Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,208

kisses my chin and cups one side of my face. “I think you’re just sweet talking me now with all that . . . chocolate charm.”

Haven’t heard that in a long time. I was a cocky son of a bitch back then. In many ways, I probably still am.

“Oh, no.” I turn to kiss the inside of her wrist. “If I was spitting game, I’d say something like this.

A storm could come, the winds will blow The rain can wash away

But what we have will stand forever, to last another day. The world can rail, their weapons clatter

Let them wage their wars

But peace I’ve found, and all that matters Everything here in your arms.”

“Wow,” Bristol whispers, eyes wide, mouth softened into a smile. “That isn’t Neruda, is it? Who wrote that?”

I tip up her chin and lay my lips against hers. No need to tell her yet that it could be part of my wedding vows.

“Just something I’m working on.”

***

Don’t stop with this HAPPY FOR NOW!

Book 3, Still, is the culmination of the Grip Trilogy. You don’t have their whole story until you’ve read THIS story!

Still: GRIP Trilogy Book #3

I'll be there.

Through thick and thin. Ride or die.

You can count on me.

The promises people make.

The vows we take.

Assumptions of the heart.

Emotion tells us how we feel, but life...life has a way of plunging us in boiling water, burning away our illusions, testing our faith, trying our convictions.

Love floating is a butterfly, but love tested is an anchor.

For Grip and Bristol,

Love started at the top of the world

On a Ferris wheel under the stars

But when that love is tested, will they fly or fall?

Copyright © Kennedy Ryan, 2017

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of the book.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedicated to the Innocent

Part I

“An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned,

is to reflect the times.”

– Nina Simone, Musician & Activist

Chapter 1

Bristol

“YOUR CLIENT APPEARS TO BE LATE.”

I glance from the pasty face across the table to my phone, noting the time. This guy could use some of our LA sun before he goes back to New York, though it is summer there, too. Maybe he just doesn’t get out much.

“A little late,” I tell Kevin, the rep from Barrow Publishing. “But he’ll be here.”

“Our team’s excited about the possibility of working with Grip.” Kevin gestures with his fork wrapped in angel hair pasta. “He’ll be great for our urban imprint.”

“Your urban imprint?” My own fork is halfway to my mouth, but I place it back down in the bowl of my half-eaten salad. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, he is a hip-hop artist.” Kevin shrugs and chews his pasta. “Seems like the reasonable placement.”

“He’s also the guy whose debut album went double platinum and who sold out the largest venues across three continents while head- lining his first world tour.” I challenge him with one lifted brow. “You don’t get numbers like that reaching a niche demographic. Grip has proven global appeal and would be best placed with your flagship imprint.”

“We’ll see.” Skepticism colors Kevin’s otherwise pale face.

“Oh, I know, because I won’t settle for anything less.” I spear a cucumber with my fork and him with a glance sharpened to a fine point. “Charisma knew that when she approached me with this offer.”

My friend Charisma and I went to high school together and were roommates at Columbia. She’s now a powerful editor at a huge publishing company. I would much prefer lunch with her instead of this junior editor, but her schedule didn’t allow for that.

My phone dings with a text on the table.

“Excuse me.” I grab the phone to check the incoming text.

Grip: Hey babe. Sorry. About to get on the road.

Me: ETA?

Grip: Huh? Is that dyslexic for eat? LOL

Despite my irritation that I have to spend more time alone with this sun-deprived dickhead, my lips twitch.

Me: Estimated time of arrival, smartass.

Grip: Like 10, but if you send me a tit pic, I might be able