Free Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) by Brandace Morrow

Let’s jet, Frenchy.”
    We get in the car, and I hit the GPS for the
studios. “Wait, no. I saw you had that guy’s name under Batty. I
don’t know what your deal is with nicknames, but count me out.”
    “Fine,” I mumble, confused that I would try
to give him one, if only to crack a joke. I hate Popper. I also
know these people are all going to think of me as her until I set
them strait, in the most unPopper way I can.
    BATTY-
    I toss my phone on the couch next to me and
look around the room one more time. The laugh that fills the empty
space sounds decidedly evil. Sadie’s going to lose her fucking
mind.

Chapter 11
    “Popper, fabulous you could make it. We’re
working with the other artists right now. Make your way to the
trailer with your name on it down this row. Hair and makeup should
be waiting,” says a woman with a headset and clipboard that’s
probably surgically attached.
    We go through the big trailers and start to
get to the smaller ones. When I finally see my name, I know my face
is as bright as my new dye job. I swing the door open so hard,
Jacque has to put a hand out so that it doesn’t smack him in the
face when it bounces back off of the outside. I stomp up the
rickety steps and fist my hands.
    “Did you know you had Playboys on your rider?
I can have someone update it to exclude items from your previous
band mates. Not to mention, there’s terrible advice in here. It’s
suggesting tongue fucking. You hate that,” Batty says without
looking up. He turns another page and bounces his foot resting on
the other knee.
    I hear a quiet “holy shit” behind me.
    “Jacque can see about the rider.” I stalk
toward him. “You can see about this trailer. The other judges have
identical trailers and I get a fucking Winnebago?”
    Batty finally locks those grey eyes on me. I
watch as he takes in the new hair. “Red, is this natural?” My eyes
lower to a glare, making him smirk. “It explains so much.”
    I growl and throw a hand out to knock the
magazine out of his hand, but he’s too fast. He catches my wrist
and pulls me toward him. Our faces wind up inches apart, with me on
my knees facing him on the couch. “Fix it.”
    “Who’s Jack?”
    “Jacque is my personal assistant.” I look
over my shoulder and gesture him forward with a head twitch.
    “Since when?”
    “Since I hired him. Where’s my hair and
makeup people?”
    Batty eyes his apparent new foe before
answering. “I sent them out to get coffee so that I could meet with
you in private first.”
    “Oh, she can’t have coffee. The caffeine is .
. .” He gestures over his shoulder toward the door and starts
backing up. “I’m just gonna wait outside.” I watch Jacque escape
before cutting my eyes to Batty. He wastes no time reaching for me
again. I end up straddling his lap, because he doesn’t stop
adjusting me until I’m exactly where he wants me.
    “Now. Tell me who Jack is,” he demands.
    I lean in close and ask quietly, “Are you
jealous? Is that what this is? Are your eyes turning green?”
    “Shut up. I’m not jealous of a backpack
wearing, flip flopping adolescent with a ponytail, for God’s
sake.”
    I throw my head back and laugh loudly. If I
wasn’t so amused I would have seen the look in his eyes as he
absorbed the sound. As it was, I just caught the irritated
tightening of his lips. I shake my head slowly. “But he’s my age.
Maybe I need someone with more reckless tendencies.”
    Batty rears up to get in my face. “What you
need is your ass paddled, by me. You need someone who won’t kiss
your ass, or demean you.” His voice gets lower and he whispers
against my jaw, “You want me. I’m rough, and demanding and you
fucking love it.” He falls back to the couch just as my eyes were
sliding shut. “Just because I realized your potential before you
did doesn’t mean I don’t respect you. I expect you to do the
same.”
    I’m momentarily at a loss for words. Someone
as affluent and strong that