Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1)

by Bryan, Rebekah N.

  Now, Saffron led J.J. over and showed him her creation. His face lit up, and he flicked the microphone, sending it swaying between them.

  “Oh, Brit.” Rube tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Ah! Rube, what are you wearing?” Brit eyed his all-white getup—a tuxedo with a white ruffled shirt underneath. “Is that satin?”

  “But of course. Just be happy I misplaced the top hat that goes with it.”

  “Right, because that would’ve been too far.”

  “Anyway,” he sang, “the first guests are beginning to show up. Shall I tell Walter to let them in?”

  “You’ve never asked my opinion before. Why start now?”

  “Because this place looks like the decorating committee of the high school prom up and quit halfway through, and I don’t want us to be a laughingstock. And keep in mind, I went to prom in the eighties.”

  “Oh, shut up. Once it’s lit, this place is going to be perfect.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to achieve ‘lit’ tonight, girlfriend. Maybe a dim flicker at best. Should’ve used my guy to plan the party.”

  “Give us two minutes, then let people in. Then be sure to stop back to see what lit really looks like. It’ll set you on fire.”

  Rube pursed his lips and walked away.

  Brit motioned to Barbara to dim the lights, and the spotlights spun over the floor and shone a giant light in the middle of the dance floor in the shape of J.J.’s logo. A smaller spotlight trained itself on the microphone photo booth. Rube was wrong. This place looked perfect. And as DJ Knight served up the first song, and the lights danced around the brick walls, Brit knew the party would absolutely be on fire.

  As the room filled with guests, Brit moved through the crowd, greeting people she knew with a kiss on the cheek and people she didn’t with a polite smile and nod, all the while wondering if they were indeed on the list or if they were a guest of someone else.

  From time to time, Brit tried to find J.J., but he was constantly surrounded by friends and admirers. Whenever she decided she was going to go check on him, either Brit or J.J. was pulled off into another direction.

  Brit found Daisy and grabbed her by the elbow. “J.J.’s being weird. You look hot.”

  Daisy’s shimmery white crop top moved like liquid over her tight tanned abs. Brit reminded herself to get back into kickboxing.

  “Thanks. What were you saying?”

  “J.J. He’s being weird. We’ve barely spoken since he got back. He went over most of the party plans with Saffron.”

  “I’m sure he’s just stressed out and wants everything to be perfect,” offered Daisy. “That’s how I’d be feeling.”

  “Does he look stressed out?”

  Daisy had to stand on tiptoes to see him, but he was busting a move and laughing on the dance floor.

  Brit shook her head. “I think I need to learn to take a hint. Between Vincent and J.J., I barely trust my own judgment anymore.”

  “Speak of the devil,” said Daisy. “And I do mean ‘devil.’“ She nodded to the entrance.

  If J.J. commanded the atmosphere with nothing more than a gaze from his big brown eyes and a flex of his bicep, then Vincent sucked all the atmosphere out of the room to the point that Brit’s ears hurt with the change in pressure. With his puffy, over-bleached hair and slimy smile. And he was LOUD. Had he always been this loud?

  Brit couldn’t understand what he was saying, but his syllables blared between the ebbs and flows of the dance tune DJ Knight had laid down next.

  A tall blond head appeared behind the mob of people around Vincent, and Brit caught Cord’s eye as he tried to navigate a path. He made a face with eyebrows raised and then looked pointedly at Vincent and then back at Brit, trying to send her a telepathic message. Brit nodded back knowingly.

  “Has he always been that insufferable, or is that a new thing I never noticed?” she asked when Cord found his way to her.

  “I did warn you about him.”

  “Oh my gosh, I love this song. Come dance with me.” Brit took Cord by the wrist and dragged him onto the dance floor where a crowd had already begun grinding on each other.

