I just nod and watch as she walks away.
“What’s wrong with her?” Rhyson asks.
“What’s wrong is your timing is shit,” I snap.
I love Rhys, but this is one time I want to strangle him.
“What’s crawled up your ass?” Rhyson frowns and starts walking. “Can you tell me while we walk? I don’t want to be late for Kai’s appointment.”
“Sure.” I match my long stride to his. “I wish you’d checked with me before you played that song.”
“Everyone loved it.” He jabs the down button for the elevator several times.
“Not everyone.” I give him a wry smile. “You do know that doesn’t make the elevator come any faster, right?”
“Maybe we should take the st—”
The ding of the elevator doors opening shoots down that suggestion.
“Who didn’t like it?” he asks as we board.
“Bristol didn’t.”
“What?” He frowns over eyes just like his twin sister’s. “Why would Bris not like it?”
Do I really want to do this? All these years I haven’t talked about this with Rhyson. After the drama with my almost-ex-girlfriend/close-call baby mama, Bristol wanted to put that week behind us, including not telling Rhyson about it. It was kind of awkward anyway, so at first, I was cool with that. Now it just seems stupid that he doesn’t know after all these years.
“Bristol doesn’t like the song because it’s about her.” I run my hand over the coolness of my scalp, half-expecting to encounter locs hanging down to my shoulder. “The song, it’s about us.”
We’ve reached the building’s underground parking garage. As soon as he steps off the elevator, he stops abruptly.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Genuine confusion clouds his expression. “When did you ever kiss Bristol at the top of a Ferris wheel? Is that like a metaphor?”
“No. Dude, I literally kissed your sister at the top of the Ferris wheel.”
Rhyson looks torn between losing his lunch and punching me in the face. This might actually make the awkwardness worth it.
“When was this?” he demands. “You and Bristol? Is this recent?”
“No, when she was here for spring break. Remember we went to that carnival?” I sigh. “Don’t worry. It hasn’t happened again. Unless you count last night.”
“Last night?” Rhyson’s mouth falls open a little, even as he starts moving in the direction of the Porsche Cayenne in his parking spot. “What the hell? Tell me.”
I may be enjoying this too much. Rhyson always has his shit together, so seeing him thrown for a loop is rare and wondrous. To be the cause of it, even better.
“I left my bag here yesterday, and she brought it by my place last night.” I pat the hood and deliberately turn to leave, not actually expecting to get very far. “Well, I know you’re in a hurry so—”
“Marlon.” Rhyson leans against the SUV with his arms folded and a frown on his face. “Cut the crap. Talk.”
“We kissed.” I lean beside him against his car and shrug. “That’s it. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” He lifts a skeptical brow.
“For now.” I grin as salaciously as I dare considering Bristol is his sister. “There’s always tomorrow.”
“Let that shit go.” Rhyson blows out an exasperated breath. “I don’t want this affecting your working relationship at such a crucial time. Your album’s about to drop, and Bristol’s hand is in every aspect of it. If you pursue this, it could get awkward. We can’t afford awkward right now.”
His phone rings with his own song “Lost”, Kai’s ring tone.
“Damn.” He glances at the screen. “That’s Kai. Probably wondering where I am. She’ll feel better if I’m in motion.”
“Then by all means get in motion.”
I step back when he starts the car and pulls out of the space, driver side window still down.
“Don’t forget what I said about Bristol, okay?” He gives me one last worried look.
“What? You mean to go for it?” I ask, hoping to see some hackles rise. “Got it.”
“Not go for it. Did you not hear a word I . . .” He studies my face and must see the humor there. “Screw you. You know I’m right. Leave it alone.”
Leave it alone.
That’s what my mom used to say when I’d pick at my scabs. She warned me it would only take longer to heal, but it was a compulsion, a fascination. It’s the same way with Bristol. I’ve been pulling this scab off over and over for years.
If I have to leave her alone for this to get better, maybe I don’t want it to heal.
Bristol
“YOU’VE DONE A great job with everything, Bristol.”
The praise comes from Will, Qwest’s manager, as we check the set list for tonight.
“Thanks,” I murmur without looking away from the document detailing the songs and cues for the performance Qwest and Grip will give soon. “Are your rooms okay?”
“That would be an understatement.” His dark eyes laugh at me when I finally look up. “The Presidential Suite at The Park-LA is a little over the top, wouldn’t you say?”
“The Presidential Suite?” I frown, mentally scrolling through the email I sent Sarah about accommodations for Qwest’s team. “I’m glad you like it. I just don’t remember reserving it for you.”
“Yeah. It’s a three-bedroom suite.” It’s his turn to frown. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Probably just a mix up. No problem.” I catch Sarah’s eye across the room and flick my chin so she knows I need her before looking back to Will. “Is Qwest settled okay?”
“Um, yeah.” Will’s face broadcasts his reluctance. “She really wants to hang with Grip tonight instead of doing that interview, though. Any update from the reporter?”
Translation. She really wants to sleep with Grip before she goes back to New York. That’s her business and his, not mine, I remind myself and draw a deep breath to support the words I need to say.
“I’m trying. I’ve left Meryl a message and am just waiting to hear back.”
“Waiting?” Will glances at the platinum watch on his wrist. “She needs to let us know soon.”
“Believe it or not,” I say sharply, despite the control I thought I was exercising. “My job description as Grip’s manager does not include arranging booty calls. So yes, waiting to hear back. And if Qwest needs to hear that from me, it’s a message I’m more than happy to deliver personally.”
Will holds up both hands, his teeth flashing white against his goatee and dark skin.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You handle Meryl. I’ll take care of the booty call.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You must admit,” he says, his eyes persuading me to smile. “It is an awful lot of booty for one person to manage.”
I laugh before I catch myself. Qwest’s ass is the stuff of legends. Jaws drop over it. My laugh withers in my throat when I think of Grip spending the night holding on to that ass.
“I’m just trying to keep my artist happy,” Will says. “So don’t flip.”
“Flip?” I find a polite smile from somewhere. “You’ll know when I flip, Will. I’m far from flipping. I’ll have an answer for you before the show is over.”
“Grip’s lucky to have you.” There’s sincerity in his eyes, which is something we don’t find much of in this business.
“Qwest is lucky to have you, too.”
Because God knows she and I would kill each other.
Will knows hip-hop, but he knows business even better. Armed only with his MBA and hustle, he started a small management firm just a few years ago. Qwest was his first act, but he’s parlayed that into several others, and recently merged with Sound Management, one of the largest firms in the business.
“Congratulations, by the way, on the deal with Sound,” I add.