she sniffs, but does back up, waving at me.
“Where were we?” He clears his throat, turning his attention to me, his tone in full business mode as I smirk and lean my elbows on the table.
“I take it you’re still seeing Pam?” Starting to laugh, I can’t hold it in. I know he’s been fucking her for months, maybe longer. His eyes narrow as he reaches for his glass of water.
“Who?”
“Pam,” I state as he arches a brow, his neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard and expensive suits give off this air of intimidation. But I know him, he’s as dirty as all of us. He just hides it easier under expensive fabric.
“Hey, man, I don’t judge, as long as it’s consensual, get your freak on.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. Pam is my assistant and I’m friends with her father,” he hisses. “I’m like an uncle, so watch it.” His eyes dart over to the glass window.
“Nice… Uncle Rafe…”
“Don’t start that shit, Ammo, what the hell is this?” He frowns as I follow his gaze to a dark SUV that’s stopped. A man looking like Secret Service is opening the back door as Malcolm and Courtney step out.
“Okay, bit much for a meeting, but—”
“Jesus,” I snort and motion the waitress for another beer.
“Look, just because you don’t have security, which you need...” Rafe’s voice trails off as we both watch the suit hold the glass door open as Courtney and Malcolm walk in.
The small group of girls squeal as the large bodyguard blocks their view. Rafe stands as my eyes stay focused on her. Now that I’m not hung over, I can register that she really is petite; even with her heeled boots she can’t be more than five three, and she’s wearing an oversized short black dress, lacy bralette, and black heeled combat boots. There are also numerous gold bangles on her tiny wrist. Unlike yesterday, she’s not hiding her long blonde hair. It’s thick and falling almost to her ass in wild, golden disarray.
Fuck-me hair…I have a weakness for that, but it’s her face that might very well be my downfall. More specifically, her eyes.
Gold.
Courtney Falcon has honey gold eyes, with a dark circle of green on the outer border. I’ve seen a lot of eyes in my day, but never this color. No wonder she’s all the rage, she’s fucking stunning.