Titus answered most of the questions for me, by virtue of sidling up to me, leaving an inch or two of space between us even as he leaned against me with one arm casually circling my waist, drawing me in for a casually familiar side hug. His lips brushed my cheek.
“Jeremy thinks he’s here to look over contracts for me,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t spoil the surprise.” Louder, then, as he let go and stood away from me. “You look fine as hell this morning, Laurel.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bright,” I said, keeping my smile professional, meaning overly wide and totally fake. “You look…casual.”
“Was I supposed to dress up?” he asked, snorting a laugh. “I’ve been trying to get this nerd here to wear jeans to work for years, but his ridiculous ass insists on dressing like a professional, whatever the fuck that means.”
Jeremy didn’t laugh, but remained impassive. His arms stretched the sleeves of his suit, and his chest stretched his shirt—he looked as much bodyguard as assistant. “If you want to be taken seriously, you have to dress the part,” he said, in a voice the bottom of a well, his tone educated, proper, and articulate.
Titus shrugged. “People take me plenty seriously, and I dress like someone let an angry fifteen-year-old girl loose in Hot Topic.”
I snorted at that, because it was true.
Jeremy just rolled his eyes humorlessly at Titus—I caught a hint of amusement in his expression though; I got the feeling he enjoyed playing the part of the straitlaced businessman to Titus’s uninhibited rock star libertine. “They take you seriously because every single and every album you’ve ever released has gone platinum.”
Titus shrugged. “Maybe, whatever. Suit yourself, bro.” He rolled a hand. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road, shall we? Show me what I got to sign.”
I led the way into the conference room and showed Titus the stack of papers at the head of the table. He slumped into the rolling chair and picked up the pen, twirling it between his fingers.
He glanced up at me. “All this? For a fuckin’ house? I’m not even taking out a mortgage. What the hell do I have to sign all this for?”
I sat in the chair kitty-corner to his. “There are waivers, disclosures, agreements, insurance. All sorts of stuff—I’ll explain everything as you sign.” I frowned at him. “You act like you’ve never bought a house before.”
He laughed. “Because I haven’t.”
I stared. “You’ve never bought a house?”
“Nope.”
“Condo, townhouse, nothing?”
“No, ma’am. I have never owned a property of any kind in my life.”
I boggled at him. “You’re worth, like, three hundred million. You’ve never owned a home?”
“Eight hundred, actually,” Jeremy said. “His net worth doubled when his former label went under and he got his masters back.”
Titus clicked the pen a couple times. “Which was all you. They were cheating me, and had been for years. You figured it out, went public with it, and they went under. And you negotiated the masters instead of a cash settlement.”
“It’s my job,” Jeremy said. “Anyway. Show me the paperwork before you sign it.” He eyed me. “No offense meant to you, of course, but it’s my job as his lawyer to check everything he signs.”
“I thought you were his manager?” I said.
Titus grinned. “He wears a lot of hats. Stanford law degree, Harvard business degree, plus the street smarts of a guy who grew up in the hood.”
Jeremy just shook his head. “It’s more that you’re too trusting.”
“If someone’s gonna try and cheat me or take advantage of me, they probably need it more than I do. I’m not worried about it. I just like to make you feel useful.” Titus examined the first page, reading slowly. “Maybe it’s me being dyslexic, but this shit is mumbo jumbo to me. Jeremy, paraphrase.”
I tapped the page with my own pen. “Allow me. This is a document stating you’re accepting the house as-is, meaning if there’s any future issues, you can’t try and sue the former owners.”
After that, it was a relatively quick and painless process, as I explained each document to Titus, Jeremy examined it, and Titus signed.
I still had a few pages left, the portion of the process which signed ownership over to Jeremy. He may have claimed otherwise, but when Titus flipped through the remaining pages, he clearly knew what he was looking at.
He eyed me. “Yo, I’m getting bored, here. Can we finish this at the house? I wanna see it. Jeremy, this place is killer, you’re gonna love it.”
Smooth, Titus, very smooth.
Jeremy shrugged. “You’re my ride, so I’ll go wherever you’re going.” A grin. “But I admit I’m curious as to what kind of a house could entice you to finally buy it. I thought you’d die in that trailer of yours.”
I frowned. “Trailer?”
Jeremy laughed. “Don’t let the term ‘trailer’ mislead you. It’s a full-size semi. The tractor part of it has a full set of living quarters for the driver. The actual trailer part is twice as high as a normal semi box, and includes a gym, a sauna, a bathroom bigger than the one I’ve got, a bedroom, obviously, a full recording studio, and a parking spot for his truck. It’s his full-time residence. Until now, that is.”
“Oh sure, asshole, just give away all my secrets,” Titus joked. “Anyway. Laurel, pack up the rest of those papers and meet us there with the keys. Yeah?”
I nodded, gathering them up, marking the page we left off on with a yellow sticky note, and sliding them into a folder. “Sure thing. I’ll head over and unlock everything.”
Titus grinned at me. “You’re the best, Laurel. Thanks for putting this together so fast.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Still not sure what the rush was.”
Titus ignored that. Checked his watch. “What are Bex and the kids up to, Jer?”
Jeremy shrugged. “At home, probably. Breakfast, cleaning their rooms, watching TV. Why?”
“Well, the house has a pool. I thought maybe the kids would like to go for an inaugural swim.”
Jeremy made a face. “Huh. I mean, shit, sure they would. But brother, you gotta know once those kids get into that pool, you won’t ever get them out. I mean, ever. And I won’t ever hear the end of it.” His voice took on a fake, high-pitched whining tone. “‘Daddy, can we go to Uncle Titus’s? I wanna swim.’” An eye roll. “They’re monsters, man. Half fish, I swear to god. Just so you’re aware what you’re opening yourself up to.”
Titus just grinned. “They’re always welcome at Uncle Titus’s.” He made a shooing motion at Jeremy. “Get your wife on the phone, man. Have her meet us there.”
I suppressed my laughter. He was so devious. Not a hint of anything other than friendliness. Jeremy slid his phone from an inside pocket of his suit coat, dialed a number, and walked over to the far side of the conference room, had a brief, murmured conversation. I shot a quick grin at Titus, who just winked at me.
Jeremy returned to the table, shoving his phone into his suit c oat again. “Well, they’re getting their suits on and heading over. I hope you know what you’re doing, man.”