Phoebe flopped down on her hotel bed with little enthusiasm, paying no mind to LA's glistening skyline flickering up at her. She knew the team meant business by putting her up in a room just as expensive as Shawn's, but she was too busy to gawk at the city because her mind was flooded with opinions and guilt and excitement regarding The Meeting.
They'd Ubered to some corporate building in West Hollywood. The traffic was bad. Phoebe wore a pencil skirt.
She remembered Shawn's uneasy expression when the mock-up contract was slid across the table, Andrew's face lighting up like that of a kid's in a candy shop.
Phoebe's suspicious nature pushed her to read the fine print.
Shawn's A&R guy tapped his foot on the marble tile in annoyance while she inspected every word, but Shawn's gaze was fixed on her chin as a proud smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.She was no match for the industry.
He kind of liked it.
"Alright," Phoebe breathed, snapping up from her concentration and pulling everyone's attention to herself.
"I'll hang out with him, I'll go here and there, and I'll visit," she spoke, and Mr. Gertler's smile was wider than Shawn's, "but I will not live out of a suitcase for more than one week at a time."
Andrew nodded, and the A&R guy spoke, "Deal."
A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in."
It was unlocked, and Phoebe pushed up on her elbows to see who on earth she had just invited into her room.
She concluded that she should probably be more careful.
"Hey," it was a hoarse whisper, but she immediately relaxed at the sound of Shawn's voice. He was stepping carefully as if he were trying to be quiet, but when he set his guitar down in the corner it smacked the wall and startled both of them. Phoebe chuckled.
"Just wanna make sure you're all good," he followed-up, "I know those meetings can be a lot."
"All good, Rockstar," Phoebe answered without looking in his direction. She didn't notice that his cheeks went pink at the nickname.
The silence caught her attention and she wondered what his next move would be. Curiously snapping her head up, she discovered that he was waiting for instruction.
Shawn stood a few feet from the foot of her bed, shoulders practically to his ears as his massive hands were stuffed in his tight denim pockets.
"Can I?" he asked quietly, looking from her to the mattress. Phoebe wondered if he was weary because he was nervous or if it was because he always had to be in his line of work.
"Yeah, sit!" she spoke cheerily, clenching her core and shifting to reposition herself against the headboard, knees to her chest. Shawn—long limbs galore—climbed up and sat cross-legged to face her.
He took a deep breath, and it was like the Shawn she (sort of) knew had checked-out and a very calculated one had emerged.
"Here's what I'm thinking," he spoke flatly, talking with his hands, "we should pitch most of the ideas ourselves, and we should do it fast."
"What?" Phoebe blinked at him, but his gaze was unfaltering.
"We wait long enough and they're gonna make all the decisions for us. I'd rather maintain some form of control."
Phoebe had to admit—it was kind of hot. She smirked.
"Not just a pretty face, huh?"
Shawn chuckled.
YOU ARE READING
Since We're Alone
RomancePhoebe Rose Bray wasn't a spontaneous woman. But when she drunkenly applied to become a seat filler six months prior, she hadn't been thinking about her internship or her god-awful boss, Margaret, or her starving bank account. She'd been feeling amb...