Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
BELLA
I had envisioned a few different things for my time in Fork Lick.
Planning a legendary festival? Absolutely on the list.
Growing closer to the Bedds and becoming almost a surrogate member of the family? Inevitable.
Waking up in the arms of Jackson Bedd in his childhood bedroom after a night of mind-blowing sex where he actually opted to eat me out first, unprompted, with surprising skill? Not on my Fork Lick bingo card.
I stir in his arms, craning my neck to peer at the bedside clock. It’s nine a.m., which is late for both of us according to our regular routines. He grumbles something in his sleep and tightens an arm around me. I nestle into his embrace, blinking with wonder at the ceiling. I almost can’t conjure my previous image of Jackson—cocky, arrogant, shallow, easy to write off and ignore. This new version, Jackie Boy, is the type of man I fantasize about. The type of man I’ve been looking for, waiting for , longer than I can admit even to myself.
Or maybe I’m just being sentimental on the morning after.
Jackson pulls me deeper into his arms. “Morning, Sweet Pea,” he mumbles.
“Good morning, Jackie Boy.”
He hasn’t fully opened his eyes yet but he’s grinning. “Sleep okay?”
“You made sure of it.”
He rumbles low with pleasure, his hands exploring the expanse of my naked body beneath the sheets. I giggle as his hands wander between my legs, then along my waist and between my breasts. He rolls over, pinning me with a kiss, morning breath and all.
“I can’t keep my hands or lips off you,” he admits, nuzzling my neck.
“Can I be excused for a quick trip to the bathroom?”
“I’ll allow it,” he says.
I give him another kiss and then slip out of bed, pulling on my panties and tugging my T-shirt over my head. In the bathroom, I’m still marveling at the turn of events. Morning breath kisses after the first night together? Another entry for the Fork Lick bingo card. I can’t say I mind, either. Something about Jackson makes me feel like we’ve known each other in a profound way for so much longer than we have.
Once I’ve washed up and brushed my teeth, I pull open the door to find him heading my way for his turn in the bathroom. I squeeze his ass as we trade places, then cozy back up inside his bed. He rejoins me a few minutes later, his arms resuming their previous position around my waist.
“You don’t think we bothered Ethel last night, do you?” I’m suddenly worried it will be an awkward morning whenever we go down there.
He pauses, then says, “If anything, she’ll probably be happy. Gran loves it when matches happen."
"Yeah, until they move out," I remind him with a laugh.
“She’s got us for a while longer,” he says, his morning scruff a welcome friction against my neck as he nuzzles me. His comment is open-ended, and I’m feeling too good to even think about what happens after the “while longer” is over.
I sigh suddenly, some of my to-do list crashing into my mind. “Shoot. That reminds me, I need to head to the municipal office again today.”
“Yeah? What for?”
“They rejected my initial plans for the festival.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to anyone other than Colleen last night. It’s embarrassing, like admitting I don’t know what I’m doing. And maybe I could have researched better. But I want to pull this off, from start to finish, on my own, so there’s no doubt remaining about whether I’m ready for this promotion.
“They did?” Jackson’s brows draw together. “Wait, is Frank still working there?”
“Yeah, he was one of them.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, Frank is a stickler when it comes to basically anything, I’ve heard. What’s the issue this time?”
“Too many people, and a noise ordinance,” I summarize.
“Did you tell them I’m going to headline?”
“I didn’t mention that, because you hadn’t announced it yet—besides, he didn’t seem like a guy who would be swayed by Single Grain.”
He props his head on his arm, studying the ceiling. “You can tell them I’ll be part of it. In fact, let me go down there with you. I bet I can get them to come around.”
I grin over at him. “You’d go to bat for me like that?”
“Of course. I’m ready to attach my name to the festival, even though I can’t promote it as a Single Grain show. In fact, I don’t even know who my band will be. At this point, it might have to be just me up there.”
“Wait, your band can’t come?”
He shakes his head, rolling onto his side. His gaze follows his fingers as he traces invisible patterns up my arm and over my collarbone. “They’re booked or uninterested. Or maybe both. But I won’t see them again until we hit the studio in July to record the final album for Single Grain.”
I blink rapidly. “The final album?”
“The last one I’m on the hook for, contractually.” He heaves a sigh. “And I don’t plan on renewing. It’s scary to think about, but Single Grain might be done for soon, unless they agree to change some things in the next contract.”
“I can’t imagine they wouldn’t.” I run my fingers back and forth across the small tangle of hairs on his chest. But he doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s frowning up at the ceiling, stress wringing his features. “And besides, you don’t need a band to pull off this show. Honestly, you could convince most of your fanbase to show up even if the plan was to sing your grocery list.”
He cracks a grin. “Maybe.”
“Is there someone locally you could ask to perform with you?”
He’s quiet, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.
“I bet we could find some up-and-coming bands who’d be down to rehearse with you in the meantime,” I suggest, after he’s been quiet for a few moments.
“I like the ideas.” Jackson taps his chest, his eyes darting back and forth across the ceiling. “You know…you inspired me. I know exactly who I’ll ask.”
“Who’s that?”
