Fulcrum (Dark Tide Book 4)

by Max Henry

  I crest the landing to find the fucking boss guy, Devon, in a circle with four of his employees, seemingly deep in meditation. I don’t know what’s more fucked up: that they think a moment of awareness will improve their shitty publication or that this Devon guy does it in a navy suit.

  A young Indian guy stands from his basic desk near the stairwell, bravely stepping into the line of fire. “They’re in a meeting.”

  I lift a hand and gesture to the hippie circle. “That’s what you call a meeting?” I can’t imagine Jeanie taking part in this, but then again, I’ve known her for all of a day total. She might think this is the trendy thing to do. “I’ll wait in his office.”

  The guy I assume to be an intern going by the lack of anything real on his desk, opens his mouth to protest. Nothing comes out. He resigns to his fate with a sigh and steps aside.

  I pat him on the head for good measure. “Atta boy.”

  The hippie circle continues their moment of reflection, soft music piping from a portable speaker set between them on its own cushion. Fuck me; this shit is too good to miss. I enter Devon’s office, impressed he hasn’t cracked one eye to see what’s going on and grab the visitor’s seat from the corner of the room. Its legs make a horrendous screech as I drag it to the doorway and situate myself so that I block his re-entry. Only one of the circle dares to look, and it isn’t him.

  I tug out my phone and flick open the message thread with Rick. Any progress?

  He doesn’t answer straight away, leaving me to peruse the small group in mutual silence before me. They’re all different from each other, with no real cohesive style. Fuck, even with our differing tastes, you can usually spot a musician at forty paces; we just have a look. But this group? Devon sits awkwardly with his suit pants pulled high on his legs to cross them. To his left is a middle-aged woman with a handful of piercings in prominent places and the tip of a tattoo escaping her denim jacket’s collar. The guy to her left wears a fashionably old T-shirt and jeans that look as though they’re a month too long between washes. Beside him sits a clean-skinned young woman in revealing clothing, her belly bare and the straps of her top showcase sculpted shoulders. She looks as though she’d be more at home in a supplement store than a grimy publication, but hey, don’t judge a book by its cover, right? The last guy, the one to Devon’s right, piques my curiosity. Far too much. I didn’t recognize the jackass without his glasses, swallowed in an enormous hoodie, but it seems Devon’s right-hand man is none other than the illustrious Charles.

  I wonder if Jeanie knows that?

  Arms folded high on my chest, I get comfortable with legs slung wide and shoulders braced. They continue for another few minutes before a chime through the speaker sets them off in a staggered wave of skyward stretches and shoulder rolls. The group work through their moment of half-assed yoga and then all rise when the music cuts off.

  I stay rooted to the spot, smirk unable to be torn from my lips as Devon approaches.

  “I didn’t expect our catch up to be in person.” He steps to one side, seemingly gauging if he can fit around me. “I’ve got the story and Jeanie under control.” His brow dives when he realizes there’s no way in unless I move. “You have my word.”

  My blood pressure rises. “I hear your word is worth fuck all.”

  Deep brown eyes fix on me under a stony brow. “And what little birdie twittered that to you, I wonder?”

  “Who said it was a birdie?” I lift one foot to rest the ankle atop my knee. “Maybe it was a snake.” I make a show of leaning to one side to make eye contact with Charles.

  The pretty boy stares me down, hard-nosed. Not what I expected him to do at all. I expected at least a little guilt, some sort of “oh shit” recognition across his face. Devon follows my sightline and gives Charles a curious tilt of his head. My money is on Devon not knowing where his employee was at lunchtime, which makes this unusual. Whose bed does the guy lie in?

  “Is there anything, in particular, you’re here for?” Devon asks, returning his focus to me.

  I watch Charles return to his desk area, where he then retrieves personal items from the surface before seemingly prepping to go home. “I want you to back the fuck off.” I slide my gaze across to Devon, brow hard.

  He slowly lifts his arms to band them across his chest. “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re playing with something outside your paygrade.”

