13
It’san unavoidable part of life that other men check out my fiancée.
She’s beautiful enough to turn heads on the street, not to mention on stage.
Except when I shift out of my golf cart to see Finn Harvey checking out Annie on the private island where we’re getting married, it feels veryavoidable.
Before I can reach them, Beck shifts in front of me and plants a wet hand on my chest. “Slow your roll, T.” His voice, low and deliberate, is more of a warning than the words. “You look as if you want to rip his spine from his body Mortal Kombat-style.”
My attention drags slowly to my friend’s serious face. “Wanna help me?”
“Hell yeah. But you don’t want me to help you because it will undo all the groundwork you’ve laid, and I assume Finn McDouchebag is one of the artists you and Jax invited here to woo for your deal.”
Beck doesn’t miss much.
I struggle for control. It’s typically my superpower, but as I see Finn talking to her, control slips through my grasp like white sand from the beach behind me.
Because they were in LA together for several shows, while she was angry at me.
“I never thought I’d have to tell you this, but focus, man,” Beck reminds me. “You got the girl.”
I huff out a breath, conviction settling low in my gut.
I brush past him, pulling up between my fiancée and the man I evidently have to play nice with for the next three days.
“Finn,” I say tightly, taking in the man who looks entirely comfortable in a white linen shirt.
The smile he flashes is one the cameras would love, one that would have every social media person coming in their pants and every Instagram advertiser toppling over one another to tie him to their brand.
“The last time I saw you, you were on a stage and she”—he winks at Annie, which I hate—“was following me to LA.”
“We all make poor choices in school.”
Annie shoots us both a look before turning to leave. “New bikini,” she explains. “If there’s a pissing contest, I don’t want to get caught in the cross-stream.”
A laugh that sounds distinctly like Beck’s comes from one of the patio chairs.
“You’ll make a stunning bride,” Finn calls after her.
I wonder if he’d be as relaxed after I shoved his head in the pool.
“Let me guess, the niceties are over?” he tosses, turning back to me with a smug grin.
He’s standing between you and getting this deal done. And once you get this deal done… you can enjoy the next month worshipping the woman you love.
“After Shannon Cross died, Wicked fell into the hands of executives who cared more about money than artists. Jax and I have plans to remedy that once our offer is accepted. Young artists are the ultimate future of the company, but you’re its present. We can’t do it without you.” Each word is glass in my mouth.
“This must be a point of pride for the family you’re marrying into,” Finn says.
“We see an opportunity to help the industry, to save one of the most prominent labels.”
“What if it doesn’t want saving?”
My arms cross my chest as I try to guess his game. “Then you can go down with the ship. But there are other artists whose careers are only beginning, and I won’t let them go without the chances we’ve both had. Neither you nor anyone else is going to keep me from that.”
His eyes flicker, though I can’t read the emotion beneath. Eventually, he laughs. “I admire you. If I was set to marry that woman this week”—he looks toward the villa—“I’d have nothing on my mind or my calendar except making her very, very happy.”
Every muscle in me clenches.