Chapter 31 Georgina
GEORGINA
Freshly showered and clad in a white tank top and soft, pink shorts with “Sassy Pants” on the ass, I knock on Reed’s bedroom door.
“Entrez,” his sexy voice calls from behind the door.
Clutching Alessandra’s demo, I open the door and step inside the vast room.
.. and gasp at the sensuous scene before me.
As expected, Reed is wearing nothing but briefs.
Sexy black ones, to be exact. But expecting him to be nearly naked, after previously seeing online photos of him in swim trunks, is a very different thing than seeing this god among men nearly naked in person.
He’s mouthwatering, this man. Scrumptious. Delicious. An erotic work of art.
He’s lying atop his bed. Also, as expected.
But this isn’t any normal bed. It’s a massive wood-carved four-poster that’s, not surprisingly, fit for a king.
Its frame is imposing and masculine. Its mattress covered in a ruby-red duvet and sumptuous pillows of gold, blue, and purple.
If Henry VIII were alive today, he’d sleep in this bed.
And the cherry on top of this fantastical cake? Or, rather, the mirror? Reed’s got one on his ceiling. A mirror. Directly above his porno-king bed. It’s a feature that turns me on and amuses me in equal measure.
“Nice mirrored ceiling,” I say, my tone bursting with snark as I walk across the room. “I didn’t know that was an actual thing, except maybe in music videos and porn.”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“I’m not. I’m mocking it before trying it.”
He chuckles. “Trust me, little kitty. Watching yourself having sex is gonna get you off like crazy. It’s like watching yourself in a live-action sex tape. So fucking hot.” He pats the mattress next to him, his eyes blazing. “Come here, kitty-kitty.”
I do as I’m told. I climb onto the bed next to him, still clutching the demo.
But when he leans in to kiss me, I hold out the flash drive, sensing one kiss, and I’ll quickly forget about the demo for the rest of the night.
“I look forward to watching myself getting fucked by you in your mirrored ceiling after you listen to this. All three songs. A minute each. A deal’s a deal. ”
Reed eyes the demo in my hand, but takes it, although he’s looking at it with downright disdain.
My stomach flip-flops. “You promised, Reed.”
“Yes, I know.” He exhales. “But we need to set some ground rules. Before I listen, I need you to promise that, whatever my ultimate opinions on that demo might be, you’re going to react calmly and with maturity.”
I roll my eyes. “Remember that thing I said about you coming off as condescending at times? Yeah, well, this is one of those times.”
“It needs to be said, Georgie. This is business for me. Nothing personal whatsoever. I want you to promise you won’t react emotionally if things don’t go as you’re hoping. Whatever happens, I don’t want this demo to get in the way of us having a great time tonight and during this entire week.”
“I’m an adult, Reed. Of course, I know this is business for you.
Whatever happens, I’ll handle it calmly and in a mature fashion, and without letting my emotions run wild.
Unless, of course, you fall head over heels for her, at which point I’m going to attack you with so much wild emotion, I might accidentally snuff the very life out of you.
I apologize profusely in advance, if I wind up ending your life out of pure, unadulterated joy.
” I giggle, but he remains steadfast and serious.
Which makes my stomach somersault again.
“Reed, all of this is a moot point. I’m positive you’re going to absolutely love what you hear.
But, in the event you’re on the fence, I promise to hear you out and respect whatever you say, as long as you’re being honest with me. ”
“Of course I’ll be honest. One hundred percent honest.”
My stomach seizes with nerves. All my bravado leaves me.
Holy shit. This is it. I’m ninety-nine percent certain Reed will love Alessandra.
.. but what if he doesn’t? I can’t fathom having to call Alessandra and tell her Reed finally listened.
.. and wasn’t impressed. Making that call would break my heart. But there’s no going back now.
“I’m ready,” I say. “Go ahead.”
Nodding, Reed pushes the flash drive into the side of his laptop. And a moment later, there she is. Alessandra. In a video. Sitting in a small studio, strumming her guitar, and singing from the depths of her soul.
I hold my breath. Wring my hands. And watch Reed as he watches Alessandra’s video.
I think I’m pretty good at reading him, but he’s completely unreadable to me now.
Indeed, just this fast, he’s flipped into full-throttle business mode, despite the fact that we’re lying together, almost naked, on top of his bed.
Indeed, just this fast, we might as well be sitting across from each other at his desk at River Records.