He turns back onto his side, grinning at me from ear to ear. “The band I used to play with, right before I signed with the label.”
My fingers wander back to the patch of chest hair, eventually meandering farther south, tripping over the ridges of his abs. “So the members of Single Grain aren’t your original band?”
“No. The label brought them in. Excellent musicians, but not my friends. The guys I used to play with in New York are great musicians and friends, but they never had any interest in selling out, like I did.” He laughs wryly. “So they stayed here when I headed out west. I’ll see if they’re interested in coming around.”
“That’s a great idea.” The pinging of my phone yanks me from our morning brainstorming nest. I reach for it, finding some texts from my boss that I need to respond to. “I should get ready for the day. My boss is texting already.”
Jackson grunts his agreement, checking his own phone as I slowly sit up and stretch. He swears softly.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“I need to call my agent real quick.” He sighs, making the call on speaker phone while he rolls out of bed. He’s rummaging through his suitcase as his agent picks up.
“Hey, that was quick,” a smooth voice says.
“Just wanted to touch base about the plan, Artie,” Jackson says, pulling out a T-shirt. I begin to collect the rest of my discarded clothes from last night. “Aren’t you up early? It’s six in LA.”
“Deals never sleep, friend.”
“Just so you know, I won’t be playing Single Grain songs at the festival out here. It’s all new stuff that I’m writing in my gran’s basement. So there’s no worry about stepping on the label’s toes. I’m even gonna find different musicians.”
“Hmmm. Okay, okay, I see the angle.” Artie pauses just as I discover my leggings buried beneath Jackson’s crumpled T-shirt.
“I have different material for the album,” Jackson goes on. The way he’s talking about it sounds like he’s already made up his mind, which is probably a good idea based on how bad he says the contract is. I sling my leggings over my shoulder and resume the hunt for my bra.
“The final one?” Artie asks.
“Yeah. I haven’t renewed the contract, and this upcoming one is the last one I’m on the hook for. You remember.”
There’s a long, deadly silence. So long that even my stomach turns. Jackson finally says, “Artie, you there?”
“Jackson, you don’t read your paperwork, do you?”
The tone in Artie’s voice makes me forget the hunt for my bra. I look sharply at Jackson, who meets me with an alarmed gaze.
“What are you talking about?” Jackson asks.
“Your contract auto-renewed two weeks ago,” Artie says. “You never reached out about re-negotiation so it auto-renewed.”
I don’t know what this man looks like, but there’s something in his voice that suggests he’s got a robotic lack of facial expression—or possibly missing a soul altogether.
Jackson nearly chokes. “Excuse me? Auto-renewed?”
“Yes. It’s in the contract , Jackson. The one that you signed.” Artie sounds annoyed now. I want to reach through the phone and slap this man.
“And you couldn’t even give me a heads up?” Jackson spits. “Talked it over? Taken the temperature of the room? For fuck’s sake, Artie!”
“You never expressed wanting to end the contract completely,” Artie states.
“The fuck I didn’t!” Jackson is nearly bellowing now. I can’t believe I’m witnessing this unfold, and I’m so angry on Jackson’s behalf my insides are all twisted up. “Whose side are you on, anyway? You know I wasn’t happy with that fucking contract. And you went ahead and let it auto-renew anyway?”
“Jackson, listen?—”
“No, fuck you. Artie, this shit is ending now. I’m finding a new agent.”
“But the contract stipulates that the negotiating agent retains another year minimum of work after renewal,” Artie says, sounding far less sympathetic than one would imagine after delivering such devastating news to a client. “So, I’m sorry that you’re unhappy. But business is business, man. Why don’t you go for a run and think it over? I’ll find a way to get you an extra percentage, and we’ll work through this together. At least for the next year, you’re stuck with me.”
Jackson is fuming as he ends the call. He buries his face in his hands. “You heard all that, right?”
“I did.” I drift back toward the bed, abandoning my intentions to get dressed and move on with my day. “That’s ridiculous. He can’t be serious.”
Jackson’s jaw flexes as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Then he reaches for his laptop on the nightstand. “I’m going to look at the contract again.”
“I want to see it too.” I need to know the chokehold they have on him…and how the people “looking out for him” could do something like this.
Jackson clicks angrily through different screens. “It’s convoluted as fuck, I remember that much. Might as well be written in Middle English.”
I sit gently on the bed next to him, my stomach doing somersaults as I await the document. He pulls it up, and we both scroll through it, squinting at the legalese.
He’s right. It’s cryptic, it’s intense, and it’s never-ending. I need to hire a lawyer just to understand what I’m looking at. But based on what I overheard just now…I can’t sit back and let Jackson deal with this alone.
“Can you send me a copy of this?” I ask. “I want to get extra eyes on it.”
“I don’t want this leaking,” he begins.
“Full discretion, I promise. I just need other people’s eyes on this to get some ideas about where to go from here. Because, Jackson, I promise you”—I cup the side of his face, forcing his worried gaze to meet mine—“I’m going to do whatever I can to help you.”
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“We’re going to figure this out,” I promise him, pressing my lips to his in a brief kiss. “Together.”