“I’ve wanted to kiss you like this since the moment I walked in. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I want you, Nola. I want you in my bed with me every night. I want you in my house, sharing the space with me. Most of all, I want you by my side as I traverse this new path.”
My heart seizes at his words. “Quinn.” His name sounds broken as I say it. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“I don’t care if you’re messy or leave toothpaste in the sink. None of that trivial stuff matters to me, Nola. I just want you. I know we’re moving fast, too fast for some, but my life feels right with you in it, and I have never felt this way before.”
“Neither have I.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Quinn starts to laugh. “My hand is pulsating,” he says. He lets me down, so I can deal with it. The screen shows Rhett’s name. I mistakenly open the screen, not thinking about what his message could say.
I’m here. You’re not packed.
I swallow hard and try to hide it before Quinn can see it, but it’s too late. “I didn’t think you needed help moving to my place.”
Locking my phone, I slip it back into my pocket. “I don’t. Like I said, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay,” he says. He steps away from me slightly and leans against the wall. Before I can get the words out, the back door opens, and Zeke is standing there.
“Quinn, there’s a music exec and her assistant waiting for you in the green room. She says she spoke with your manager earlier and she set up the meeting.”
“Um… okay.” Quinn pulls his phone out. “Elle didn’t text me or anything.”
“Maybe she forgot?”
He shakes his head. “Not like her.” Quinn looks at Zeke. “I’ll be there in a few.” He waits until Zeke has closed the door before looking back at me. “What were you going to tell me?”
I shake my head. “It can wait until we’re home.”
He leans down and kisses me. “I can’t wait to meet your brother.”
Yeah, me too. We walk back in and part ways when he turns down the hall. I watch him until he disappears, praying that he’ll be okay when he hears my news.
/> 31
Quinn
The look on Nola’s face when she said she had something to tell me, has set me on edge. She looked troubled and it’s something I don’t like seeing. I’m trying not to think of the many scenarios running through my mind as I go to meet this exec, which I find incredibly odd. It’s unlike Elle to set appointments without her being involved. She’s meticulous and likes to pride herself on being well-versed when it comes to the industry. She doesn’t want me, let alone the other members, agreeing to something without her input. Elle is our manager for a reason.
With my hand on the doorknob, I hesitate. Something isn’t right. I pull out my phone and call my sister, but she doesn’t answer, leaving me no choice but to send her a text, asking her to tell me what’s going on or to come to the Bean Song quickly. The latter is impossible if she’s already home. Driving in from Malibu can be a total bitch, especially after you’ve already made the trip home.
A sense of uneasiness washes over me as I twist the knob. This is one of the reasons why I preferred being the open mic guy on Friday nights, so I didn’t have to deal with anyone from the industry. Believe it or not, I’m okay with people telling me where to go, what to say and where to stand when I’m singing. Life’s easier when I don’t have to make decisions, and it’s smoother when my only job is to sing and write lyrics.
Looking down at my phone and the text message I sent my sister, wishing she had her read receipts on, my mind is racing with what’s going to happen behind this door. Leaving them to sit in this room, knowing how disgusting it is, is also unprofessional but I don’t want to walk into a trap.
I take a deep breath and turn the handle, stepping inside. The two women turn around as I enter. I smile and give a slight nod before stepping forward with my hand out. “Hi, I’m Quinn. Zeke said you wanted to speak with me.”
The younger of the two steps forward and shakes my hand. She’s wearing distressed jeans with holes, which isn’t very professional in my opinion, paired with a tank top and her hair is in one of those high ponytails my sisters use when they’re getting ready. She looks like she’s ready for the club as opposed to talking to a potential client. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“Um… you too,” I say utterly confused.
The other one, the one who looks like she’s ready for a business meeting with her black skirt and jacket, wears her blonde hair down and her makeup is subtle. Growing up with the twins, I know all the tricks when it comes to women. They used me for practice many times.
“Charles… My Charlie.”
“Um, sorry, but my name’s Quinn. Quinn James. You wanted to meet with me, right?” Was she not listening when I introduced myself earlier?
She smiles. “Quinn… Quinn,” she says my name repeatedly as if it’s something she’s never heard before. The awkwardness in the room is palpable and I’m visualizing all the mean things I’m going to do to my sister for putting me in this spot. All I can think of is that this is a test. Elle’s trying to figure out if I’m smart enough to hold my own with the vultures in the industry.
“Shall we sit down?” the older one asks. She motions to the couch, but I shake my head.