The Rock Star's Baby Bargain - Lili Valente Page 0,56

his luggage, insisting I take the front seat for the drive home.

I want to break down and flat out tell him to get lost, but I keep hearing Gram’s voice in my head, insisting I be a good host, even to the most unwelcome guest.

Besides, we have to have this argument sometime. I’d say we might as well have it now and get it over with, except that I only have two more nights with Colette.

And now Chip is determined to ruin one of them.

Unless I can get rid of him and convince her to stay.

I glance over my shoulder. Colette smiles from the back seat of the convertible, holding her hair out of her face as Chip whips around another mountain curve. I smile back, sending silent apologies for the tenth time and hoping she’ll see how sorry I am. She winks and gives a subtle thumbs-up, indicating we’re all good.

But we’re not good, and the sooner Chip gets that message, the better.

I’m not the kind of person who makes decisions lightly. When I make a judgment call, it’s because I’ve thought things through, and it’s the only one that feels right to me. I don’t appreciate being second-guessed, especially by someone I’m paying ten percent of my earnings to make my job easier.

Chip swings into the parking spot next to my Tesla and shuts off the ignition with a long, low whistle. “Wow. This place is spookier in person, isn’t it?”

Colette laughs tightly, making an effort to be friendly, but I can tell she wishes as much as I do that Chip would vanish in a puff of smoke. “It is. But you get used to it. And the ghosts are harmless.”

Chip hops out the driver’s side and pulls his seat forward, making room for Colette to step out onto the gravel. He holds out a hand that she doesn’t want to touch—I can tell by the stiffness in her smile when she releases his fingers the instant she’s steady on her feet.

She doesn’t like Chip. And I don’t blame her.

Honestly, I don’t care much for him, either, at least not personally. I hired him because he has a reputation for getting his clients what they want and because none of the other people who were willing to take me on had a proven track record. It seemed smarter to go with a shark who knew his way around the industry than one of the perfectly nice newbies I’d met with before him.

Now, I’m wondering if that was the right call. None of the other managers would have dared to surprise me at my work retreat without an invitation. And they certainly wouldn’t have had the balls to check out my girl’s ass while she walks ahead of them on the path up to the house.

I want to punch Chip in the face, an urge that’s so out of character that I hang back by the door while Colette leads him inside to give him a tour of the main floor.

I have to get a hold of myself.

I’m not a caveman, for fuck’s sake. I’m a rational human being who’s dealt with more than my fair share of assholes.

The music industry is full of dicks like Chip, men who think that their money or status, or the money and status of the people they work for, entitles them to act like sacks of shit. Some female artists are pains in the ass, too, but I’ve rarely seen a woman abuse her status as shamelessly as the men who fuck fans half their age, trash hotel rooms, arrive late to gigs, and snort their advances up their nose, only to bitch to their agents and managers for not landing them bigger, better tour venues.

I knew who Chip was when I hired him. He has a reputation for being a bit of a sleaze. But knowing that and seeing his greedy gaze raking up and down Colette right in front of me are two entirely different things.

Reminding myself that I’m the better person, I head into the kitchen to find Chip standing too close to Colette while she fetches him a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, and all my good intentions go flying out the window.

“Outside,” I bark in a low voice, nodding toward the back door.

Chip and Colette both turn to me, Chip’s expression innocence personified and Colette’s relieved. Vowing to apologize as soon as he’s gone for leaving her alone with him for even thirty seconds,