Hell, as in love with the idea of Alexis and me Gabby is, she’d probably help out too. Even if Brendan won’t, my romantic sister-in-law is already on my side. She’ll definitely help me out. But I’ll have to work that angle later.
“We’ll be sorry to lose you, man,” Jonathan says at last. “You’re what keeps everything running smoothly around here.”
I duck my head in acknowledgment. “I know. I’ll help you find and train a replacement before I leave. I won’t leave you hanging, I promise.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” Standing, he holds out a hand for me to shake. When I take his hand, he pulls me in close, giving me a hug and a pat on the back. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years. This won’t be the same without you.”
Unexpected tears prick my eyes, echoing the emotion in my brother’s voice. Have I been wrong all along to think he was just trying to hold me back?
“Be careful out there, alright? And if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.”
When he releases me, I look him in the eye. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder again. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, man.”
Relief loosens the knot in my chest I hadn’t realized was there. That went smoother than I could’ve hoped. And while staging a relationship in order to advance my own career sounds admittedly bat shit and mercenary, this decision feels like the best one I’ve made in a long time.
Chapter Six
Alexis
Nerves flutter in my belly as I fasten my necklace around my neck and move the clasp to the back. It’s a simple wrapped crystal pendant—an amethyst to go with my deep purple dress—that dangles just above my breasts in another low cut V-neck dress. Not as low as the red one I wore the last time I saw Colt. This one doesn’t need to be taped in place, but it’s low enough that paired with my push up bra, it makes the most of what the tit fairy saw fit to bless me with. I saw the way Colt enjoyed that dress, so I figured this would be a good choice. Crimson lips, light eye makeup, artfully mussed hair. The only thing left is my shoes, but I’ll wait until he gets here to step into those. No need to torture my feet any longer than necessary.
Smoothing my hands down my dress, I study my reflection, cataloguing the tiny pooch low on my belly that I still can’t get rid of now matter how much I diet. Turning to the side, I examine my reflection in profile. The dress skims over my torso, so it’s not obvious unless I pull the fabric taught. It’ll do.
“You look fabulous,” I tell my reflection, willing myself to believe it. No matter how many times I get dressed up, no matter how many of my friends tell me I’m hot, I still feel like a kid playing dress up.
This is my first public date with Colt. And the first time I’m seeing him since we met last month at that party. Since we decided to be a couple to further our careers.
My agent decided we needed to be seen dating before announcing our engagement, and I still don’t think she’s decided if a public spectacle of a proposal would be better, or if just making an announcement after she’s decided we should make it official is a better plan.
This isn’t how I expected to think of my future engagement—a business deal negotiated between me, the guy, and my agent. Not that I spent a ton of time envisioning myself engaged. Not like those girls in the movies that spent their girlhoods marrying their Barbies to each other and planning weddings and receptions. I didn’t really go for that. But some part of me just assumed I’d eventually find a guy and get married. Someday. If I found the right person. Because that’s what people did. At least that’s what all the adults I knew had done, at least at some point. Not that it always ended happily. My own parents got divorced when I was in sixth grade. But my dad’s remarried now, and seems happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. He told me he’s planning on doing it right this time. Learning from the mistakes he made when I was a kid.
Which, I mean, good for him. Kinda sucks to be the practice kid, though.
Maybe that’s why marriage-as-a-business-transaction doesn’t bother me too much. I never had a very positive view of marriage in general to begin with.
Despite not seeing each other, Colt and I have kept in contact quite a bit since our first meeting—texting daily and video chatting at least once a week. He’s funny, charming, sweet. He works his ass off, I can tell. He’s always tired, telling me about all the things he does for his brother. And his plate has been even more full, since he’s been training his replacement.
When I’d admitted to feeling guilty about that, he gave me a reassuring smile. “Don’t,” he said. “This was my idea, remember? Besides, soon enough, I’ll be working with you. And since you won’t be on tour for a while yet, I can catch up on my sleep then.”
I still get warm fuzzies remembering that conversation. Which is sad. Because it’s not like he’s excited to see me. He’s excited to have a more relaxed schedule. And he’s excited for the prospect of moving forward as an artist. Not because he and I have a normal romantic relationship. It’s all business. I need to remember that and not get swept away by his charm and good looks.
The doorbell pulls me out of my reverie, and with one more deep breath
