Chapter Two
Landon
Manhattan
Her music really isn't my thing, but I can see that she's got talent. More importantly, the crowd around me is enjoying what they're hearing. Which is a good thing. A lively crowd means more money in tips, more gigs around the city – and that all translates into dollars. And that's what this hustle called life is all about – the dollars.
I feel like I stumbled into a gold mine when I met her. I mean, there she was, sitting on a subway platform, just playin' her guitar and singin' away. I stopped to watch for a minute – though, I was more focused on the crowd and how they reacted to her. They stood there, completely transfixed, and when she ended her song, the burst of applause and cheers was almost loud enough to drown out the sound of the train going by. And then, of course, came the rain of coins and bills into her guitar case.
And when I saw that, I knew this girl was going to be a very solid investment. And it doesn't hurt that she's a fuckin' knockout to boot. Strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes that shine, a tight little body that has plenty of curves in all the right places, smarts, charm to spare, and a sweet little Georgia peach accent, to go along with that talent – she's the whole fuckin' package.
And I know that she's gonna punch my ticket and make me a goddamn fortune.
“Landon,” Pete says as he sits down at the table next to me. “I don't know where you found this one, but this one's a keeper. Look at this. Look at this crowd she brings in.”
Pete is the owner of The Grind. It's a popular coffee house here in Chelsea – a regular hipster haven. Pete's a middle-aged guy, a Greek immigrant, who's been in New York a long time. He's a good guy, but a little old school in his thinking. He's a man set in his ways, to say the least.
It took me a long time to get him with the times. Even longer to convince him to start up an open mic night. Not that I have any real interest in Pete's business, but open mic nights are a good way to score some fast cash. Not to mention that if Pete hires one of my acts on as a regular, it gives me another source of revenue.
I've always got irons in the fire. Wheels in motion. I was born to hustle and I'm damn good at it.
“So, what do you say, Pete?” I ask. “Make her a regular feature here? Like you say, she brings in a hell of a crowd.”
Pete nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Fridays at seven.”
“Just Fridays?” I ask. “C'mon, Pete.”
“To start,” he says. “We'll see if she can keep bringing people in. If she can, she'll get another day.”
I sigh but nod. “Fair enough. We still cool at two-fifty a show then?”
“Two-fifty,” Pete says.
“Deal,” I say.
Pete gets up and goes back behind the counter, overseeing his baristas and chatting up some of his regulars. Up on stage, Harper is singing away, and she catches my eye. I flash her a thumbs up sign, which makes her smile – and it's a gorgeous little smile. The girl really does seem to have everything.
And as I look at her, I feel absolutely confident that she's gonna be my golden fuckin' ticket out of here and into the big time.
I sit back in my chair, sip my coffee, and think about a day when I don't have to run the hustle twenty-four/seven. I want to play in the big leagues and earn the big, fat paycheck that goes along with it – not to mention all the sweet little perks that go along with it.
I'm gonna be an agent, or manager or somethin'. I've got an eye for talent. Always have. I just need to get that talent in front of the right eyes, and boom, my life is gonna be fuckin' made. And to do that, I need to make some connections in the industry.
That's my next hustle – somethin' I'm workin' on. Somethin' I'm already feelin' good about. And I'm pretty sure Harper is gonna be the one who opens some doors and puts me on a path to livin' on easy street.
Her set ends and she thanks the crowd that is giving her a standing fuckin' ovation. I’ve never seen that at an open mic night at a coffee house before. To me, that just speaks to the girl's talent and charisma. Get her in front of the right folks and that girl is gonna be a star. Which makes me glad I've got my cart hitched to her.
Harper finds her way through the crowd, stopping to sign a few autographs and take pictures with some folks before she gets back to the table I'm sitting at. She squeals and jumps into my arms, wrapping them tight around me. Her young, firm body pressed to mine feels really nice, I ain't gonna lie. I know she's into me and there have been a few times I've thought about sleeping with her. God knows I want to.
But, I'm smart and have been in the game long enough to know that sex only complicates things. Makes 'em messy. And the last thing I need right now is complicated and messy. Not when we're on the verge of a big breakthrough. I know we are. I can feel it.
So, I do my best to see her as a client – as a kid sister, even. Anything I can to avoid looking at her as the sexy, young woman she is.
That's not to say there haven't been a few nights I haven't let my thoughts wander. It's hard not to when she parades around the apartment wearing practically nothing. It's like she's daring me to look at her curvy little body – and do something about it. When it gets to be too much though, I'll either go find one of my usual hook-ups, hire a girl, or if all else fails, just go jerk off in the shower.
I step back and smile at her. “You did great up there, kid. You really knocked 'em dead.”
She's beaming, and her smile lights up the whole room. Even now, as the next artist is getting set up on stage, all people around us are talking about is Harper.
“I felt really good up there, Landon,” she says. “I really feel like I'm connecting with the audience. Like they're hearing my words.”
I nod and laugh. “They absolutely are,” I say. “Just look at them. They adore you. Pictures and autographs already? You're becomin' a star, kiddo.”
Harper sneaks a quick peek around and her smile grows even wider. Her excitement is so real and so hard to contain, that she's practically bouncing up and down. I motion to the chair, indicating that she should sit down – but she's still more or less bouncing up and down in her seat. We look at each other for a long moment as I take a sip of my coffee. I can see the question in her eyes – and decide to draw out the moment a little bit longer. Just to keep her in suspense.
When she finally can't take it anymore, she lets out a loud, frustrated breath and I can't keep from laughing.
“So? What did he say?” she asks, the expression on her face pensive. “I saw you sitting with Pete? What did he say?”
“Well, he said that you're – okay.”
“Okay?” she asks, her accent dripping like honey from her tongue. “Seriously? Just okay?”
I laugh and shake my head. “For being such a smart girl, you're incredibly gullible.”
The pensive look evaporates like a puff of smoke on the breeze and that thousand-watt smile that can light up Times Square is back.
“So, he liked me?” she asks.
“Liked you? He loved you,” I say. “He is going to give you a Friday night showcase. And if that goes over well – like it's not – he'll take you on Saturday nights too. A hundred and twenty bucks a performance. Plus tips, of course.”
“Oh my God,” she squeals, covering her mouth with her hands. “Really?”
I nod. “Yup,” I say. “You're on your way.”
“Oh, my God,” she squeals again, practically vibrating in her seat with excitement. “And I have you to thank for it, Landon. I'm on my way because of you.”
I give her a small smile. “Just doing my part,” I say. “Your music deserves to have a wide audience. You deserve to have your words heard.”
She jumps out of her seat and throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close to me, enjoying the moment. But then our faces – our lips – are there, just inches apart and a sudden air of tension develops between us. She's looking into my eyes and I know she wants me to kiss her. And I'm sorely tempted.
As I stare into her wide, blue eyes, I feel my cock growing stiffer by the second. I know I need to pull back, but I can't seem to make myself. I want this girl. I want this girl bad. The sexual tension between us is thicker than San Francisco fog and my cock is straining against my pants so hard, it hurts.
Thankfully, I'm saved by a girl seeking an autograph. Harper stands up, her eyes lingering on mine for just another moment, before she turns and hugs the girl, thanking her and signing an autograph for her.
More come up to her seeking pictures and autographs and I know it's my time to depart. I need to relieve my raging hard-on and jerking myself off isn't going to cut it tonight. I'm going to need a real flesh and blood woman to alleviate the pressure.
Stepping up behind Harper, I tell her that I'll see her back at the apartment and make my exit. She looks disappointed for a moment, but nods and turns back to her fans.