– Nina Simone, Musician & Activist
Chapter 1
Bristol
“YOUR CLIENT APPEARS TO BE LATE.”
I glance from the pasty face across the table to my phone, noting the time. This guy could use some of our LA sun before he goes back to New York, though it is summer there, too. Maybe he just doesn’t get out much.
“A little late,” I tell Kevin, the rep from Barrow Publishing. “But he’ll be here.”
“Our team’s excited about the possibility of working with Grip.” Kevin gestures with his fork wrapped in angel hair pasta. “He’ll be great for our urban imprint.”
“Your urban imprint?” My own fork is halfway to my mouth, but I place it back down in the bowl of my half-eaten salad. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, he is a hip-hop artist.” Kevin shrugs and chews his pasta. “Seems like the reasonable placement.”
“He’s also the guy whose debut album went double platinum and who sold out the largest venues across three continents while head- lining his first world tour.” I challenge him with one lifted brow. “You don’t get numbers like that reaching a niche demographic. Grip has proven global appeal and would be best placed with your flagship imprint.”
“We’ll see.” Skepticism colors Kevin’s otherwise pale face.
“Oh, I know, because I won’t settle for anything less.” I spear a cucumber with my fork and him with a glance sharpened to a fine point. “Charisma knew that when she approached me with this offer.”
My friend Charisma and I went to high school together and were roommates at Columbia. She’s now a powerful editor at a huge publishing company. I would much prefer lunch with her instead of this junior editor, but her schedule didn’t allow for that.
My phone dings with a text on the table.
“Excuse me.” I grab the phone to check the incoming text.
Grip: Hey babe. Sorry. About to get on the road.
Me: ETA?
Grip: Huh? Is that dyslexic for eat? LOL
Despite my irritation that I have to spend more time alone with this sun-deprived dickhead, my lips twitch.
Me: Estimated time of arrival, smartass.
Grip: Like 10, but if you send me a tit pic, I might be able to shave a couple min off.
I shake my head and lose the battle with my lips, surrendering a wide grin. I try to ignore dickhead’s eyes on the tits in question. This guy is a bit of a lecher; I’ll have to ask Charisma what she was thinking sending him.
Me: Not funny. Get here so we can be done with this.
Grip: I’m coming, but you know I come faster when you show me your tits.
I walked right into that one. I don’t bother responding, instead setting the phone down and turning my atten
tion back to Kevin the lecher.
“That was Grip.” I wait for his eyes to lift from nipple level. “He got held up at his previous appointment, but he’s en route.”
“It’s fine.” His slick smile lubricates the space between us, leaving a greasy film in the air. “Gives us a little more time alone.”
“Do we need more time alone?” I take a sip of my mineral water. “For what?”
“So I can persuade you to have dinner with me.”