Selling Out (Sheppards in Love Book 3), page 20
She nods, blinking quickly to dispel the tears.
I let out a big breath and clasp my hands in my lap, praying that I can say things in a way that will be palatable. “What you decide to do about your career is really none of my business. This is totally your choice, and with a good contract, maybe things would be great. But I feel like I need to let you know about my experience with Fusion—”
“I turned them down.”
My head whips up. “What?”
“About an hour ago.”
I stare at her.
“I was flattered, of course,” she says, “but I couldn’t say yes to them, Austin. Not after the way I’ve seen them treat you.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, the trickling of the fountain and muffled conversations filling the silence.
“Are you sure, Mia? Maybe Paul could negotiate someth—”
“I’m positive.” She holds my gaze, even smiling a little. “It’s not what I want.”
I nod slowly, relief filling me on her behalf. Having Mia throttled by Fusion seems like the worst possible thing that could happen.
“I don’t know how I feel about signing with anybody, to be honest,” she says. “But I also want to keep doing music. Guess I’ll have to decide between those two at some point.”
“Maybe not,” I say. “You could crowdfund—finance your own production.”
Her brows pull together as she considers my idea, then her lip pulls up at one side. “With my following, I could crowdfund at least thirty seconds of one track.” Her smile fades as she searches my face. “Enough of that. I’m worried about you, Austin.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine. I’ll figure things out. Right now, though, I just want to be with you.”
She smiles as both of our phones chime. We look at them simultaneously, then at each other. We’re needed at the venue.
Mia grimaces. “Rain check?”
At least we have between here and the venue to be together.
32
MIA
I don’t know what to do with Austin today. His mood is so strange. I fully expected him to break up with me. Apparently, that’s my immediate assumption whenever he asks to see me. That’s healthy, right?
I’ve never been so afraid of losing something. Calling Fusion to turn them down was a cakewalk compared to going into that conversation with Austin. I also got to give them a piece of my mind about how they’ve gone about things with him, which felt amazing.
The whole way to the venue, Austin holds my hand. In public. We don’t talk about what’s going on with his label or with Noah. We discuss whether Indian or Thai curry is better, which is also a very important topic and one with no clear answer.
Rehearsal is long and tedious, with plenty of sitting around while audio issues get resolved and the last-minute opening act gets things together.
Austin’s energy levels are high and his mood upbeat given the morning’s events. I don’t know if he’s accepted the way things are or if he’s determined to finish the tour on a high note, but I’m glad for the sake of those attending tonight’s concert. They’re about to get a fabulous final show.
Sure enough, Austin’s on fire, and it’s contagious. Kelly, Rose, and I give it our all, and the crowd feels it. The exhilaration has my skin tingling and my chest full to bursting when the crowd chants the name of the song Austin and I sang together in Paris.
He turns to me, a question in his eyes.
I smile, and he motions for me to come join him. Thirty seconds later, Paul runs onstage with a guitar for Austin while Bobby sets things up.
Deep down, I’m aware of a feeling of bittersweetness as we sing together again. It’s hard to believe the tour is already ending. For a few short days, I had the prospect of a Noah Hayes tour to look forward to, but not anymore. I doubt Noah is still planning on having me do backup vocals for him—the man’s ego is clearly made of stern stuff—but if he is, he’s in for a shock.
This could be my last big show ever, my last time singing with Austin in concert. I hope it’s not, but there are no guarantees in life. What if Austin’s experience isn’t out of the ordinary? I don’t want to end up hating music because I get locked into a contract with a label that doesn’t really care about me and my vision. Maybe it’s better to keep music as a hobby I love than to risk that.
Maybe if I bust my butt for a few years, busking and playing at small venues, I could crowdfund an album.
The crowd goes wild as we finish our song, and I head to my place by Kelly and Rose for the final song of the entire tour. I watch Austin with a tight feeling in my chest. He’s meant to be on stage. I wish he could do it the way he wants to. He deserves better than he’s gotten from Fusion.
The crowd noise threatens our hearing as I follow Rose and Kelly toward the edge of the stage. Before I get there, Austin runs up beside me and grabs my hand.
My eyes widen, and I look toward the audience. Austin smiles, brings my hand up to his mouth, and kisses it just before we pass the curtain to conceal us from the audience, who are now losing their minds.
My heart races. For some reason, holding my hand and kissing it feels like a bigger deal than if he’d pulled me into his arms and kissed me, center-stage.
In the dim offstage light, Rose glances at our hands, then cocks an eyebrow. She links her arm with Kelly’s. “We’ll catch up with you two later.”
“Thanks, Rose,” Austin says. I’ve never seen him look so energized and happy.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask.
He just smiles. “I need to make a quick call.”
“Okay.” I try to let go of his hand, but he tightens his hold.
“Stay with me while I do it?”
I search his face, looking for any hint of what’s going on in that beautiful head. “Yeah. Of course.”
I follow him, still bewildered, while we get his phone in his dressing room. I study his face as he scrolls, then brings the phone to his ear. Faint ringing sounds, and our gazes meet as he waits. He leans toward me and presses a kiss to my lips just as someone answers.
