Brayden: [Sends gif of a monkey scratching its butt]
“Oh this is very cute. So no one’s speaking to me now?” His phone buzzes and he looks down. I’m not sure who texted him, but he reads it and says, “Vows of silence. That’s very cute.”
Another text buzzes.
“Yeah, solidarity. Okay.” He looks at me. “I’ll tell them to work through the label. I doubt they’ll give permission, though.”
I pick up my phone and text him. Do nothing. You’re fired. It feels good. Every time I say it—or write it, as the case may be—I feel better.
“Yeah, that’s cute, Pepper, but it’s not going to fly. I couldn’t leave here if I wanted to. Like it or not, I’m your manager and your producer. You’re stuck with me.”
My phone beeps.
Izzy: No one talk to him.
Brayden: I took a vow of silence.
Scott: Same
Farley: [gif of Tina Fey zipping her lips]
I do my best not to snicker. Honestly, I grew up way too fast and Hugh was part of that. It feels good to act like a child for a change.
Hugh gets up and lumbers off, still pretending he’s my manager and the table busts into a fit of giggles.
Scott: I think the best thing I’ve ever seen was when your self-appointed bodyguard pinned his face to a wall.
Izzy: What happened after we left?
Scott: One punch to the gut. Anticlimactic.
My heart beats faster, remembering the moment.
Tony. My self-appointed bodyguard. The guy begging his mom to come and visit him. Standing up against his boss over me.
The need to tell him I fired Hugh swells until I’m compelled to fish out the note he sent me yesterday with his phone number. I wait until the gang has left and I’m alone with the bodyguard to text him.
Me: I fired Hugh. Want to be my manager? :P
I’m only joking, of course, although the idea sort of takes hold and sticks. Tony’s skillset might be slightly different, but he’s a helluva lot better at most things than Hugh. Of course, he already has a job. Probably a job he can only leave in a body bag.
Tony: Where are you?
I tell him and he shows up to the restaurant a few minutes later, dismissing Anton and taking me by the hand.
I want to ask where he’s taking me, but of course, I can’t speak, and fishing out my phone or the notepad would require stopping or slowing down. We get in an elevator and go all the way to the top floor.
He lets us in a suite much like mine, but with a full kitchen and a solid wall of windows overlooking the strip. It smells like him—that coffee grounds and clean soap scent that instantly comforts me.
He hasn’t spoken since we left Anton—as if he got the memo about vows of silence in solidarity. He still doesn’t speak, just turns me to face him and pulls my dress over my head.
I watch, mesmerized by him. By the moment.
I wonder how he knows I want this, or if it’s just what he wants.
His movements grow faster, more desperate, as he unhooks my bra, then slides his fingers between my legs.
“Songbird, I missed you.” His voice sounds hoarse and rough, like mine probably would, if I spoke.
“I didn’t know if I’d see you again.” His lips are on the curve of my neck. “If you’d want me.” His fingers slide into my panties. “I didn’t even have your number.”
My floor drops away and I’m floating, carried away by the hunger of his touch, the power he gives me with this admission. Tony Brando was worried. About losing me. Like he hasn’t been the boss of my every move since I arrived, like he wasn’t the one commanding me with his voice. His touch.
My folds are wet and they plump under his touch. He drags my juices up and brushes my clit.
I shiver and buck against him, hanging onto his broad shoulders. I start to undress him, but he’s too impatient. He rips off his clothes as he backs me up to a couch, pushing until my knees hit the back and I flop down into it. Then he’s on his knees—the mob enforcer kneeling for me.
He rips my panties off, delves his tongue into my folds. He licks and teases and sucks as I weave my fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling, grinding my needy pussy against his mouth.
He penetrates me with his fingers, then switches and shoves his thumb in me, reaching the pad of a finger against my anus. I resist, squeezing my ass and wriggling, but he holds me down, pumps his thumb and screws the finger in my ass.
I lose control, the room spins, I writhe and pant and bite back the scream in my throat. When he lowers his mouth and adds his tongue to my clit, I hurtle over the edge. Lights and colors explode behind my eyes, my body convulses in my desperate climax.