“Oh hell no,” Hunter shouted.
5
Hunter
The entire room twisted to look at me. I knew I was going to have to deal with the fans who smuggled in a magazine, but this was ridiculous. Now we were going to gouge the fans for the magazine? One that was already stupidly overpriced for what it was?
Fuck no.
Kenny squinted at me once before turning her attention to Dex—or my new special name for him, Fucking Dex. “Mr. Munroe, I’m all for capitalizing on a good thing, but I agree with Mr. Jordan about this. It’s bad enough people will be selling the magazines from today on Ebay, but to perpetuate it here? I don’t agree. It makes him seem greedy.”
My blood boiled. “That’s not me. Not us.”
Keys came up beside me. “No. We love our fans. That’s why we got albums pressed. It’s a fun thing to get for the true fans.”
“Record players are actually back in, believe it or not,” Owen quipped.
Keys wrapped her fingers around my forearm. “I know, right? Is there a better sound than the hiss and pop of a needle on vinyl?”
I smiled down at her. “No, there really isn’t.”
She patted my arm. “I get it, Hunter’s going to have to sign some of those magazines, but do we really have to be jerks about it?”
Dex shook his head. “I could charge two hundred for them easy. Fifty bucks is a bargain.”
Hunter blew out a breath. “Raffle them off. Ten bucks a ticket.”
Dex shot his cuffs, then smoothed his tie. “No way.”
“Kids’ music charity.” When Dex’s eyes gleamed, I swallowed down the distaste. He looked at it from a PR angle. That’s what he was paid for, what Kenny was paid for.
“Then you can charge more for charity,” he said.
“More will sell actually.” Kenny’s voice was smooth and clear. “Generosity and kids.”
“I disagree.” Dex took out his phone. “I can get another two cases here before the show. Do a special signing at the end—”
“No way.” I was already selling well more than a pound of flesh for the signing. Albums, yes. I loved talking music with the fans. The stories got a little uncomfortable sometimes, but I knew they always came from a good place.
Music changed people.
It had changed me, once upon a time.
Now I was a cock on a fucking magazine.
“Do it.” Indie’s voice brooked no argument.
Fuck. I tipped my head back. Fuck-fuck-fuck. I’d gotten myself into this damn mess by mentioning the charity. Good press, and good for the kids. How the hell was I supposed to say no?
“I’ll have them delivered,” Dex said.
Indie crossed to the table where the two cases had been dropped. “A thousand kids—”
“Last I counted more like eighteen hundred.” Came Wyatt’s voice from the side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, his fuck-off face in full effect. Awesome. That was going to be fun for the signing and the show. He’d had a bug up his ass since the night before.
Bats and Zach were doing an interview for a special episode of Music Life, so they wouldn’t be back until it was time to do the signing. All I wanted to do was what I’d been born to do. I could give two shits about the circus that Rolling Stone had created.
Just let me on the stage. Let me sing. Let me get this excess energy out.
My gaze drifted to Kenny. She was Kenny to me, at least. I couldn’t even figure out why. Just because I was pretty certain no one else on this planet called her that? Maybe. She was definitely more than half the reason that my skin felt too tight for my body.
The fact that she’d kissed me and then dumped me on my ass in the space of five minutes was the most interesting thing a woman had done in too many months to count. Hell, even the kiss had been different. I hadn’t fucked nearly as many women as reported, but I’d definitely kissed my share.
Exuberant fans got carried away, and I wasn’t a saint by any means. However, I was a bit more discerning with my cock. Kenny was different. She was lightning in a bottle. Hell, the tips of my fingers were still sparking from our zinger of a kiss.
The weird thing was, I’d gotten harder for her after she’d punched me. She looked as fragile as one of Tristan’s sugar flowers, but then she’d hauled off and nailed me in the shoulder. Not a glancing blow either. I’d never actually been turned on by a combative woman before. I’d even dated a MMA fighter chick when I lived in New York City for a summer. Kizzy had been a fun distraction, but she’d been a little too wild even for me.
No, this Kennedy McManus was a ball-buster hidden under classy silk.