Page 98 of Before Now

Colton slaps the cash into my hand and then serves the poor chick at the hotel’s reception desk one hell of a glare. I chuckle and stuff the five in my pocket.

“We can stop any time,” I remind him.

But he scans the lobby and then smacks me in the chest. “No fucking way. Put your shades on so you quit cheating.”

I slide them on, and we both wait for the chick crossing toward us, a bellhop following with her bags. Once she’s close enough, Colt coughs. She gives an annoyed glance at first, only to change her mind. She scans us both before smiling on her way by, attention staying on him.

“Fuck, yes.” He forgets her and holds out his palm, his smile smug.

“I never stood a chance against you.” I return the cash.

Neither of us would carry any if not for the bet. For a long time, we traded the same bill back and forth, almost like a marker. The scales tipped in my favor once people started recognizing me in public.

Or when I started cheating, according to Colt.

“You aren’t closing with her?” I ask.

He shrugs, his expression mimicking it. “Those who do not carry bags do so because of their baggage.”

“Preach.”

Christian winks at the other receptionist, tapping the cards on the counter before he spins. “Third floor is ours. Keycard access only for the elevator, which also goes down to the private gym, pool, movie theater, and whatever else she said.” He waves a hand toward the desk and then passes out keycards, rattling the room numbers as he goes.

My eyes move to Wannabe—Xander’s official name now—when his room winds up on the opposite end of the hall from Remi. His head shakes the tiniest bit, and I catch Christian’s lips twitch. He might be a pompous ass, but he’s our pompous ass. Turned out damn good at music management, too. He and his business major were corporate bound until he pivoted to act as our manager. With the way he adapted, navigating the industry and growing with us, the temporary part of the gig extended to indefinite.

I’m dragging, walking off the elevator. One more show tonight and then three days to write before we fly to San Diego, followed right up by the benefit concert.

Just like I expected, the guys agreed to play. Dev pushed his trip to Arizona, and Felix planned on hanging around the hotel anyway. Then we looked into the situation more, the way formal relief has fallen off and the continuing effects on those the disaster displaced, and I’m convinced they would have made it work regardless.

I sent Lee a singing telegram to her office tothank herfor bringing it to us. She then signed us to the San Diego appearance since we “clearly have the energy.” Our agent dodged giving a reason, making me wonder if Sav’s right. Mac Records wants to keep us away from her. Lee needs to remember who she works for. And it’s not them.

As for Christian, Felix promised to piss on his designer watch collection if he ducks another opportunity he knows we’d jump on. He’s excellent at his job but forgets goodwill exists. It’s time he realigned his vision and the rest of our team with what we want for ourselves.

Colton stops at his room, one before mine. “Later, ass-face.”

I chuckle, impressed by his maturity as always. When I reach mine, I glance over, but he’s disappearing inside, which has me looking straight at Remi, coming down the hall. She adjusts the strap for her messenger bag and lowers her eyes to avoid mine, cheeks flushing.

It reminds me of the day at the label. How uncomfortable I made her. I’ve earned it now.

More than earned it after the other day. But the dam broke watching her and Wannabe backstage before the concert. Instead of calming while listening to the crowd, my thoughts tangled, past, present. He hugged her, and I couldn’t stop seeing Roman in his place. The guy she chose over me.

They say hurt people hurt people, and the day I went after her broke me. I almost lost a part of myself.

I face my door, feeling her pass behind me. Tapping my card, I look down the hall again. And all the way at the end, Wannabe hesitates in front of his own door, watching her. Or us.

* * *

I crashfor a few hours but wake up unsettled. I put on a sweatshirt and step onto the balcony, notebook in hand. The second I look down at the courtyard below, blocked off for privacy, I tip my face to the sky.

“Fucking kidding me.”

Turning right around, I walk back in, shut the door, and erase the fountain from my memory.

I retreat to the oversized sofa. It takes ten minutes of tapping the pen on the page before I throw it across the room.

Goddamn.

Giving up, I sprawl out on my back with my phone, replying to Christian’s text and another. Then I scroll down, down, down. My thoughts keep drifting in this direction, so I might as well.

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