  Brit wiggled her hips and reveled in glancing at Cord’s blue eyes, noting that each time she did, his eyes watched her in naked appreciation—or at least, that’s how it seemed to her. She turned and shimmied backward toward him until her backside made contact with the fold of his waist. His hands found her hips, and she could feel his breath on the crook of her neck.

  He suffered slightly from awkward white guy moves, but with Brit pressed against him, he moved in time with her, following her lead.

  The dancing was making her sweat—and being so close to Cord—and she wiped her upper lip before he noticed that he was grinding with a sweaty mess. She turned again and draped one arm over his shoulder while she threw the other in the air, moving her head and letting her magenta locks swing in front of her face.

  The song ended, and Brit released Cord. Perspiration beaded at his hairline, and he tugged at the collar of his shirt to fan himself.

  “You wanna get some air?” she asked, reaching for his wrist but connecting with his hand. In embarrassment, she pulled her hand back.

  He pretended he didn’t notice. “Sure.”

  Brit led the way toward the door until a familiar voice came over the speakers. She stopped and scoured the crowd. “Where’s Daisy? Her song is playing!”

  Before Brit could find Daisy, she found Vincent, who had Daisy in a deep, but likely one-sided conversation. Brit stomped toward them but stopped short. Cord was already at Daisy’s side, rescuing her.

  Cord shook Vincent’s hand and offered him a professional smile before sweeping Daisy into the mix of dancers to enjoy her moment. He yelled to people around them, pointing to Daisy. “This is her song!”

  Brit beamed. She pushed through the crowd until she was next to them on the dance floor. She clasped both of Daisy’s hands, and Daisy jumped up and down.

  “Does it sound OK?”

  “Daisy, you sound amazing. Live it up, diva!” With one hand still clasped with Daisy’s, she pulled Cord between the two of them, and he gladly threaded one arm around each girl’s waist.

  Brit was surprised to see J.J. join them after he barely talked to them earlier. In fact, he still didn’t talk to Brit, but instead whispered something into Daisy’s ear. Daisy grinned, and J.J. made eye contact with Brit with a cryptic half-smile before he disappeared into the crowd again. But not before pecking Daisy on the cheek.

  “What was that all about?” Brit waited until the song ended to ask it, but she couldn’t wait much longer.

  Daisy grinned at her again, her piercing straining against her bottom lip.

  “He’s so nice.” She grinned at Cord next, and Brit waited for the answer. “J.J. asked the DJ to play my song. How great is that?”

  “So great.” Brit didn’t know why, but she foresaw trouble from Daisy’s excitement, but she wasn’t going to worry about that tonight.

  DJ Knight cut the music, and J.J. took the stage with Lander close behind.

  “Yo, yo, yo!” J.J. yelled into the microphone.

  Lander took over and grabbed the microphone off the mic stand. “What’s up, everybody? How you all doing tonight? I want to introduce the freshest member of the Lander Music Management family and play his debut album for you tonight. It’s boisterous, fun, crazy, et cetera.” Lander handed the microphone back to J.J. and applauded.

  J.J. raised his hand to silence the crowd, but they whooped louder.

  “Thank you, thank you. It’s so great to see everyone here in this sick brick discotheque! Except Vincent Gordon, am I right? Just playin’, bro.”

  Brit’s jaw dropped. It was one thing to rip on Vincent behind his back, but not in front of a room of his peers. Brit thought J.J. had more tact than that, but apparently, she was wrong. Lander laughed and pointed two finger guns at Vincent, trying to play it up like the joke it was, but judging by how qui
ckly he snatched the mic back, making it squeal with protest, he was not that pleased either.

  Brit located Barbara at the bar. “Your man looks pissed.”

  She strained her neck to see the stage. “Oh yeah, that’s his fake-nice-but-actually-ripping-mad face. Dad has the same face, except, you know, not black.”

  “No kidding.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  BRIT DROPPED HER PURSE on the chair in front of her father’s desk and plopped into the second chair next to it. “Where’s Cord?”

