Read Online The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2) by Christi Barth - Free Book Online
Authors: Christi Barth
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to the closed doors of another meeting room. “Your dates are waiting in the Driftwood Room.”
“What the hell does that… dates… plural?” Dylan slammed the door shut with his palm. Yeah, he didn’t like this one bit.
“Raquel, Sofia and Lauren.” Obviously sensing his displeasure, Ariel walked down to the credenza at the opposite end of the room and opened a bottle of water. Even in a pissy mood, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swayed so damn enticingly. “I brought them over with me from the venue.”
“Yeah, still no closer to buying a fucking clue.”
Ariel squared her shoulders, as if bracing to give bad news. “We had a raffle at tonight’s show. Sort of a way to celebrate you joining Riptide for the next few weeks.”
“Funny. I don’t remember mention of a celebration. What is it—do they whack a piñata? Or are they the super-creepy types that want a lock of hair? Because that just weirds me out. Don’t ever promise that to anyone.”
“No worries. This is way better,” Ariel assured him. But she also wore the same schmoozy, sales-pitch fake smile that Leo had every time he tried to talk Dylan into something crappy. “The three winners get to party with you. All night. No-holds-barred access. Exclusive photos, all drinks and food comped, anything they want signed…but mostly just time with you.”
Unbelievable. Dylan stalked over to her. Yeah, she’d wised up to his mood fast, backing away until the windowsill stopped her flight. Felt like they were square dancing their way through this conversation. He stopped close enough to see the gray flecks in her eyes. “You fucking pimped me out?”
“No! I swear, there was no guarantee made of you sleeping with any or all of them.”
“You pimped me out,” he repeated. The details were just semantics. “How much did I go for?”
“Tickets were fifty dollars.”
“That’s one hell of a steep raffle ticket.” Still didn’t make him feel any better. What Dylan felt like was a zoo animal, ready to be stared at all night long.
“You’re quite a prize.” When she realized her compliment wasn’t hitting its mark with him, Ariel hurriedly continued. “Anyway, we made twelve thousand dollars.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. That’s with zero advertisement. Just a flyer at the goodie table. Kylie could barely keep up with the run on tickets. It proves that women—not girls—want to be with you. It started some major social media buzz. And it paid for gas for the buses to get to the next few stops on the tour.”
Knowing the guys were self-financing the tour, and his paycheck, made him grateful that the money would at least go back to the band’s bottom line. Deep down, he also appreciated that Ariel was doing everything possible—including off-the-wall ideas like a raffle—to fix his image. Her tenacity was exactly what he needed. Professionally. Personally? “I still don’t like it,” he muttered.
“Well, you know what? You gave me no alternative but to take drastic measures.”
Dylan had no idea what the bar was to a publicist for drastic measures . But he was sure he wouldn’t like it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Crossing her arms over her chest—which took away the only fun part of this argument, watching her cleavage shift with every breath—Ariel said, “If you won’t take the initiative to serial-date your way through this tour, I’ll fix it so that you have no choice.”
“You realize that’s the weirdest threat ever, right?”
“Leo told you that you need to cultivate a new image. A bad boy. Someone who goes through women faster than a kid empties his candy bucket on Halloween.”
Image wasn’t real. It was just an extension of a stage costume. He hadn’t given much thought to those instructions. Dylan figured that Ariel would keep staging more photo shoots to show the world his new persona. “So?”
“I told you the same thing. You’ve got the music covered,
“What the hell does that… dates… plural?” Dylan slammed the door shut with his palm. Yeah, he didn’t like this one bit.
“Raquel, Sofia and Lauren.” Obviously sensing his displeasure, Ariel walked down to the credenza at the opposite end of the room and opened a bottle of water. Even in a pissy mood, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swayed so damn enticingly. “I brought them over with me from the venue.”
“Yeah, still no closer to buying a fucking clue.”
Ariel squared her shoulders, as if bracing to give bad news. “We had a raffle at tonight’s show. Sort of a way to celebrate you joining Riptide for the next few weeks.”
“Funny. I don’t remember mention of a celebration. What is it—do they whack a piñata? Or are they the super-creepy types that want a lock of hair? Because that just weirds me out. Don’t ever promise that to anyone.”
“No worries. This is way better,” Ariel assured him. But she also wore the same schmoozy, sales-pitch fake smile that Leo had every time he tried to talk Dylan into something crappy. “The three winners get to party with you. All night. No-holds-barred access. Exclusive photos, all drinks and food comped, anything they want signed…but mostly just time with you.”
Unbelievable. Dylan stalked over to her. Yeah, she’d wised up to his mood fast, backing away until the windowsill stopped her flight. Felt like they were square dancing their way through this conversation. He stopped close enough to see the gray flecks in her eyes. “You fucking pimped me out?”
“No! I swear, there was no guarantee made of you sleeping with any or all of them.”
“You pimped me out,” he repeated. The details were just semantics. “How much did I go for?”
“Tickets were fifty dollars.”
“That’s one hell of a steep raffle ticket.” Still didn’t make him feel any better. What Dylan felt like was a zoo animal, ready to be stared at all night long.
“You’re quite a prize.” When she realized her compliment wasn’t hitting its mark with him, Ariel hurriedly continued. “Anyway, we made twelve thousand dollars.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. That’s with zero advertisement. Just a flyer at the goodie table. Kylie could barely keep up with the run on tickets. It proves that women—not girls—want to be with you. It started some major social media buzz. And it paid for gas for the buses to get to the next few stops on the tour.”
Knowing the guys were self-financing the tour, and his paycheck, made him grateful that the money would at least go back to the band’s bottom line. Deep down, he also appreciated that Ariel was doing everything possible—including off-the-wall ideas like a raffle—to fix his image. Her tenacity was exactly what he needed. Professionally. Personally? “I still don’t like it,” he muttered.
“Well, you know what? You gave me no alternative but to take drastic measures.”
Dylan had no idea what the bar was to a publicist for drastic measures . But he was sure he wouldn’t like it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Crossing her arms over her chest—which took away the only fun part of this argument, watching her cleavage shift with every breath—Ariel said, “If you won’t take the initiative to serial-date your way through this tour, I’ll fix it so that you have no choice.”
“You realize that’s the weirdest threat ever, right?”
“Leo told you that you need to cultivate a new image. A bad boy. Someone who goes through women faster than a kid empties his candy bucket on Halloween.”
Image wasn’t real. It was just an extension of a stage costume. He hadn’t given much thought to those instructions. Dylan figured that Ariel would keep staging more photo shoots to show the world his new persona. “So?”
“I told you the same thing. You’ve got the music covered,
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