Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Oh, I’m judging, and the answer is no. I’m too fucking old for a girl band.” I prop my elbows on the table.
“You’re thirty-seven, and she’s going solo,” he states.
“Look, Malcolm we go way back, and yes, she’s got pipes but…I can’t.” My eyes trail over to the girls waiting for me a few feet away at the bar. “I’ve got to go, bro…good luck.” I go to slide out when his voice stops me.
“I’m asking as a favor. Courtney has a bad rap for reasons that are not my place to tell. What I can say is that she needs you, and honestly, you need her. She’s a giant talent, and with the right push, she will be one of the biggest in the business.”
“Dude, she’s drama. I don’t even have social media, and even I’ve heard about the guitarist fucking the boyfriend. I’m assuming that’s who she wrote the song about, the one who can’t find a clit.” I can’t help but smirk, I mean, she may be the lead of a girl band, but she’s definitely got balls. The song is catchy, and he’s right, with the right direction, it’s easily a number one single. Clearly, I’ve had too much Jäger since I’m actually searching my brain trying to remember what she looks like… Blonde, skinny, long legs? I definitely need to stay away.
“Ammo, I don’t say this often. Courtney Falcon is one in a million.” His face is starting to flush. “Now, I know you just got back into town. But The Stuffed Muffins are not touring, or putting out an album in the foreseeable future. Granger is busy with Gia, Nuke is in Thailand doing some spiritual retreat, and Cash is dealing with his kid.”
I stare at him. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the best.” He holds up a hand. “That’s not me blowing smoke up your ass, you and I both know it’s true. She needs you, someone who can bring out the best in her.”
“What about you? Because I’d run the show, so I’d expect her to do what I say.”
“Done. She can’t wait. As for me, I’m nothing more than her manager, you will be the producer, and what you say goes.”
“Christ, I really must be fucked up to even be considering this.”
“It’s the time to broaden your talent, brother, you’ve collaborated on songs for other artists, but you haven’t produced, other than with the Muffins. This is one album…she already has the songs written, and with your knowledge and fucking grit, you two can create something that will go down in Rock history.”
“Okay, let’s not get delusional.” I tap my thumb on the table because all I can hear on repeat in my head is her voice.
“There’ll be no drama, only work.” A cocky smile on his face. “Here, you need it in writing, you got it.” He grabs a napkin and starts to write shit on it.
“Like I can read that chicken scratch…dude, I’m fucked up.” I look over at Lori and the friend waiting for me. Grinning at them, I hear her voice…you couldn’t find that spot if I directed you.
Christ, my cock is hard. I’m gonna bend Lori over and fuck her ass as I watch her eat her friend’s cunt. “I’ve got to go.”
“Sign, and I’ll get Courtney’s signature in the morning, but this gives you all the control.” Malcolm hands me the pen.
“Sure.” Taking the pen, I don’t even look as I scribble my name, then grab my phone and the bottle of Jägermeister because I’ve got more important shit to tend to right now.
“Good seeing you, man.” I barely look at him as I sling my arm over Lori and the friend’s shoulder.
“You ready to party, Ammo?” The tall one smiles up at me as we start to walk out the bar.
“Darlin’, I was born ready.”
COURTNEY
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.” I groan, blink open my eyes, then close them so as not to look at Melanie and her blinding bubblegum pink jumpsuit.
“What are you wearing?” I hiss at her. She stands, staring down at me with her signature smirk, sucking on an iced mocha latte, being completely obnoxious with the loud, annoying straw.
“Don’t worry, I had Alberto make you a matching one.” She stops to smile, then slurps again.
“Jesus.” I take a deep breath and sit up, muffled screams from numerous voices filter up from downstairs. My eyes dart to her deep blue ones and frown.
“Yeah, about that, you might want to get up.” She tilts her head at me, her fake eyelashes a bit much this morning.
Melanie Vance is the closest person I’d actually call a friend, if I were to use that label. Malcolm found her playing with another band and persuaded her to join Broken Vixens. She might very well be the best bass player in the world, and I don’t just say that because she’s in my band.