“Hey, John,” Austin says.
There’s a pause as the man responds.
“Yeah. Just finished actually,” Austin says. “I’m calling to let you know I quit. Effective immediately.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
Austin’s looking down at our hands as he fiddles with the edge of my thumbnail. He’s still smiling. “I know.” Pause. “Yeah. Final decision. I’ll have Paul set up a meeting next week to hammer out the details. I’ve got to go kiss a beautiful woman senseless right now, so we’ll talk later.” He drops the phone from his ear and slips it into his back pocket, then pulls me in for a kiss.
I resist, reluctantly. “Whoa whoa whoa. Hold on a second. Did you seriously just quit?”
He grins. “Yeah.”
“As in, quit your label?”
More grinning. “Yeah.”
I stare at him for a few seconds. “Austin… are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“What about your contract? What happens if you quit mid-contract?”
“I’ll owe them a lot of money.”
I clench my teeth. “Yeah…”
He grabs my other hand and threads his fingers through, bringing them between us. “You know what you’ve taught me, Mia?”
“That not every shirt crumbles at the slightest touch?”
He smiles. “That too. But no. You’ve taught me to rediscover and prioritize my love of music. I don’t want to put a price tag on that. Not anymore.”
I swallow and nod.
His eyes search mine. “You may not have been drowning when I met you, Mia, but I was. And you’ve saved me. You’ve given me the courage to do what I want.”
“File for bankruptcy?”
He chuckles softly, his expression becoming more serious. “I want to be with you, Mia. But I want even more than that. I want to make music. Together.”
My heart hammers.
“Only if you want,” he rushes to say. “It’s an idea I’ve been playing with. After our talk of crowdfunding, I was thinking about doing that together to maintain control, you know? But I promise I won’t be offended if you—”
I drop his hands, put mine on his cheeks, and bring his lips to mine.
He’s stunned for a second, but then his hands steal around my waist, pulling me toward him.
I’m already there.
The exhilaration of the last show, the joy of hearing what Austin wants to do and be together run rampant through my body. I can feel it in him too, in the way his hands grip my clothes and press against my back, in the fierceness of his kiss.
In it is the determination to make a future together—one that we can both be proud of. One that has us in it together.
The kiss finally slows.
“Should I take that as a maybe?” he asks.
“A definitely maybe.”
“Yeah?” He brushes my hair behind my ear with a half-smile. “Well, I’m definitely maybe in love with you, Mia.”
“I might’ve possibly absolutely fallen in love with you too.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, smiling but saying nothing.
“Can I cash in on that rain check right now?” he asks. “Probably the last check I’ll be cashing for a while.”
I laugh and take his hand in mine. “Good thing your girlfriend is independently wealthy. Oh, wait…”
“No one I’d rather be broke with,” he says as we head for the venue’s back door. “We better enjoy being broke while we can. I have a feeling it won’t last long.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Given how much the fans loved us together,” he says, pulling me into him, “we’re going to do all right.” He presses a soft kiss in the hollow under my ear, and my entire body breaks out in chills.
“And here I thought your plan was to make a living ripping off your shirt.”
His head shakes gently against mine. “That’s a private performance only from here on out.”
I smile just before my mouth is occupied with better pursuits.
EPILOGUE
MIA
Summer is getting into full swing, and tonight, that smells like fresh cut grass, chlorine, and barbecue. It sounds like the kids of our friends splashing in the outdoor pool we shut down specifically for this summer kick-off party. It looks like Austin’s sister, Siena, lounging on a white lawn chair, her baby bump rounding out the middle of her swimsuit while her husband feeds her strawberries and opens a Dr. Pepper.
But most of all, summer looks like the hunk walking toward me, hair wet and wavy from swimming. He’s wearing the shirt I bought him in Europe and a pair of Aviator sunglasses, despite the fact that it’s almost dark outside.
Austin pauses on the pavement a few feet away, tips the sunglasses down, and checks me out from head to toe.
“Mmhmm,” he says in a scary-good impression of the exact womanizer I used to think he was.
“Nice shirt,” I say.
“What shirt?” he says, looking down at the hairy, poorly drawn abs printed on his torso—the shirt I bought him on tour. “This is an actual photograph of what lies beneath.”
“There are about a million photos on Google to contradict that. Not to mention my own personal experience.”
His brow hitches, and he scoops a hand around my waist. “And how would you rate that experience?”
“Somewhat pleasant,” I say, putting a hand on said abs. “But I could be convinced to change my answer.”
Austin smiles.
“Pause on the PDA,” Gemma says, coming up right next to me. She motions with a hand for Austin to back off a little. “Gotta say bye to my sister. My flight leaves in a couple of hours.”
“I can’t believe you’re really going,” I say as I wrap my arms around her.
“Me neither,” she says. “Worst use of PTO ever. But at least I’ll see Grams. It’ll be hot as Hades, so I’ll be spending as much time as possible indoors.”
I sigh. Even hopping onto a red-eye flight, Gemma looks like she’s going to direct a Fortune 500 board meeting. “Text me all the time, okay? And let me know if you need backup.”
