Page 21 of Devoured By You
“I might have changed.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Sure.” Sashaying past me, she beelined toward the larger of the two bedrooms like she had a built-in homing beacon. Or, more likely, if I knew Aspen—which I did—she’d studied the layout before arriving.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I gripped her elbow, steering her toward the other bedroom. “That one is yours.”
“No fair. I’m a lady. I have things.”
I eyed her suitcases, busting at the seams. “Too many things,” I grumbled.
“Typical man.” She scanned around. “It’s nice, although I think you should do the gentlemanly thing and switch.”
“I never said I was a gentleman.” Gentlemen didn’t fuck strangers on planes.
I loosened my tie and unfastened my top button. Every time I thought about Jillian Rowe, a strange sensation gripped me. A kind of longing to see her again, if only to satisfy myself that I still didn’t believe in seconds. A test of sorts. One I’d undoubtedly pass.
Aspen knelt on the floor and opened her first suitcase. She rifled through it, brandishing a two-piece swimsuit in the air. “Order of events. Swim. Eat. Then stalk Joz Raynor and turn on the charm.”
“Who is Joz Raynor?” The name was vaguely familiar, but not enough for me to zero in.
She gaped at me, then shook her head with the kind of disappointment a mother might show to a child she’d discovered playing hooky. “All work and no play makes Blaize a heathen in the music world.” She plucked out a pair of glittery sandals. “Joz Raynor is a rock god. I’ve been trying to sign him to my label for ages, but he’s so damn difficult to reach. His manager is an asshole. But here…” A glint lit up her eyes. “He’s allll mine.”
Aspen ran the Kingcaid Music label out of New York. Over the last four years since she’d assumed full control from my uncle Jacob, her father, she’d signed some amazing, talented artists—according to the music press, that was. As for me, I was too busy with my overflowing plate to keep up with the latest “big thing.”
Looked as if this Joz Raynor was the latest big thing.
She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, reappearing a few minutes later, dressed for the pool. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me see. Launching a one-point-five-billion-dollar cruise ship, maybe?”
“You’re not actually driving it, though, right?”
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes for a second. God, give me strength. “You don’t ‘drive’ a ship.”
“Sail. Whatever.” She flailed her hands in the air. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t ‘sail’ or ‘drive’ it. I have a captain and an entire crew responsible for that. But there are other things I have to do.”
“Such as?”
“Let’s put it this way. If one of your major signings was headlining at Madison Square Garden, what would you be doing?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I hate it when you bring logic to the party.”
“You go and enjoy yourself. Don’t get into any trouble, and do not annoy my guests. Any of them. If Joz Raynor puts in a complaint about you, I swear to God, I am selling you out at the next Kingcaid Group board meeting.”
“He won’t. Promise. I’ll take the softly, softly approach.”
I didn’t even want to know what that meant. “Just watch yourself. This is an important two weeks for me, and if you want to stay aboard, you’ll bear in mind my stress levels.”
“I’ll be the epitome of supportive.” She drew her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “Siri, email Carly and ask her to book Mr. Stresshead a full-body massage at Serenity’s spa.”
“If you’ve sent that, I’ll murder you with my bare hands.”
Laughing, she sprinted for the door. “Gotta catch me first.”
My lips formed a smile that wouldn’t quit. As flighty as Aspen sometimes came across, she was as hard-nosed in business as the rest of the family. She was only trying to loosen me up a little. She had, too. The tension tightening every muscle in my neck had lessened, and that all-too-familiar knot in my stomach wasn’t there either. For now.
Picking up my phone, I went over my speech one last time.