He shrugs. “Why not? Who’s it gonna hurt?”
“Me! I’m the one the media says is a slut. Oh, and my bar is going to end up closed in about three months if I can’t turn it around, notwithstanding all the fines I’ve racked up.”
“You let me worry about that shit. I’ll get people here, no more than the legal capacity, and my PR team will deal with the media. All you have to do is—”
I jut out my chin. “Be available to you when and where you want?” I’m joking when I say the words, scoffing at the idea.
Boone’s smug smile is anything but a joke. “Exactly.”
“Get out,” I snap.
Obviously knowing when to retreat, Boone raises his hands in the air and backs away. “Think about it. I’m gonna go track down this little punk. Frisco has my number. You let me know what you decide.”
31
Boone
Idon’t knowwhat I’m doing with Ripley, but I want to do more of it. Not a relationship, though, given her answer of a solidhell nowith a side ofno fucking way.
I’m fresh out of a two-year commitment, and getting into something new is the last thing I should even be thinking about.Doesn’t matter. Not happening.
I could have debated with Ripley all night. But with that stubborn expression, there was no way I could persuade her that the sky is blue and the grass is green at this point, let alone convince her that my cock needs to find its way into her pussy on a regular basis, regardless of the label we slap on it.
There’s the upside of the fact that I like being around her too, at least when she’s not bitching me out for something. Shit, even when she’s bitching me out, I still like being around her more than most anyone I know. That’s the part I should probably be worrying about, but I’m not tonight.
No, I’ve got bigger things on my plate. Like the heap of guilt over how our impromptu show ended.
How was I supposed to know that someone would report the bar to the fire marshal and shit would rain down? Venue capacity limits aren’t exactly something I have to think about beyond knowing thatsold outmeans more money in the bank for me.
But getting the Fishbowl shut down and Ripley saddled with all those fines?Shit. I’m getting Nick on it. He’s already texted me four times and left me three voice mails tonight that I’ve ignored, and after what Ripley said about the press, it doesn’t take a mental giant to figure out why. Charity hasn’t called, which could go either way. Hopefully, it means she’s working her PR magic.
With the phone on speaker, I call Nick as I turn in the direction of the Vanderbilt campus. According to the ID in the wallet and Google, that kid lives close to it.
Nick answers on the first ring, but not with a greeting. “What the fuck did you do?”
“You tell me what they’re saying I did, and we’ll go from there.”
“What part oflay lowdo you not understand? This is a disaster.”
“I did a show at a bar. Big deal.”
“I don’t give a shit about the show. I give a shit about the fact that the media is jumping on theBoone Thrasher is a manwhorewagon and accusing you of cheating on Amber. Why would you give her people an opportunity to spin that? All you had to do was be discreet if you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”
I make a left onto the correct street and slow down to check out the house numbers.
“Listen up, Nick. You want to talk to me like I’m a kid you’re taking to task, you’re gonna lose your biggest client. So, watch yourself. Your job is to handle shit, so handle it.”
“Could you at least have picked someone who wasn’t the daughter of Nashville’s most notorious home-wrecker?”
The comment about Ripley’s mom pisses me off.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”
Nick’s groan fills the car. “You actuallylikethe girl? Jesus Christ, Boone. What did I do to deserve this?”
“Stop whining like a little bitch and do your job. Whatever they’re saying about me cheating on Amber is bullshit. I didn’t even meet Ripley untilafterAmber’s impromptu wedding, so you can shove the truth down their throats.”
The other end of the line is silent for a long moment.