Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
This’ll just be like round two of Warner. Especially since Phoenix is also straight, I’m pretty sure.
He considers the NDA for way too long. Like more than a half-second. It’s driving me bananas.
I add, “All my past bandmates had no issue signing one.”
“Great, so we can start by reaffirming that I’m not your past bandmates.” Well, there goes that.
“Obviously. You are much…” Hotter.
His brows rise like he’s waiting for the insult. I think about complimenting him to throw him off, but I’m lost for a second by truly how good looking this dude is and his earlier threat to duct-tape my mouth. To hold me down. My body is still blazing. I never wanted to have someone so goddamn distracting in my band. Maybe this is my easy out. Maybe I should take this as a heavenly sign to call it quits like Charlie suggested.
The word “quit” actually gives me acid reflux. I reach for my water again.
He frowns. “You really aren’t going to finish your sentence?”
“Nope.” I take a large swig. “I’m trying to get along with you too.”
We both go quiet when a server comes over. I don’t say anything when Phoenix orders the eggs benedict. I’m on pins and needles waiting for his reply. After she leaves and I stack our menus behind the ketchup and mustard bottles, Phoenix turns back to me.
“I’ll sign the NDA on one condition,” he says.
“Anything.”
He blinks. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I would literally lick your boots right here, right now, if you asked me to.” It just came out. Fuck.
His brows catapult. “For real?”
“No.” Maybe. I waver. He can see me wavering. It’s boiling me in under a second. I’m not a seesaw. I make plans. I execute to the highest of my ability. “I’d get over being humbled on a Monday, but if I go down on your boots, you’re going down on mine.”
“I’m not licking your Vans.”
“Fine. Offer is rescinded.”
Phoenix examines me. “Now two conditions.”
I drum the table, trying to release the tension spooling in my body. For once, I’m glad there’s no audience. Charlie will never know I sucked this hard at bargaining.
“Sure.” I nod.
“First—you involve me in making the music. I’m not your hired drummer who just follows your directions. I want creative input.”
I didn’t expect that, but maybe I should’ve. “We can divvy the songs,” I suggest. “I’ll work on the first half. You take the second.”
“The album should feel cohesive. We need to work on them together.”
Together?
You don’t work well with others, Tom Carraway.
Just go solo.
What are you doing?
We could kill each other before we ever finish an album. Phoenix could run out on me just like Warner did.
The day he quit…I’d never felt that low in my life.
Fear tries to rust my bones. “You really think that’s a good idea?” I ask, tearing apart the straw wrapper into tiny pieces. He’s bouncing his legs so much, the pepper tips over. Neither of us rights it.
“I don’t see a better one.” Phoenix dusts the pepper granules off the table. “Look, it’s not like I’ve ever been in the creative trenches with another guy either. But Jeremy didn’t put us together thinking this would fail.”
We’re going to be spending every waking minute with each other, aren’t we?
It’s terrifying yet…alluring, and it’s impossible for me to run away from a challenge, even one that might test my limits. I don’t just want to succeed.
I want to exceed.
“Okay,” I say. “You’ll have creative input. And the second condition?”
“I’ll sign the NDA if you sign one from me.”
I frown. “Why? You don’t need one.”
“Not yet. But four or five years down the line if our band is famous, maybe I will. And I’d like this partnership to be equal. If I sign one, then you sign one.”
Our band.
Partnership.
Four or five years down the line.
Equal.
His words make this feel real. I like that he’s thinking about the future. I’ve had drummers come into The Carraways just to leave like it was a stepping stone to a bigger band. One with more potential.
“Deal.” I nod. “We’re 50-50. Equal partnership. I’ll sign an NDA.”
Phoenix relaxes backward, then our server appears with our breakfast. I cut into my strawberry waffle with a fork and knife, sensing him observing me the same way I’m scrutinizing him.
He seems like an ordinary dude. He likes ketchup on his breakfast potatoes. He isn’t dumping half a gallon of salt on his eggs. I don’t need to worry about my drummer keeling over from high cholesterol. So far, the most unusual thing about him is that he ordered black iced coffee when it’s freezing outside.
The prolonged quiet unsettles me, and as I shift into a slouch, my leg bumps against his leg. I’m about to apologize until he nudges mine backward with his foot.
“You were in my space,” I point out, though I sit more upright so my traitorous face will stop flaming.