Page 84 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

My smile fades.

Damn.

I had hoped she forgot about that, too.

26

JORDAN

After a long and luxurious shower, I step out into the main room of the executive suite. The New York City skyline greets me and I spend a decent amount of time standing at the windows, enjoying my morning coffee as the city thrives beneath me.

When I was just a young girl growing up in Las Vegas, I dreamed of a life like this. Sure, home has its perks, but it doesn’t have this view, that’s for sure.

Enjoy the view, sweetheart.

Soon it’ll be yours every day.

I sneer at the card still sitting on the counter. From any other person, in any other situation, I’d consider it. But with strings attached to an asshole like Paul Monroe…

Nah.

I’ll pass.

I’m happy where I am. And with whom I’m represent.

I finish my coffee, then head into the bedroom to get dressed. I throw on a pair of classic black slacks and a matching blouse before fixing my hair in a casual braid and putting on some light makeup. The whole time, I think of last night. Of going to The High Note and reuniting with Christian Myers.

I just wanna rock your world.

Quite the catchy tune.

I sit down on the bed, taking a moment to slip on my shoes, and… more memories rush over me. Memories of Bronson. Of his hand gently caressing my back. Of falling asleep in his arms.

I lean toward the pillow beside me. His scent still lingers on it, gentle and strong. Just like him.

My stomach flutters with butterflies.

Bronson Isaacs is a good man.

I’ve always known that. It’s just nice to have all the good thoughts and words I’ve shared about him throughout our lives proven so very true.

I can’t wait to fall asleep in his arms again.

Briefly shaking the thought out of my head, I finish putting on my shoes. Bronson and I arefriends.Fuck buddies. Nothing more. He said it. I said it. I’m not allowed to develop feelings for him. I’m also his manager, and I’m not about to even think about how weird and complicated that relationship could become if I did suddenly fall for him.

With my clipboard in one hand and my favorite faded golden travel mug in the other, I banish those thoughts into oblivion and board the elevator.

It’s show night in NYC.

And there’sa lotto check off my list.

As the car descends, I look over my to-dos. After lunch, it’s a brief band meeting-slash-practice before we head to the venue. My inbox is already loaded with notes from our road manager, Roy, so I have my work cut out for me with all the little last-minute preparations. Our New York City shows are often the largest — and most complicated — of the entire tour, so it’s best to limit distractions as much as possible.

Distractions like Bronson.

Distractions like…

I hear the music before the elevator reaches the lobby. A ballad. Soft and low, performed by a solo performer with an acoustic guitar.

---