  Lonnie shuffled around some papers on his desk. Lifting the wireless mouse, which was probably the first time he had touched the thing, he moved another stack of papers beneath it.

  “Are you looking for something, Dad?”

  “Cord’s travel plans.”

  “His what?”

  “His itinerary to London. He said he’d send it to me. Or maybe Mike did.”

  Lonnie’s flurry of activity was stressing Brit out. She lifted a stack of papers in front of where she sat.

  “He probably meant email. Dad, Cord didn’t tell me he was going to London. When did this happen?”

  “Oh, Mike had something or other come up. I was going to cancel the trip, but Cord offered to go.”

  “Right, but when?”

  “This morning. He’s at home packing, or maybe he’s on the way to the airport. I don’t know because I seem to have misplaced his itinerary. I have to call and switch the reservations over to Cord’s name.”

  “Dad.” Finally, Brit blocked his access to the papers with her hand, putting a stop to his burrowing. “Cord can take care of that for you. He’s a big boy. Just check your email.”

  He stared at the monitor, confounded. “Honey, you know I don’t know how to use this thing.”

  “Move.” Brit sighed and walked around the desk, pushing her dad’s office chair out of the way with her hip. “I’ll never know how you were so successful while being so pitiful.”

  He stood and took Brit by the shoulders to ease her into the seat. Kissing her cheek, he said, “It’s all part of my charm. Can I get you a tea while you work?”

  Work. Hmm. “I know I’ve brought this up before, but you could put me on the payroll. Make it official. When I run this place, I gotta know what I’m doing.”

  Lonnie busied himself at the wet bar in the corner of his office, pouring hot water from the instant-hot faucet into a mug that came from their venue’s own merch area. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Are you sure you wouldn’t want Barbara and Lander to take it over? Or you girls could sell it off when I get old and senile.”

  “Based on your computer skills, I’m not entirely sure you’re not already there.” Brit flashed a sweet grin to let her dad know she was kidding. He had built up a screen from Brit’s sarcasm after all these years. Only the good energy got through while any faked nastiness was caught in the netting.

  “Let’s make it a trial period. I’ll make an announcement at the next team meeting, and then you can take over for me during that meeting. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

  Inside, Brit’s high hopes tumbled. It’s not that she expected her father to hand her the keys to the kingdom right away. Actually, she sort of did. One hour-long meeting in power didn’t seem like enough responsibility, considering she threw yet another successful industry party with the club being the biggest sponsor, and she oversaw all the arrangements herself. But she smiled again and laid it on thick. “Thank you, Dad. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I know.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead.

  Sure enough, a forwarded email from Mike was near the top of the inbox, and another travel confirmation from Cord was above it. “See? Cord already changed everything over to his name.” She scrolled through the email, scanning its contents. “A week? What’s this trip for anyway?”

  “One more London club to scout, then I’ll make my final decision of where to open Club Stanza number four.”

  “Have you seen these places?”

  “Of course. When you girls were with your mother last Christmas, I was in London.”

  Brit had never thought to ask. Now she felt like a jerk. Barbara, Lander, and Brit had all gone because their mom wanted to meet Lander after he had proposed. Normally, their mother was away “working” all the time, but the prospect of wedding plans kept her close by. Brit didn’t even care that she wasn’t the center of attention that time. Being the maid of honor was the better gig anyway. And that was the one time Brit really felt like her mom was proud of her—when she said that she had been the one to set the couple up. And of course she loved Lander because who wouldn’t? He was rich, well-respected, polite, funny, and had a killer smile to boot.

  Brit’s phone dinged in her purse.

  “You can get that, honey. I’m meeting Mike for lunch. He has more great ideas for the London place that he wants to tell me about before he has to go out of town again himself. I’ll never regret hiring Mike as long as I live. My right hand, that one.”

  If his right hand was a used car salesman with a never-ending streak of luck one minute and a disappearing Houdini the next, Brit thought.

