Read Online The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2) by Christi Barth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christi Barth
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didn’t take away any of its impact. Ariel’s knees still went a little weak and wobbly as she looked at all that golden skin stretched taut over muscles.
Dylan lazily scratched his collarbone. “I already texted the driver—um, Kyoko, I think—to leave without me.”
“Why would you do that?” Her plan to not fly off the handle lacked in execution, since her voice rose about two octaves and probably a dozen decibels.
“I needed a room. A private room. Denver’s only thirty minutes down the mountain. I’ll get a ride in the morning and make it in plenty of time for rehearsal.”
So. He’d given in to temptation. He’d gone ahead and decided to screw one of those women she’d flung at him. Which Ariel had no right to say anything about. The most she could do was offer him a hearty handshake and say, Job well done .
But…but how could he? How could he say all those absolutely wonderful, romantic things about wanting only her? About not wanting a handful of girls, but one woman?
Apparently, he truly was a typical rock star. Just when Ariel had been convinced that Dylan was different. Special. That he lived for the music and not the lifestyle. Instead, he’d lived down to her original expectations. She was disappointed. And she was furious. It didn’t matter if all three of the girls were in there, hanging from a chandelier, butt-naked, waiting for him. Dylan Royce deserved a piece of her mind, and he was going to get it.
“Let’s get something straight. Your career is not the only one on the line here.”
Dylan shook his head, clearly caught off guard by her seemingly random segue. “Huh?”
He obviously thought his money and his fame were all he needed. Maturity? Decency? That all fell under the optional column for most rock stars. She’d seen it happen again and again. “You’ve already made, what, a gajillion and two dollars?”
“I think you left out a decimal point,” he quipped dryly.
Ariel wasn’t in the mood. “Remember, I’m in the music business, too. I know rounded up to, oh, the nearest million what you made in your last deal. If you never work again a day in your life, you can still easily afford a pretty sweet life.”
His eyebrows drew together with a sternness Ariel hadn’t seen before. “You have no idea how much money I need. Or want. Or what plans I have for it. Not to mention that I don’t sing for the money. I love it. I do it because I can’t imagine going a day without music in my life.”
Fine. He could stay up on his high horse. Insist he created art for art’s sake. It didn’t change her point. Ariel barreled onward. “Plus, you’re incredibly hot. If you stopped singing tomorrow, you could be a model. Actually, we should hook you up with new endorsements regardless. Maybe underwear, like that rocker in the nineties. You could judge reality music shows. You could go to college, get a degree in music ed and lead one heck of a choir someplace. You. Will. Be. Fine.” Ariel jabbed a pink-tipped finger into his chest on each of the last four words of her rant.
“Yeah? Is that rant supposed to be a pep talk?” He crossed his arms. “One I don’t need after giving the best freaking performance of my life tonight?”
“This isn’t about you, Dylan. That’s my point. You can screw up, screw around, and you’ll be fine. What you don’t get is that my career is on the line, too.”
“How’s that?”
Pride had kept her mouth shut up till now. What had that gotten her, though? She might as well toss pride out the window and lay it all out for him. It was too late to salvage whatever… start of a personal relationship they’d kindled. But hopefully it wasn’t too late to salvage their professional relationship.
“I’m new at the agency. Brand new. Do you want to know why? Because I got fired from my last job. Not because I did anything wrong. I got fired because my idiot brother, Cam, your idol, royally fucked up. My job, my first job, at the agency
Dylan lazily scratched his collarbone. “I already texted the driver—um, Kyoko, I think—to leave without me.”
“Why would you do that?” Her plan to not fly off the handle lacked in execution, since her voice rose about two octaves and probably a dozen decibels.
“I needed a room. A private room. Denver’s only thirty minutes down the mountain. I’ll get a ride in the morning and make it in plenty of time for rehearsal.”
So. He’d given in to temptation. He’d gone ahead and decided to screw one of those women she’d flung at him. Which Ariel had no right to say anything about. The most she could do was offer him a hearty handshake and say, Job well done .
But…but how could he? How could he say all those absolutely wonderful, romantic things about wanting only her? About not wanting a handful of girls, but one woman?
Apparently, he truly was a typical rock star. Just when Ariel had been convinced that Dylan was different. Special. That he lived for the music and not the lifestyle. Instead, he’d lived down to her original expectations. She was disappointed. And she was furious. It didn’t matter if all three of the girls were in there, hanging from a chandelier, butt-naked, waiting for him. Dylan Royce deserved a piece of her mind, and he was going to get it.
“Let’s get something straight. Your career is not the only one on the line here.”
Dylan shook his head, clearly caught off guard by her seemingly random segue. “Huh?”
He obviously thought his money and his fame were all he needed. Maturity? Decency? That all fell under the optional column for most rock stars. She’d seen it happen again and again. “You’ve already made, what, a gajillion and two dollars?”
“I think you left out a decimal point,” he quipped dryly.
Ariel wasn’t in the mood. “Remember, I’m in the music business, too. I know rounded up to, oh, the nearest million what you made in your last deal. If you never work again a day in your life, you can still easily afford a pretty sweet life.”
His eyebrows drew together with a sternness Ariel hadn’t seen before. “You have no idea how much money I need. Or want. Or what plans I have for it. Not to mention that I don’t sing for the money. I love it. I do it because I can’t imagine going a day without music in my life.”
Fine. He could stay up on his high horse. Insist he created art for art’s sake. It didn’t change her point. Ariel barreled onward. “Plus, you’re incredibly hot. If you stopped singing tomorrow, you could be a model. Actually, we should hook you up with new endorsements regardless. Maybe underwear, like that rocker in the nineties. You could judge reality music shows. You could go to college, get a degree in music ed and lead one heck of a choir someplace. You. Will. Be. Fine.” Ariel jabbed a pink-tipped finger into his chest on each of the last four words of her rant.
“Yeah? Is that rant supposed to be a pep talk?” He crossed his arms. “One I don’t need after giving the best freaking performance of my life tonight?”
“This isn’t about you, Dylan. That’s my point. You can screw up, screw around, and you’ll be fine. What you don’t get is that my career is on the line, too.”
“How’s that?”
Pride had kept her mouth shut up till now. What had that gotten her, though? She might as well toss pride out the window and lay it all out for him. It was too late to salvage whatever… start of a personal relationship they’d kindled. But hopefully it wasn’t too late to salvage their professional relationship.
“I’m new at the agency. Brand new. Do you want to know why? Because I got fired from my last job. Not because I did anything wrong. I got fired because my idiot brother, Cam, your idol, royally fucked up. My job, my first job, at the agency
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