Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (reader novel txt) 📗

under Crazy Bitch, never knowing when I’d need it again.

Knowing I wouldn’t get through, I hit Nova’s name. It rang four times, and I held my breath for each one like maybe—just maybe—she’d pick up. Each ring had my anger rising. I’d spent the last hour thinking over the situation, and while it played out in the worst way possible, all she had to do was stay.

All she had to do was fucking stay.

She never stayed.

Her voicemail came on just in time to get the peak of my anger.

“You know, Nova, I shouldn’t be surprised, but here I am. Because it’s what you do. You always run. When it’s hard, you fucking run like a coward. When are you going to actually face your shit? It’s been five years, but have you actually grown at all, or are you just pretending?” As soon as the words left my mouth, the regret wrapped itself around my throat. All of it was true, but I could have called her out more softly. Taking a deep breath, I closed out the message with a promise. “You may run like you always do, but I’m not letting you go this time. I don’t care what it takes, I’m finding you.”

Ten

Nova

I was a fucking idiot. A stupid fool.

That thought ran on repeat the past few days. What a way to start the new year. I just couldn’t help but remember the way I’d gushed with Rae and Vera, all giddy and full of hope, concocting stories that hadn’t seemed so far-fetched at the time.

I’d been so dumb.

Days later, and my chest still hurt, and I rubbed at the lingering ache behind my ribs.

“I know you’re not thinking about it,” Rae cut into my thoughts.

“Huh?” I asked, distracted.

She gave me a look that hit me like a verbal smackdown of a reprimand. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s hard to not feel like a fool and que—”

“We feel like a fool for no man. Ever. He’s the fool for lying. He’s the fool for missing out.”

“But I shouldn’t have just shown up like that. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking you were a blazing hot catch, and he’d be lucky for you to show up. Especially when he’d been asking to see you. It’s not far-fetched. All you did was take away his chance to lie his way out of it.”

I smacked my head against the back of the car seat. I was on my way to my interview, and Rae had said she would have her driver take me because ‘no one should ride the subway on the way to an important interview.’ I’d honestly been sleeping so poorly, I couldn’t even argue.

“Now, put on your boss-bitch face and show this secret band that they’d be lucky to have you.”

Another groan when I thought over Aiken’s phone call about my interview. He’d set it up to be double-blind, so no one knew who the other was, protecting identities. I didn’t want to shove my identity out in the world just yet, and apparently, the band didn’t want to share the news that they needed help writing music.

“Don’t pout. This is huge.”

“I know. I know.”

“I mean, touring with a band? I’d probably pay to do that. And they’re wanting to pay you? Hell yeah.”

I couldn’t believe my luck or the magic Aiken worked. I’d been ready to turn him down as soon as he called on day two of wallowing, and he’d ticked all my boxes to make it happen. I didn’t even have to show my face or which band. I could just take pics and hint to writing music on tour with a big band. It was kind of perfect.

“Yeah.” I rolled my head to face Rae, smiling. “Enough for a van. And a couple months’ rent.”

“Fuck yeah,” she cheered.

She boosted me up just in time to pull up in front of the tall building. It didn’t hint to whoever waited inside, instead just a building with offices to rent for meetings.

“Thanks, boo.”

“Anytime. Now, forget Parker stupid-fuck-face Callahan and crush this interview.”

With an ass-slap and a catcall, I made my way inside.

I tugged my jacket off as soon as the elevator doors slid closed. I’d needed the extra protection against the blundering New York wind, but now my nerves kicked my body temperature into overdrive, and I’d be lucky if I didn’t sweat through my oversized sweater.

I stared at my muddled reflection in the glossy doors and tried to position my jacket and purse in the crook of my arms to look like I wasn’t on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Settling on a hip-cocked position, I looked down at my outfit. The beige sweater led down to the black wide-leg pants and ended in my black power-pumps, as Rae called them.

Because no woman can walk around in a pair of red-soled stilettos and not feel like the most powerful bitch in the world.

And when I strolled out of the elevator on the top floor, I had to admit, she wasn’t wrong. They clicked on the tile, announcing my entrance to the receptionist. She looked me up and down, probably finding my attire lacking compared to her charcoal suit. Not that I cared. I’d always enjoyed my style and how different it was from everyone else.

“I’m here for Miss Quinn,” I stated.

With a nod, she picked up the phone, letting them know before going right back to work. Seeing the dismissal, I turned away and paced the open area, trying to discern who I’d be meeting with, and wondered if they knew who they were meeting with. Anyone who looked into SPRNV Music would find a basic website with references and a contact form that went to Aiken.

Despite requesting anonymity, it bothered me to not know the details, but I guessed the most important details I knew: the job itself and the pay. It was the pay that had me pushing aside my usual MO of working with a band over