Chapter 14
GEORGINA
After getting Bryce’s sister’s Instagram handle from Reed, I call up her page on my phone—trying desperately, as I do, not to let on that I’m a hair’s breadth away from having a nervous breakdown.
All night long, I’ve been filled with anxiety about how and when to tell Reed about Alessandra’s music.
And now, he wants to teach me how to be a “music scout”?
Good lord, if I can’t find a natural opening to mention Alessandra now, then I’m officially hopeless.
Shit. I feel like the stakes are higher now than ever.
After that scorching hot, best-kiss-of-my-life kiss with Reed in front of Bernie’s Place, I’m especially determined not to blow my chance to have sex with him tonight.
But I can’t help worrying Reed is going to feel betrayed when I finally pull out that flash drive.
Will he think Alessandra’s demo was my singular motivation this whole time?
Will he view it as proof that I am, indeed, Bobby Fischer?
Or has that amazing kiss worked the same kind of magical swooning spell on him that it worked on me, such that he’ll be nothing but sweet and receptive when I finally pull out Alessandra’s music?
In short, I’m wondering if Alessandra’s demo will provoke the same kind of benevolence Reed showed to Bryce.
.. or the kind of wrath he showed to that cute little blonde at the bar.
“Well?” Reed says. “Did you find the sister’s account?”
“Uh, yeah.” I survey the endless selfies on Bryce’s sister’s page. “She’s really pretty. She looks like Aloha Carmichael.”
I show Reed my screen, and he nods his agreement.
“Okay, so, that’s strike one against her.”
“Against her?” My stomach drops. “I meant she looks like Aloha as a compliment.”
The elevator doors open on the fourth floor of the structure, and we step out into the near-empty garage.
“I’m parked over here,” Reed says, pulling me to the right.
My heart is thundering. “Reed, Aloha is gorgeous and one of the biggest stars on the planet, as you well know. How could looking like her be anything but a good thing?”
“Think, Music Scout. Why would I want to sign Aloha Two-Point-Oh, when the original is already one of my biggest earning stars? I owe it to Aloha to put all my Aloha-shaped eggs into Aloha’s basket, not the poor man’s version of her.
There’s only so much Aloha-style marketing and songs to go around.
I would never want to dilute Aloha’s market share. ”
I’m dumbstruck. I open and close my mouth, not sure how to respond. Now I really don’t know what to tell him about Alessandra. Whenever I tell anyone about her, I always say she sounds like the lovechild of Adele and Laila Fitzgerald. But Reed is saying that would be a bad thing?
“But, still, Music Scout,” Reed continues, “we’ll press on. She’s not ‘out’ after only one strike. There could be other factors weighing in her favor. Next up, tell me about her numbers. How many followers?”
I look down. “Almost ten thousand. That’s good, right?”
“Is it? You tell me, Music Scout.”
“Yeah, ten thousand seems like a whole lot to me.”
Reed shakes his head. “Nope. It’s not impressive. In fact, it’s anemic and highly un-impressive.”
Well, fuck. My stomach is churning now. Alessandra barely has a thousand followers. If this girl’s following is anemic and unimpressive, what’s Alessandra’s? Pathetic? Laughable?
Reed says, “But that’s not the end of the road for this girl, either, Music Scout. If those ten thousand followers are actual people—not bots or ghosts set up to make her look good—if it turns out they’re genuine, enthusiastic, and highly interactive fans—then that’s something to consider.”
“How do we know if they’re real or not?”
“You’d have to audit her account. Look at the interactions on each photo and video. Click on the profiles of the interactive ones and see if they come off like real people with real lives, or fake accounts. Once you start looking closely, you can usually tell fairly easily.”
I make a move to swipe at my screen, like I’m going to get started on what he’s just instructed, but Reed stops me with a gentle touch.
“Not now, Music Scout. I’m just educating you, for later.
That job could take a while, so we’ll put it on the back burner for now.
There’s no point wasting our time on auditing her followers if she’s got no talent.
Or if she’s got talent, but she’s not a good fit for us.
For now, we’ll put a pin in that, say she looks meh on numbers, certainly not great, but there could be extenuating circumstances that will give her more of a platform in the future than the average bear. ”
Reed stops walking, and I follow suit, right in front of a breathtaking, gleaming black sports car. It’s the kind you’d see on an actual racetrack, or in a spy movie. And, suddenly, I realize... this is Reed’s ride. As in, the car he drove to get here today. On actual city streets. Holy shit.
