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Annie and I have talked about the need to make investments, even though we’ve discussed our finances before and agreed—technically, she insisted—most of our money would be kept separate. She’s so damn independent and doesn’t want to owe anyone, including me, anything.
(Of course, the day we’re married, her name goes on everything whether she wants it or not. There’s no way I’m not taking care of her if and when she needs it.)
“So, you’re going to run a label?” Her voice rises.
“Fuck no,” I say firmly, reaching for her arms.
This reunion is going nothing like it was supposed to. Her body should’ve been under mine by now. Judging by the words she uttered before she walked in, she wanted that too.
Now she’s pissed, and I’m horny, and we’re fighting in the kitchen with half a dozen lawyers who charge for an hour what I used to make in a month listening from the other room.
I wanted to keep her out of this deal because I didn’t want her worrying about it, or me, or the fact that Jax and I are doing it together. Annie and her dad have had enough issues in the past, and some of them have been my fault. He’s not only my future father-in-law, but my mentor. The man who helped put me on the map.
But I swore I wouldn’t come between them again, which is why I insisted to Jax I wanted a transactional deal: my money and reputation as someone without any grudges in the industry in exchange for a share of one of the biggest record companies of all time.
And it was supposed to be finished by now.
Frustration has me biting back a groan.
“It’s an investment,” I say evenly. “That’s all.”
Still, Annie looks unconvinced. “I know the new album is doing well, but that’s why you have an investment manager. Buy a horse ranch or a vineyard or something.”
I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Six… I’d have to buy more than one.”
“Oh.”
God, I love this woman. She grew up with nothing. Then she learned her father was Jax Jamieson, and she was transplanted into a world with everything. She never takes a piece of it for granted.
I swear I never will either.
“Wicked has a lot of up-and-coming talent,” I say. “Talent that will suffer if the company goes under, and they don’t deserve that.”
There’s another reason I want a piece of this deal, one that matters even more for our future. It’s been emerging for months, brewing in the back of my mind as she slept beside me, finally maturing in the weeks I’ve been without her.
But I’m not ready to cop to it yet.
Annie sighs, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling. “We’re getting married in seven days,” she starts, and I sense she’s thawing.
“Believe me, I remember.” I inch closer, and her back bumps the fridge. “On an island. All our friends and family flying to—”
“Don’t say it! You’ll jinx it!” She presses a finger to my lips.
My mouth twitches beneath her touch. No money or shit in the world can hold a candle to Annie Jamieson. She’s my friend, my rival, my heart. The only woman I’ve ever loved, the only person I’ve wanted to own or be owned by.
“I promise I won’t risk our time together for this deal,” I vow, tracing my thumb along her palm until she shivers.
I nip her finger, and her lips part. My hand releases hers to skim up her side under the edge of her dress, and she shifts against the fridge, which beeps.
She jumps, but I don’t let her shift away. My mouth brushes her ear, and I inhale her scent like an addict. “Give me twenty minutes to get rid of the lawyers.”
Annie ducks out of my arms, smoothing down her dress and leveling me with a stare. “Take your time. I’m going swimming.”
The cool challenge in her eyes only adds to my lust. I want to drag up her skirt and claim her right here.
“Twenty minutes,” I promise, but she’s already brushing past me and heading for the bedrooms.
I adjust myself in my jeans before returning to the conversation in the living room.