  He stares a moment longer before lifting his lips on one side. “Says who?”

  “Me. I fucking do.”

  “Bold assumption.”

  “Not as bold as you are, thinking you can publish a load of bullshit and profit from it.”

  He chuckles, eyes darting to his assistant for recognition. This guy loves the attention. He’s not in this business for the passion, like Jeanie. He’s simply here because he loves people taking notice of him.

  I bet he’s one of those fuckers who jack off to the idea of their name becoming a legend.

  “Write the story—in its original form or reworded—and I’ll strip your fucking name of anything of worth.”

  “Good thing I’m not worth much personally, then.” He lifts both palms beside him. “My business takes it all. I reinvest what I don’t need to live.”

  “You think I’d leave this untouched?” I scoff. “It goes too.”

  “Just how powerful do you think you are?”

  I really don’t know, but I’m sure it’s enough that the damage will stick. “Do you want to find out?”

  “You can’t stop me from publishing the story,” he argues with a little too much snark in his tone, “if it’s sourced from a proper interview.”

  “I told her I won’t do one.”

  “I don’t refer to you.” He lifts one eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. “There are three more members to your band.”

  “And you think they’d talk?” I give in and lean forward. “We’re not that stupid.”

  “Everybody has a price, Toby.” He narrows his gaze before adding, “And I hear Rey’s is especially low at this point.”

  “You leave him the fuck out of this.” I launch from the seat, finger in the asshole’s face. “He’s got nothing to tell you, same as me, same as Emery, and same as Kris. You won’t get a single word from any of us.”

  “Not directly.” He shrugs. “But I heard Rey suffered an unfortunate heartbreak with a violinist during this tour.” He snaps his fingers, and his assistant appears at his side. “What were her details, Kaitlyn?”

  The woman scrolls through her enormous smartphone, a feat given the length of her acrylic nails. “Tabitha Reeves.”

  My gut sinks as the woman recites Tabby’s name, address, and known performances.

  “She signed an NDA when she joined the tour. You won’t get anything out of her, so there’s no reason for you to harass her.”

  “The NDA only covered what happened on tour, am I right?”

  I glare at the motherfucker. He’s one relentless Pitbull.

  “And if she won’t talk about that, then I’m sure with a little persistence, we can upset her enough to gain Rey’s attention.”

  “What the hell is it about my family that you’re so interested in?” I growl, stepping close enough to get in his prettified face.

  “The buzz,” he states. “You’re an untapped rarity in the rock and roll world, and I’d like to get rich off your reserves.”

  “We’re people, you fucking sociopath. Actual living, breathing humans.”

  “And this affects me how?”

  I pause, long enough to remember that laying a hand on him proves assault with intent. So, I use my shoulder and shin instead, managing to ram into the asshole hard enough that tangling my foot in his puts him off balance. He stumbles, caught by his assistant as I head for the stairs.

  “I have as much right to know everything as you do, Toby.”

  “Then I’ll give you a little inside information,” I holler, already two risers down. “My lawyer
’s name is Leonard. He loves long phone calls, so ask him as much as you like when he calls you. Should be some time this week. Probably tomorrow.”

  His curses echo down the stairwell to where I reach for the exit.

  “You’re welcome!”

  TWENTY

  Jeanie

  “Take It” – Teacup Monster

  “Mark at the guitar place wants to revise the wording on his advert,” Devon tells me with far too much glee in his eye. “You need to visit with him this afternoon.”

  It’s the third day in a row that he’s sent me on an intern’s task. Yesterday he ran out of bullshit related to the magazine, so he told Aryan to have the afternoon off and had me do the three P.M. coffee run and then clean the bathroom after.

  I’m not stupid. I also won’t let him win.

  So, I made sure everyone had a biscotti piece to go with their takeout cup. And I ensured that the stainless was polished until you could have used the goddamn cistern as a mirror. The employee facilities have never smelt so fresh—thanks to Devon for the use of his oil burner. Not that he knows yet.