“This is your car?” I blurt lamely.
Reed smiles. “One of them.” He presses a button to unlock it, and a gentle chirp echoes throughout the empty cement structure.
“What is it?” I ask, slack-jawed.
“A Bugatti Chiron.”
“A Bugatti... ?”
“Chiron. They vastly improved the Veyron with this model. It’s got exponentially more pick-up.”
“Well, thank God for that. I always say the Vey-whatever was a piece of shit.”
He snorts.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say, in genuine awe. “A work of art.”
“It is.” He assesses his baby for a long beat. “If I didn’t already have a hard-on because of you, Georgie, I’d have a hard-on looking at this car. I’ve got a thing for fast cars.”
“And fast women,” I say, like we’re in a poorly written action movie. Because, come on, who could resist inserting that cheeseball line into this surreal moment, in front of this car?
Luckily, Reed gets my offbeat humor, apparently, because he laughs at my stupid joke as he leads me around to the passenger side.
But just when I think he’s going to open the door for me, he slides his palm onto my cheek, pins me against his gorgeous car, presses his hard-on into my clit, and kisses me deeply—this time, with even more heat and greed than the last time.
And, once again, I’m instantly ravenous for him.
My heart exploding, I slide my arms around his neck and grip his hair and kiss him the same way I’m going to fuck him at his house: without holding back.
“You drive me crazy,” Reed whispers into my lips. “I can’t resist you.”
“Please don’t.”
His burning eyes scan my face for a long, heated, delicious beat. “Damn, you’re gorgeous, Georgie.”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Damn, you’re... mildly attractive, Reed.”
He laughs—and so do I. Because, as we both know, Reed Rivers is drop dead gorgeous.
His features aren’t objectively perfect, by any stretch, in terms of symmetry.
But the way they come together, the way his face is animated by his intelligence and wit and charm and confidence.
.. the overall package of him is like catnip to this particular kitty.
And I’ve got to think any other kitty who happens to cross his swaggering, strutting path.
After one more kiss, Reed opens the passenger door for me, gets me situated in the luxurious leather seat, and shuts me in with a soft click.
And the minute I’m alone in Reed’s car, as Reed makes his way around the back to his door, I quickly google the car name he mentioned.
.. and then gasp at the crazy words on my screen: Bugatti Chiron.
One of the fastest cars ever manufactured.
Approximately 45 units sold worldwide per year. Price tag: $2.9 million.
Holy crap! I’m sitting in a car worth three million bucks? I suddenly feel faint.
I swear I’m not going home with Reed because of his money.
But, holy crap, it’s not every day a girl sits inside a three-million-dollar machine.
For God’s sake, I’ve never been inside a three-million-dollar house, let alone a three-million-dollar car.
Suddenly, I feel nervous to move a muscle inside this car.
To breathe. What if I spontaneously combust—or barf or pee?
The driver’s side door opens and Reed slides into his seat.
“Have you been dutifully scouring the girl’s page to find a video for me, Music Scout? ”
“Uh. No. But I will.” I flip back to Instagram, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Here. Plug in,” Reed says, holding up a cord. “We’ll listen to her through my speakers.”
My hands shaking, I plug my phone into Reed’s offered cord.
“You okay?” Reed asks.
I wipe the flop-sweat off my forehead. “Yeah, I’m great.”
But I’m a liar. I’m not “great.” I’m feeling a bit sick, actually.
Being in this car has made me realize just how successful Reed is.
How big a deal it is that I’ve not only got his undivided attention, but we’re organically talking about discovering new music, thanks to Bryce.
What if I blow this chance for Alessandra?
I can’t do that. Not even for one night of the best sex in my life.
Reed starts his car, and its expensive engine purrs like a kitten. “Listen to that,” he says lovingly. “Beautiful.”
“Yeah, beautiful. At least, I think so. Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I grew up driving my dad’s 2004 Volvo, and I haven’t needed a car of my own since I’ve been in school.”
Reed chuckles. “I feel you. In college, I drove a ‘95 Honda Accord with a transmission that slipped and a passenger window that wouldn’t roll down.”
I chuckle, and he does, too. And, just like that, something passes between us. Something real. And sweet, believe it or not. Something that makes both of us smile like school kids with mutual crushes on a playground.