Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3)

Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) Read Online Free PDF

Book: Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) Read Online Free PDF
Author: Brandace Morrow
I’m concerned. I won’t be signing a contract with them
again,” Batty growls.
    “I’m over eighteen, old man. Twenty-two in
fact,” I remind him.
    “He’s been after you for longer than I’ve
been in charge. Now that you’ve quit, what do you want to do?”
    I look at him. “What do you mean?”
    He lifts a shoulder and taps a pen against
the desk. Where did he get another one? “What do you want to do now
that you don’t have any money? You want to go work at the mall
where you buy your Chuck Taylors?”
    I smirk, thinking about the first time I
bought a pair . . . okay, twenty pairs of Chuck Taylors at the
mall. “What do they make, like twenty—”
    “Ten.”
    “Ten dollars an hour? Seriously?” I ask,
thinking about how many times I asked for a different size the last
time I was there.
    “At the most,” he verifies.
    “Shit.”
    I take a deep breath through my nose and put
my palms on the table. “What are my alternatives?” I ask. I’m not
stupid. For him to come to me with proof in hand, he has to have a
way out. I hope.
    “You work for me.”
    I stare into those grey eyes, the sky behind
him almost too bright to see the color, but I look carefully.
“How?”
    It’s his turn to stand. “I have a project
I’ve been working on.”
    “What kind of project, and can I sue the shit
out of my manager and publicist in the process?”
    “Absolutely. I’ll pay for the attorneys if
you let me. There should have been a clause in your contract where
someone was keeping track of your money when you were a minor.
That’s the record label’s fault and we’ll take full responsibility,
since you started at fifteen. What I have for you is a solo gig,
but it’s like nothing you’ve ever done,” he cautions.
    I shrug. What do I have to lose? “How much is
my mortgage?” I ask.
    “About fifty-eight thousand. You have maybe a
month before you have to file bankruptcy.”
    “What do I do?”

Chapter 5
    “How do you feel about reality TV?”
    I throw the papers down on the table where
they slide and fan out. “I don’t even own a TV, Batty! Shit, I
can’t even fucking afford one now!” I cannot lose it in this room,
not in front of this man.
    “No, I’m talking about singing competitions.
You must know the one’s I’m talking about.”
    “You want me to sing?” I ask in surprise. Not
what I was expecting.
    Batty puts his hands through his hair.
“Sometimes. I want you to be a judge on my new singing competition
reality show.”
    Never in the history of the world did I ever
think I would be considering something like this. I sigh and slump
back into my seat. “Tell me more,” I mumble.
    Batty smirks. “Now who’s pouting like a
little kid? I can think of better things to do with that bottom lip
if you don’t suck it back in.”
    Oh, so tempting. But no, I’m fucking broke.
Is this what people worry about all the time? Five minutes and I
feel like I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. I pull my lip back
in so we can stay on track.
    “There would be two other artists. The idea
is that you each find your contestants through different mediums.
YouTube, live auditions and live performances stumbled upon like at
a bar. Now since you—”
    I raise my hand and cut him off quickly.
“Live gigs, I want the scavenger hunt.”
    “—would be the last judge, you’re stuck with
live gigs,” Batty finishes with a shake of his head.
    “Yes!” Finally, something is going my
way.
    “There are other twists with the game, but
it’s a paycheck.”
    “How much of a paycheck are we talking
about?”
    My eyes track his tongue as it swipes his
lips again. “You would get half up front and all expenses
paid.”
    “How much is half?” Okay, so my voice raises.
Batty was starting to worry me with his avoidance.
    “Five hundred.”
    “Thousand? How much are the others getting?
Who are they, anyway?”
    “Fandy Merna and Daniel Walsh. What they’re
getting isn’t up for discussion,” he says
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