Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) by Brandace Morrow Read Free Book Online

anything but yell in your head.” I let
go and move to the last pinky nail. “I’ll get you some songs before
I leave. Let me get these beauties’ nails first. Two weeks with the
same color? Unthinkable.”

Chapter 8
    I watch Batty’s back as he walks away.
Sighing, I shift my weight to one foot and move my hands nervously
over my hair while he can’t see. Finally, after a fucking age, when
he’s almost to his car, he turns slightly to ask over his shoulder,
“You coming with me?”
    He’s changing the script all up. I walk past
him, sliding into the car and quickly crossing my arms. Yes, like a
child. I feel Batty’s eyes as he looks me over before turning the
key. I can’t see it though, because my eyes are firmly trained out
the window.
    “What is this?” Batty asks as he slides his
mask off and tosses it in the backseat.
    I take mine off too and shove it in my purse
before taking out my phone. “What do you mean?”
    “Did something happen with one of the
kids?”
    “No.”
    “Sadie, tell me what’s got you in a snit,” he
orders, like a boss . . . or a CEO used to getting his way. I roll
my eyes.
    “I’m still pissed at you.” There. I can sense
him rolling his eyes back at me, even though I can’t see it.
    “I apologized, but really it wasn’t my fault.
Your stubborn ass refused to take my calls.”
    I scoff. “Oh, believe me, if I knew it was
Batty calling I would have answered a lot faster than Finnigan
fucking Brennick,” I say sarcastically. I finally shift my body to
lean against the door and watch his shrug.
    “So you like the Batman guy, but you don’t
really know the CEO, either.”
    “I know exactly what your type is like. I’ve
been in this business a lot longer than you, as I recall.” I
remember my brother and sister loudly lamenting the change in
command from his brother to him a couple of years ago.
    “I had to feel my way through the minefield
that is musical artists. Hell, any celebrity that gets their
fifteen minutes thinks they shit gold. You’re not all that
different.”
    “Ohhhh!” I trail off loudly. He doesn’t let
me sit in indignation for long.
    “Oh, please. You’re Popper from Chimera. You
spit and throw things and think people love you for it. There was a
reason you didn’t want to come to my office. Let’s have it.”
    “Fuck you,” I growl.
    He looks over at me with a smirk as his eyes
hit the street lamps just right. “Baby, you’re about to. What was
so scary about my office? You don’t like the big man, is that
all?”
    He’s being such a douche I don’t respond,
instead focusing on unlocking my house and turning the lights on
from my phone. His big hand wraps around my thigh and gives it a
squeeze and a shake simultaneously, bringing my eyes back to him.
He gives me glances in between watching the road, but doesn’t moves
his hand for several minutes, until I cave.
    “I thought you were going to let me go, or at
the least suggest I have surgery,” I mumble.
    “And that’s not an option.” He says it like a
statement, but I shake my head in answer anyway. “Why?”
    I grab his wrist to try to remove his hand.
“Stop.” He doesn’t move, just releases his grip to trail down to my
knee and back up, very close to the juncture of my thigh. I stare
at that hand and trace the long vein running up his forearm with my
eyes before giving in. Again. “I won’t have the surgery.”
    “Why?” he immediately shoots back.
    “I guess I just don’t love the band enough to
go through having my neck opened up.”
    “My understanding is they go through your
mouth, but I wouldn’t want it either. It seems common for your
genre, though.” I catch his eyes and quickly drop mine. No way in
hell anyone is putting me under to work on my throat next to my
windpipe. I thought that I would have money aplenty to fall back on
when I refused, but hearing you’re not good enough without it
stung. With it . . . well, he can kiss my