Free Blue Shoes #1: New Adult Rock Star Erotic Romance (Morris Music Book 6) by JJ Knight Page A

away to some fancier hotel.
    “You have about an hour,” Chet says. “Then we go to Deluca and show those old farts how irrelevant they are.”
    “Ouch.” I pull a face. “Let’s start by not calling them old farts.”
    “Sure. We’ll save that for day two.”
    He pulls my door closed and leaves, going back to his own room next door.
    Alone now, I take a picture of the room before I mess it up, and send the picture to the girls. It’s a strikingly attractive room. The carpet is a light cream color, the furniture is all dark wood, and the upholstery is rich shades of burgundy and gold.
    The bathroom is bright white and modern. It’s compact, but has all the essentials. The air smells wonderful, like the perfume of an elegant, older woman.
    I quickly try out the shower, which is lined with endless small octagonal tiles. I’d linger, but we have to get to our first meeting.
    I change into a suit and meet my boss in the lobby. We take another taxi to Deluca Distribuzione, the European distributor that’s going to expand the reach of Morris Music here.
    Our first meeting is long, and Chet restrains himself. He doesn’t call anyone an old fart, even though most of the Italian executives are old enough to be our parents.
    Talking to these guys today, I understand why Chet wanted me to come to Rome. Deluca Distribuzione might be good at getting product from one point to another, but they’re clueless about marketing. These guys aren’t like the clothing designers in Rome, with their cutting-edge visions. They’re all so old and out of touch, using artwork that might have been good twenty years ago.
    They probably think it’s odd that I’m only twenty-three, and an executive. I can’t blame them. Some days I’m just as shocked as anyone.
    It’s evening here when our meetings finish. There’ll be no purse shopping today.
    Chet and I talk privately in a hallway at the Deluca offices.
    “You should be tired,” Chet says. “It must be exhausting to have all those Italian men staring at your chest for hours and hours.”
    “I just hope they were listening to what I was saying.”
    He gives me a look to let me know he doubts that. I groan and shake my head. “They think I’m Eye Candy.”
    Chet grins. “You are Eye Candy.”
    “I was. Briefly. Don’t tease me about that. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”
    He looks away, down the hall. “How about dinner, tonight? Mr. Deluca himself has invited us to a restaurant he owns. Come along and be friendly with him.”
    I know Chet is just teasing me, but the idea of going along as Eye Candy fills me with disgust.
    When I first started at Morris Music, I was working in the basement archives. Then a woman named Stephanie offered me an assignment as Eye Candy. That’s not the most descriptive term for the job, but they can’t really call it what it truly is.
    That was how I first got close to Dylan, and how I betrayed him. The pain of nearly losing him is still too vivid in my memory. That’s why Chet’s jokes don’t seem that funny to me.
    “Count me out tonight,” I say firmly. “I’m too jittery and wired to be charming.”
    “Just have five or six more of those tiny Italian coffees.”
    I rub my stomach, which is feeling acidic at the mention of more coffee. “All I want to do is put on yoga pants in my hotel room and talk to Dylan on the phone.”
    Chet says he completely understands, and he arranges for a taxi to drive me over.
    Back in my hotel room, I put in the call to Dylan before I’m even changed into my yoga pants. The call rings and rings. The connection sounds weak and staticky, like we’re a world away from each other. He doesn’t pick up.
    Italy is nine hours ahead of Los Angeles. It’s eight-thirty in the evening here, so it’s eleven-thirty in the morning there. Maybe Dylan’s sleeping in because he stayed up late working on his music.
    The call goes to voicemail.
    I hang up without leaving a message, then phone the