  “Sure.” I smile sweetly. “I’ll phone him now to check what time is best.”

  The twitch is barely perceptible thanks to the Botox around Devon’s eyes, but I catch it. “Excellent.” He spares Charles a look and then retreats to the safety of his office.

  “He’s got it in for you, good.” Chucky scoots across on his chair.

  “How much longer you think?” I push my phone aside and use the free space on my desk to shake out the assortment of hard wrapped candies from my top drawer. “I wonder what the ultimate goal is. Break me? Or get me to approve the use of my article.”

  Charles smiles. “Maybe both?”

  I pop a peach flavored square into my mouth. “You might be right.” I case out his computer and find the monitor resting on the company webpage. “You want to clean out my hard drive while I’m gone?”

  His gaze darkens, and he hurries back to his spot. “I thought we went over this the other day?”

  “We did.” I shrug, selecting another candy. “I still think it’s worth the risk.”

  “You need to focus on what’s important,” he grumbles, making a couple of clicks with his mouse before turning back to face me. “Get back on side with the boss.”

  I pshhaw his way, picking out a last candy before sliding the rest back into the drawer. “What’s he going to do?”

  As though on cue, Devon emerges from his office and claps three times to gain everyone’s attention. Heads pop up like meerkats in the desert, eyes on the man in charge.

  “I have an announcement to make.”

  One of our columnists slides her chair to where she can see better. As though visually receiving whatever he says next will make it better.

  “The past week, I’ve been working on a surprise for you all.” He turns his head to smile at his assistant. “A task to keep it quiet when the news is so exciting, but Kaitlyn has done well in assisting me with this.”

  His lap-dog grins. If she had a damn tail, she’d wag it. It’s disgusting.

  “What do you think it is?” I whisper to Chucky out the corner of my mouth.

  “Ssh.” He bats a limp wrist my way and then stands, folding his arms.

  What the fuck? Even my best girlfriend wants to hear and see every word come from our illustrious leader’s mouth. Ugh.

  “As of a few minutes ago, we are now the new lease-holders of a space that seems as though it were tailor-made for us.” He clasps his hands before him, closing his eyes briefly as though thanking God. “A new space in the heart of what we do: Detroit.”

  “Detroit,” I gag out. “What the hell?”

  A general commotion erupts while everyone speculates and fantasizes with their neighbor. Half the room looks excited at the idea, while the others all stare blankly at everything and nothing—like me.

  “We will begin the transition to our new home this week. A better home for Better Beats.” Devon chuckles at his lame joke. “The first step will be finalizing what the new shape of our offices will be.”

  “Will we have actual workspaces?” our copy editor calls out.

  Our boss smiles salaciously. “I didn’t mean the fit-out when I said new shape.” His gaze roams the room until it lands entirely—and I mean fucking squarely without a shadow of a doubt—on me. “I meant the shape of our workforce.” Discord rumbles through the room. He lifts his hands to silence everyone before he continues. “I understand this is alarming, but rest assured, the losses will be minimal. There is more than enough room for everyone; I want the strongest team we’ve got when we hit the ground running.” Again, his gaze drifts my way. “If you’ve worked for the past twelve months diligently, then you needn’t worry.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat, but I don’t look away. He doesn’t deserve my submission. I’ve worked my goddamn ass off for his company. If he thinks denying him the chance to make a bigger name for himself through unfair accusation is paramount to being a traitor of the company, then string me up.

  I’d rather be unemployed than untrustworthy.

  Even if it scares the bejesus out of me.

  “Detroit.” Charles slaps his hands together, bringing fingertips to rest on his bottom lip. “We’re moving to the birthplace of progressive sound.”

  I roll my eyes, ass hitting my chair hard enough to make the back protest. “Seattle would have been better. Or somewhere in California.”

  He screws his face up, plopping into his wheely chair. “Look a gift horse in the mouth, why don’t you?”

  I lean forward and lower my voice. “You saw the way he looked at me.”