“I’ve got this,” she says as she gives Austin a quick hug. “Sunset Harbor won’t know what hit them.”
I absolutely believe her. Between Grams and her, there’s plenty of spitfire to go around.
She gives a little wave and walks off, and within two seconds, Austin has his hand around my waist. “Where were we?”
“Austin,” Paul says breathlessly as he jogs up to us.
Austin shuts his eyes as if to plead for serenity, then turns to him. “What’s up?”
Paul smiles. “Two things.” He shows his phone screen to us, and my jaw slips open.
I look at Austin, who blinks, then looks at me.
“You met the crowdfunding goal,” Paul says. “And shot past it.”
I throw my arms around Austin, who squeezes me tightly. We’ve been writing music together since we got home from Europe, but the crowdfunding goal has only been up for contributions for a week. A week, and it’s already funded.
Which means we get to make an album together. An album all our own.
“You ready for the other news?” Paul asks.
We break apart, and Austin nods as he threads his fingers through mine.
“I got off of a call with Fusion a few minutes ago,” he says.
Austin and I give each other a look. He’s been working to pay what he owes as a result of canceling his contract with them, and it’s a huge chunk of money.
“They’re offering to produce all the songs you’ve got planned for the album you’ve been crowdfunding—”
Austin snorts.
“—and to forgive what you owe them if you do.”
His smile flickers, and my eyes widen. They’re willing to give up all that money if we’ll contract with them for our album.
“And the kicker,” Paul says, “is that they’d write a U.S. tour into the contract terms.”
I squeeze Austin’s hand, and he looks at me. Our gazes lock for a few seconds, and without a word, we agree.
“Tell them,” Austin says, still looking at me, “thank you for the offer, and they can stick it where the sun don’t shine.”
I try to stop a smile, but Paul doesn’t.
“I hoped you’d say that,” he says. “I’ll call them right back to let them know. Given the response to your crowdfunding efforts, you’ll have your own U.S. tour in no time. And you’ll do it your way.” He gives us another smile, then turns and puts his phone to his ear.
“Want to play hookie and help me skim the indoor pool for a minute?” Austin asks.
I cock a brow. “Is that a euphemism?”
He chuckles. “I wish. I told your dad I’d do it because he was missing the party trying to strain at hairballs and stuff.”
“No one can meet his standard of cleanliness,” I say as we head through the door that leads to the indoor pool.
We both grab a skimmer from the wall and set to work, talking about Fusion’s offer and the crowdfunding goal. It’s crazy to think what our first meeting at this pool was like and where we are now. The last months have been the happiest of my life, and it all started in the most unlikely of ways.
I can’t help a smile at how Austin’s brow knits as he tries to use the skimmer to get something at the bottom of the pool. I still have to pinch myself sometimes to believe he’s mine.
His eyes dart to mine, and he smiles. “You checking me out? Again?”
“Just watching you really ineffectively try to grab whatever that is.”
“Hey,” he says. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“Watch and learn.” I take the pole of my skimmer in two hands and walk around to his side of the pool as the door opens and Tori’s head peeks inside.
“What are you guys doing? This is a party, in case you didn’t notice.”
Troy’s head pops up behind hers. “Isn’t it obvious? They’re scraping the bottom of the pool to try to find you a man. You’re the last woman standing.” He gives her a noogie, and she pulls away.
“And I’ll continue to be standing here, thank you very much,” Tori says. “I’m going to be the crazy, single aunt with seven cats who gives your kids so much sugar they bounce off the walls until they barf—once they’re safely back at your houses, of course. Speaking of sugar, hurry and finish skimming. We’re about to have cake.”
“We’ll be right out,” I say, and they both disappear. I dip my skimmer into the water and reach it toward the dark object at the bottom of the pool. “Now, watch the master.”
But instead, Austin starts playing air hockey with our poles, trying to get the object before I do. The nets of our skimmers collide and pull apart at the bottom of the pool, pushing the object even farther away.
“Forget this!” Austin lets go of his skimmer, then yanks off his shirt. Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in with him.
Trying to laugh in a way that doesn’t result in water in my lungs, I break the surface just as he does. Our eyes meet, and we both know it’s on.
We take deep breaths and dive in, kicking our feet to take us to the bottom. I didn’t have an amphibious childhood for nothing, though, and I pull ahead, reaching the object just before he does.
My fingers close around the box before I realize what I’m holding. My stinging, chlorine-saturated eyes flit to Austin, who’s already looking at me, the hint of a smile on his face.
All my training of these lungs is out the door, and I hurry to the surface with the sound of my throbbing heart pounding in my ears.
I break the surface, grasping the side of the pool and gulping in air like I just spent three minutes instead of fifteen seconds underwater. Austin is right behind me—or right next to me.
He wipes the hair out of his face and meets my gaze. “You win,” he says, short of breath.
Slowly, I bring my hand out of the water and unfurl my fingers. A wet, velvety black box sits on my palm. I stare at it, no closer to catching my breath than I was a few seconds ago.
