Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
I pour myself a whiskey and pop the lid off another bottle of beer for him.
“Pray tell.” I grin, handing him the bottle.
“An artist,” he clarifies, taking the bottle and smirking. “Not whatever the fuck you have running through your mind.”
Wouldn’t be the first time he passed a woman my way.
“Don’t leave me in suspense.” I take the seat opposite him, watching as his eyes brighten with excitement.
“Young, fresh, untapped talent. No training, so she hasn’t picked up bad advice or habits.” He beams, enthusiasm brimming from him like an overexcited kid. I haven’t seen him this happy in, well, forever. It’s his girl. She’s changed him.
“Her name’s Sofina,” he says from behind his bottle and takes a swig of his beer.
“Sofina.” I let the name caress over my tongue.
I like it.
“She has a presence about her,” he continues. “Captivates the room when she sings.”
Listening to his excitement while he talks about a potential asset for the label should get me excited too, but there’s a reason he’s in my office talking about how amazing this girl Sofina is and not bringing her in to see me.
“So what’s the catch?” I ask him, stopping him from carrying on his hard sell.
“She’s perfect, Ronan. Like Halsey with a touch of that rock growl Pink has. I think she’s marketable and will appeal to all genres.”
“Again. What’s the catch?” I narrow my eyes on him, and he rubs at his jaw and then grins.
There it is, asshole. The catch.
“Okay,” he says with a sigh. “There’s a brother, and he is a tad… What’s the word?”
“Annoying?” I jest, raising a brow at him.
Giving me the finger, he leans back and pushes his hat from his head.
His hair is a mess, but that prick can pull it off. Running a hand through his mop of brown strands, he shrugs. “He’s hard work, reluctant to have her let go of his apron strings.”
“He’s protective?” I ask, intrigued to know why it’s the brother and not parents or a boyfriend who is giving him trouble.
Sometimes boyfriends don’t like the idea of being left behind if an artist should take off. Other times a parent wants to hold onto power and paychecks. But an overprotective brother? This is a first for us.
“Possessive,” Ren clarifies, licking his lips because he’s fucking possessive too. Hell, we both are.
“He got a thing for her?” I frown and Ren screws up his pretty face.
“She’s his sister, you fucking pervert.” He shivers like the idea repulses him, but he’s a kinky fucker, and there’s not much that surprises me anymore. A brother wanting to fuck his sister isn’t that unheard of, is it? Or maybe I am a fucking pervert. Either way, I haven’t got time for drama.
“Artists come to us,” I grumble. “We don’t need to seek out girls who come with brother issues.”
“Just daddy ones?” Ren quips with a smirk.
It’s my turn to offer him the finger, but I don’t. Instead, I click the computer on and begin looking over numbers for the last quarter.
I can see him glaring at me from the corner of my eye, but I wait him out. My little brother knows his stuff, and if this girl has caught his attention, then she will be as good as he says she is. But he doesn’t need to know I’m keen to learn more. I’m still pissed about the last band he recently made me sign. The lead singer, Xavi, likes to be an asshole. My limit for assholes is maxed out. Dealing with some little girl’s brother is beneath me, and the label we built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and miracles to make it a success.
Standing, he digs into his pocket and tosses his phone across the desk.
“She works at Ritz Russo’s. Always gets a ten-minute slot on Friday nights. Check her out or don’t, but if you don’t and someone else scouts her, don’t bitch to me.” He taps the desk before pointing his finger in my direction. “I need to use the pisser, but I’ll use the one in the hall. I know you hate people using your personal one, Princess.”
I wait for him to leave the room before I pick up his phone and watch the video.
Dark hair falls around small shoulders, colors of purple and blue mixed into the brown strands. Heavy, dark makeup around her eyes masks her natural beauty. Those eyes—the color of sapphires, though—shine through the dark bar and pierce the veil of the camera screen.
There’s no hum of chatter from the crowded bar as the intro music plays, which is unusual. It’s hard to get the attention of everyone in a room, especially one filled with intoxicated people. But she has it. She holds them all in the palm of her hand.
She looks nervous, jittery even. Her eyes close and then her mouth opens.