  “Not really.” Charles turns back to his work, hand atop the mouse.

  “Come on. He stared right at me when he eluded to laying people off.”

  I get a shrug of Chucky’s shoulders—from behind. “I think you saw what you wanted to see.”

  My mouth hangs open; brow screwed downward. Is he for real?

  “Jeanie.”

  I damn near shit myself before turning to face Devon.

  “Have you phoned Mike yet?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was about to when you came out with your announcement.”

  He nods, regarding me down his nose. “Well, get on to it before the day’s all but over, okay?”

  “Sure.” I resist the urge to salute him with a stiff hand and stomp one foot. Fucking dictator.

  I’d leave now. Save him the task, but the hard truth is I need something behind me to survive while I either search for a new job or establish my own brand. And after paying Mole, I have nothing. Not a goddamn cent.

  Devon retreats to his office, Charles busily clicking away behind me. The office returns to normal—half working while the other half socialize. He could get the magazine out with just as much content with half as many employees. But the vibe suits what Devon wants. It’s no secret he envies the big Silicon Valley giants, the way they incorporate mindset and wellbeing into the workplace. I wouldn’t be surprised if flexible work hours are part of the new “shape.”

  I lift the desk phone and enter Mike’s number from the list tacked to my short wall. Behind the safety of my monitor, I line up my mobile and open a thread to Kelly simultaneously.

  Devon announced the office is relocating to Detroit. I don’t think I’m going.

  “Guitar Guild, Mike here.”

  “Oh, hey, Mike. It’s Jeanie from Better Beats.” Kelly returns the thread. Why not? Detroit could be a cool change. “Devon wanted me to pop over and discuss the change to your advert today. When would suit you?”

  “Really?” He sounds perplexed. “I only want one line changed. We can do it over the phone; you don’t need to hassle yourself with the travel across town.”

  “Are you sure?” I peek at Charles in my periphery to make sure he isn’t eavesdropping. “I’ll note it down.”

  I don’t think the d
ecision is up to me. I end my message to Kelly with a flat-mouthed emoji.

  “Real simple, Jeanie. I just need the line saying we’re open seven days to state Tuesday to Saturday.”

  “Consider it done.” I scribble the note on a scrap of paper. “Decided to take weekends?”

  I’m on break in ten. Call me.

  “A case of having to. Agnes isn’t so well. We need a day free to book treatments.”

  I wish I hadn’t asked. Not because I don’t care, but because what can I do? “I’m sorry to hear that.” His wife, Agnes, has helped so many new artists get their foot in the door with loaned guitars and extended credit. It’s always the good ones.

  “She’s tough. We’ll get through it.” He laughs weakly. “It’s only a temporary change.”

  “Well, I’ll get right on it.”

  “Thanks, Jeanie.”

  I hang up, my pithy complaints about Detroit—or lack of Detroit—put sharply into perspective. My college professor stated that I was too goal orientated. He made it sound like an affliction to be one-track minded when going after what you want. It wasn’t I stepped out into the real world and got my first job that I learned the hard way how dangerous that could be. When you’re zeroed in on your dreams and goals in life, you miss a lot.

  Like spending time with loved ones.

  I’m heading out of the office. Call you as soon as I can.

  I fire off the message to Kelly and then rise from my seat. “I’m out to see Mike.”

  Charles raises a hand in acknowledgment.

  “If the train’s busy, I might be a while.”

  “Don’t hurry back,” he teases. “I’m sure we can manage without you.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Toby

  “Outta My Mind” – Des Rocs, The Cobra

  "Play that again." I reach across and adjust my laptop, Emery on a live call with his bass. The past week I've made it my sole damn purpose in life to get lost in the whole reason for the current state of my head and heart. I woke in a sweat this morning, sickened that yet again I'd seen her in my dream. Freud says that the dream state mind is unafraid to touch on the subjects the conscious opt to avoid. If that's the case, then Jeanie is deeper in than I realized.