Page 153 of Hope & Harmony

The Road to You

CHAPTER 1

MARCO

“Diversify your assets, man.”

Never, not in a million fucking years, not even when we were breaking laws and living free, did I ever think I’d one day be receiving those words of advice from my boy, Amir.

But we weren’t twenty years old, hitting the books hard after classes at Savage U by day, partying even harder at night. That was almost a decade ago, and while Amir might’ve pulled some all-nighters with his newborn daughter, his partying days were long behind him.

By the nature of my business, I spent my nights surrounded by debauchery. Owning nightclubs meant my waking hours were mostly after dark, and my body had become accustomed to being rattled by booming bass.

“You’re not going to want to live that lifestyle forever, and you’re getting up there, old man.”

“Fucking geriatric,” I agreed.

Amir huffed a laugh. “Check out where you can invest some money in a different market. Something adjacent. Music?”

“You’re telling me you think music is less volatile than the club scene?”

“Let me do some research. Zadie’ll look over the accounts. We’ll get back to you.”

Amir had been my boy since we had dirtstaches and no game. Luckily, we’d both grown up, though in different ways.

Amir broke away from the less-than-legal side of his life and went legit. He left Cali for Oregon and spent his free time hiking and foraging for mushrooms when he used to bust heads and instill fear in the hearts of the innocent.

He was a family man now, married to Zadie, who was a sweet little accountant with a penchant for baking treats that made eyes roll straight out of heads. She’d taken over my business accounts a couple years back, and she had terrified me ever since. Zadie Vasquez wouldn’t hurt a fly, but she’d rip me a new one if my books were a mess.

I wasn’t anywhere near settled down.

But I’d listened to my boy, which was how I’d ended up at Ocean Studios, an independent music studio in NYC used by big names in rock music.

Rock ’n’ roll. What the hell do I know about that?

I was here as a potential investor. Ocean was looking to expand to the West Coast, which was my home base. Zadie did her due diligence, and she felt like it was a good investment for me, but I wasn’t sold.

Night clubs, I knew. I could sink my teeth into the vibe, spend time in each of my clubs, and feel at home, but I was a fish out of water here. If I had my partner, Ivan’s wife, Evelyn, by my side, she’d give me her unfiltered opinion of the tunes this place put out. Boohoo for me, I was on my own this time around.

I’d had a week to haunt the halls, sit in on recording sessions, and really get the feel for this kind of business. It’d been a good few days. Interesting, to say the least, but I was still trying to decide whether my green would stay or go.

The Seasons Change were on the last day of recording their next album. I’d heard of them but put a gun to my head, and I still couldn’t name a single one of their songs.

They were cool, though. Chill to let me sit in the last two days and watch the mayhem. I had a seat in the back of the studio while Iris, the lead singer, scream-sang a song about true love. The rest of her band—Callum, Adam, and Rodrigo—were rapt, nodding along with her lyrics. In fact, everyone in the room was enthralled, fully focused on Iris, giving me a minute to look them over.

I liked that the crowd was diverse. I wasn’t the only Black guy in the room. That was a checkmark for me.

Everyone I’d seen so far was tattooed and artsy-looking. I stood out in my suspenders and button-down, but when I was doing business, I dressed for it.

The only other person who stood out in this room was the girl in the corner. I’d first missed her sitting there yesterday because she was so quiet. She wore an oatmeal-colored cardigan, tortoiseshell glasses, and jeans, so her style wasn’t exactly eye-catching, butshewas. In my line of work, women were flamboyantly gorgeous—all skin, tits, hair, ass. This girl was all kinds of subtle.

Her dark brown hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob, thick bangs curtaining her forehead. Her body was covered from neck to ankle, and there was no hint of her shape beneath her ugly-ass sweater, but I had a feeling there were curves there—and lots of them.

But her face. Face was stunning.

Smooth, olive-toned skin, deep brown eyes and dramatic brows, high cheekbones, and angular jaw, with plush, dusky lips as the crown jewel of her features.

She nodded along to Iris’s singing, those pretty lips moving with the lyrics.

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