  “Have fun!” she called.

  When her dad left, she dug out her phone and saw a message from Daisy asking about lunch plans herself.

  BRIT: Wanna come by the club? Order in?

  DAISY SONGBIRD: Yes!!

  Brit pushed the chair back and wandered to the break room in search of the takeout menus arranged in a magazine rack mounted on the wall. She looked wistfully at the vending machine where the retro candy used to be that stupid Vincent had purchased. What a knob. Someone had spelled WTF out in electrical tape over the now vacant spot on the glass. The place smelled like citrus floor cleaner and old refrigerator. Maybe Funyons too. She was surprised no one had complained about that yet. When she ran the place, she’d upgrade the break room.

  WHILE DAISY WAS THERE, Brit watched the door, waiting for Cord to darken the doorway, forgetting that he wouldn’t. He was likely waiting for his plane by now. Brit could’ve been useful in London. She would’ve suggested booking a ticket herself had she known about it sooner.

  When Daisy left, Brit opened the booking software. Cord’s itinerary was still open in another tab. The office was so quiet without him. The first few bartenders and staff had trickled in, but the distant sounds of their laughter and small talk only made Brit lonelier. Sharnita was off that day, so she couldn’t even shoot the shit with her.

  HOME WASN’T ANY BETTER. Cord had only occupied her space once, but the empty spot on her couch where he sat reminded her of their movie night. She curled up in this spot now and took out her phone. Cord didn’t have Facebook or Snapchat or any social media account that she knew of.

  Flipping through the gallery on her phone, she found her dark selfie with Cord and Daisy taken the night of J.J.’s release party.

  She could maybe text him. It wouldn’t be that weird. He probably wasn’t on the plane yet. Why not?

  BRIT: Bored yet?

  The beep came an agonizing two minutes later.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: I wish. Security was a bear. Just got a coffee and sat down at gate.

  BRIT: That’s what you get when you pack a bomb in your bag.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: Don’t even joke. LOL.

  THREE DAYS LATER, BRIT was bored. And stir crazy. It’s not that she didn’t have things to do—she did—but her mind was overseas. She had resisted texting Cord again up until that point, but lying in her bed, psyching herself up for yet another day, she figured there wouldn’t be any harm in checking in.

  BRIT: Taken any pics?

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: Hey you. Just got back from the pub. Took some. Wanna see?

  BRIT: Show me the goods.

  He sent her a succession of texts with pictures of the hotel sign, his room, the architecture, Big Ben, and a guard with a tall puffy black hat. The next group contained everything he had eaten and drunk until that point. Drunk bei
ng the operative word. The pictures were mostly tall, frothy beers and short glasses with dark liquid barely covering the ice at the bottom of the glass.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: Irish whiskey. Third one tonight. Ran into a girl who had heard of your dad. A local. She bought me the drinks.

  An odd pang of jealousy made Brit’s stomach clench.

  BRIT: My dad misses you here.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: Your dad does?

  BRIT: Lander too.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: Yeah right. Anyone else?

  BRIT: That’s about it.

  Brit rubbed her fingers against the smooth back of the phone until she was sure she must’ve worn an arc-shaped track into it.

  BRIT: That’s it for pics? No selfies?

  The next message was a picture of Cord’s tired face, his cheeks lined in fatigue and his clear blue eyes droopy. A five-o’clock shadow was starting. He looked cute and cozy. And drunk.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: What? No return selfies?

  BRIT: Nope, just woke up.

  Nothing back.

  BRIT: We should have a party at your place. When you get back. Something small.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: What for?

  BRIT: For fun.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: So tired. Can’t even think about parties right now.

  BRIT: I’ll plan it. I like that sort of thing.

  CORD MCCUTCHEN: Sounds fun. As long as it’s small. I’m gonna be tired. Jet lag.

  BRIT: It can be at my place then. I’ll take care of everything.