The Bet Read Online Free

drive, and passion to turn somebody into a star?”
    “I know it.”
    Davis sips his wine slowly, letting my words hang in the air. I grab my beer and glare at him as I swig from it.
    “Care to stake something on it? Or are you happy to just scream in my face about it?” he says snidely as he smooths his disgustingly shiny shirt.
    “Gladly,” I say defiantly. I suppress the nauseating feeling that I’m about to do something stupid – I’m too far gone for that. Right now all I can think about is wiping Davis’ slug-grin away from his face without copping a violent misconduct charge.
    “A bet then, if you wanna call it that. Winner gets ten grand…”
    “Pfft…” I say, turning to my beer.
    “And the pick of the other person’s acts.”
    My arm freezes halfway toward bringing my beer to my mouth. I turn slowly to face him.
    “What?”
    “If you win the bet,” Davis says, relishing the words so much he’s making smacking noises as he speaks, “you get to take one of my acts for yourself. I’ll cancel all my contracts and ties with them, and hand them over to you completely. If you win, of course.”
    I clutch my beer tight, hoping Davis doesn’t see my hands shaking. A slow tremor building in the pit of my chest. I know this is bad. I know this is too good to be true. But Davis has just kicked the door down on a whole lot of emotions I thought I’d packed away for good. I’ve spent the past few years wanting to turn the clock back – and he’s just offered me the next best thing.
    Lexi.
    I’d get Lexi back.
    The one woman I’d give everything up for.
    Just like it was.
    I’d probably have to drag her back kicking and screaming. She’d probably never sing my name the way she used to ever again. But I don’t care. I could take her to new heights. Or I could break her career, or make her sorry she ever left me. It doesn’t matter. She’d be mine.
    “What’s the bet?” I say, knowing damn well I’ll accept anything the cockroach offers, however dumb it is, however smug it’ll make him. Hell, I’d give him my entire roster of acts for Lexi right now without blinking.
    “Get somebody into the charts, in just one month. Someone without a record deal already, without any pre-existing label interest. You do this from scratch. With a nobody.”
    “Deal,” I say, slamming my bottle down and offering my hand the split second he finishes the sentence.
    Davis’ creepy smile remains on his face as he takes my hand. “But I choose the act. You still want to put your money where your mouth is?”
    I don’t hesitate as I shake his hand in a bruising grip that leaves him wincing. “Who?” I ask, when I take my hand away and wipe it on my jeans.
    Davis purses his lips with delighted thoughtfulness, then looks toward the stage. His beady eyes roll like marbles in their sockets toward me, and he nods almost imperceptibly toward the singer on stage.
    “See you in a month,” Davis murmurs as he drains his wine and turns around, “ Brando baby. ”
    I look toward the stage. All I see are a bunch of messy brown curls hunched over a beat-up old acoustic guitar. She’s meek. Soft. Her voice barely cuts through the noise of the club. I step forward, straining to hear above the chatter of people ignoring her. Gently plucked guitar strings, a delicate low voice that she seems almost shy of, burying it in the chords. I catch a glimpse of her face between the riotous strands of hair. Pearly skin, smooth and light, and she’s so nervous that she can’t lift her eyes up from her strumming fingers for more than a moment at a time.
    Everything about her seems fragile. Too subtle to be heard in a bar. So reserved it’s like she wants to blend into the background. A snowflake in LA.
    The complete opposite of what I need to break into the charts.
    “I’m gonna make you a star,” I say, as softly as she sings, “whoever you are.”

Haley
    WHEN I LAY my old guitar into its battered case these days it feels like