I peek at the counter at the bottom of the video and my spirit cautiously surges. Reed’s now watched Alessandra’s video a solid forty seconds longer than he listened to Bryce’s sister! That’s got to be a good sign, right? But I’ve no sooner made that observation than Reed pauses the video.
“Okay,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. “Which file do you want me to play next?”
Shit. Fuck. He stopped Ally’s video at exactly the one-minute mark—precisely the length of time he’d promised to listen. If he loved her, wouldn’t he listen longer, despite what he promised? “That one.” I point to his screen. “It’s an audio file. No video. But her voice on this one is especially—”
“We’ll let the song speak for itself,” he says bluntly. “The time to try to charm and sell me is over, Georgie.”
Holy fuck. I shoot him a look that says, Well, shit. No need to be rude about it. But he’s not looking at me. Indeed, without so much as a glance at me, Reed clicks on the file I’ve indicated. And, once again, Alessandra’s voice is wafting from his laptop speaker.
It’s rinse and repeat. Reed listens, stoned-faced and impassive, for exactly one minute, before pausing the song and moving on to the third file. Another audio file. Which he then listens to for exactly one minute, without giving away a damned thing.
And that’s it.
The room is filled with nothing but the sound of my anxious breathing now.
Reed has listened to all three songs on Alessandra’s demo, as promised.
And he’s right: the time for scheming and negotiating and flirting and middle fingers raised to the sky is over.
Alessandra’s music must now speak for itself, without any help from me.
I let out a slow exhale, feeling nervous and frayed.
Reed slowly closes his laptop. He purses his lips. And, finally, looks at me, his dark eyes intense and giving nothing away. “She’s talented,” he says matter-of-factly. “She’s got good vocal control. A nice texture to her voice. There’s no doubt she deserved her spot at Berklee.”
I nod, feeling like I’m going to pass out.
“One day, when she figures out who she is as an artist, as a person, I’m sure she’ll blossom. But, as things stand now, she’s not there yet. Not even close, if I’m being honest. I’m sorry, Georgie. She’s a pass for me.”
It’s worst-case scenario. Way worse than I could have imagined. A truly gut-wrenching disappointment. Without meaning to do it, I whimper and then clutch Reed’s arm with urgency.
“If you saw Alessandra perform live, I know you’d be able to see how special—”
“No, Georgie. Don’t. It’s over. I’m not on the fence about her. Not in the least. She’s not for me.”
I can’t believe my ears. I feel physically sick.
Like the room is spinning. “But... when you listened to Bryce’s sister, you said young artists always need room to grow and develop.
” Tears begin welling in my eyes, unbidden, despite my fervent desire to keep my eyes dry as a bone.
“Ally just needs a little professional guidance. If she could get some coaching to help boost her confidence, I know—”
“Georgie, stop. Please. My answer is no.”
I blink and the tears welled in my eyes squirt down my cheeks.
“Aw, Georgie. I knew this would happen.” He reaches out to wipe my cheek with this thumb, but I jerk my face away, too ashamed at myself for crying in front of him, for doing exactly what I promised I wouldn’t do, to let him comfort me.
Actually, he’s the last person I want comforting me right now.
I hate that I’m reacting like this. In fact, I’m livid with myself for it.
But when I jerk away from Reed, it’s immediately clear he’s misinterpreting my body language. He doesn’t know I’m angry with myself. He thinks I’m punishing him. Taking my proverbial ball from the playground after not being chosen for a team and marching home.
“So predictable,” he says, his tone turning acidic on a dime. “I don’t get to touch the merchandise if I didn’t pay your price?”
I’m shocked. Disgusted. Pissed.
Shaking his head, Reed retracts his hand from me and says, his voice low and intense, “Yes, Georgina. I told you young artists often need time to grow and develop. You might recall, however, that I made that comment when I thought we were having a conversation about music scouting in general. When I didn’t have a clue we were actually talking about your stepsister, specifically.
If I’d been privy to that information, then I would have clarified that, yes, I’m willing to help a young, wild bucking bronco of an artist learn to rein him or herself in a bit.
To control their wildness. There’s nothing better than barely contained chaos.
But what I’m not willing to do, Georgina, ever, is try to coax a painfully shy pony who’s afraid of her own shadow to poke her goddamned head out of the barn and take a fucking risk. ”
I gasp. Asshole.
“Life is too fucking short to try to coax someone out of their shell.”