by R. M. Lynn
“My publicist thinks we need a writer,” he continues. “We don’t do writers. I write. Noah writes. Fuck, even Dylan’s written a few. But Girardi thinks having a female writer will help expand our fan base. I agreed, but the only other writer I’d hire is you. I know you’re good, and I know you deserve the chance.”
“This has to be professional, Kyler, or I won’t do it,” I tell him. “I mean it. I don’t want to talk to you about anything other than work. Okay?”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Professional. Got it.”
I sigh and close my eyes. I hear him clear his throat, and hesitantly, I meet his eyes again.
“I just would like to point out the unprofessionalism of you hiding from me in the bathroom,” he murmurs with a slight smirk.
I narrow my eyes at him and huff. “Maybe I really had to pee.”
“Doubtful. After you,” he replies with a smirk and opens the bathroom door for me.
I follow him back to conference room and sit across from Don again. Kyler sits between us at the head of the table and pulls my portfolio to him. He looks over my resume but doesn’t focus on it for too long. I watch as his eyes roam over my songs. I only included four that I haven’t sold to anyone else before. His eyes narrow slightly, and I know he knows. He knows they’re about him. In my defense, he was never supposed to see them.
“Are these the songs you’re proposing we use?” Kyler asks, his voice low, as he lifts his eyes to mine.
I bite my bottom lip before replying, “If you like them, we can use them. Otherwise, I have a lot more. I’m also able to work with you guys in writing totally new ones. I’ll just need the proper equipment.”
“We have the equipment,” Mr. Girardi pipes in. “Look where you are, sweetheart.”
“Enough,” Kyler growls at him before looking back to me. “When will you be available to go over some things? I’d like to meet with the guys, too, and we can get this thing moving.”
“Um, whenever is fine,” I tell him. “I don’t have anything going on.”
“I’m meeting with them after this meeting,” Kyler informs me. “I’ll talk with them, see what works, and get back to you. Sound good?”
“Great,” he replies and looks at Don. “You contact my attorney and get the contracts going. I’m giving you permission to borrow Holly.” His eyes move back to mine. “Once everything’s drawn up, Alivia, we’ll get the shit signed, and we can work on the next album. If you’re looking for anything specific when it comes to payment, let Girardi here know. He’s under strict instruction to give you whatever you want.”
“That’s, um, a bit-”
“Girardi,” Kyler interrupts me and stands from the table. “Send me her contact information. Call Fox. Do your fucking job, and try not to sexually harass her, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Don mumbles meekly.
“Good to see you, Liv,” Kyler murmurs as he heads for the door. “I look forward to working with you. And I really do like the hair.”
That was definitely not a professional statement. He knows it, too, because he smirks at me before leaving the room.
“For the record,” Don mutters and clears his throat, “I’ve never sexually harassed anyone.”
I raise an eyebrow at him and reply, “Don’t go out of your way to convince me, Don.” I lean my elbows onto the table and smile. “Now, let’s talk business.”
◆◆◆
Chapter Fifteen
Kyler
“So, it went well then?” Noah asks me as he sits at the mixer panel in front of the glass windows of the recording studio.
We have three studios in our building, and Violet Lane has first dibs on most of the time slots for them. Noah wrote a song and wanted us to record it. Hence the meet up for today. I know Alivia is probably still in the building working with Girardi and Fox on a contract. I’m apprehensive to even talk about her knowing she could walk in at any moment. It’s unlikely she even would, but still.
“Yeah, it honestly could have been a shit ton worse,” I tell Noah as I lean back onto the black leather couch next to Dylan and Oliver.
Leaning against the wall of the small space, Ayden asks, “How did she look? I mean, when she saw you?”
“Like she wanted to either punch me in the dick or throw up,” I answer, which makes them all laugh.
“Shit, well, I don’t doubt it,” Oliver adds. “You really did a number on her.”
I run a hand through my hair and glare at him. “Yeah, no shit. Thank you for reminding me. I appreciate it.”
“Well, it’s true, man,” Dylan states. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on her face when she walked out of your room after you told her.”
“Alright, look,” I snap, my jaw clenching in anger. “I don’t want to talk about it. It happened years ago. I can’t do anything about it now. Alright? So, forget it.”
“Mom invited me to dinner tonight,” Noah shares, changing the subject. “She wants me to just come to your place. That cool?”
I give him a nod and mutter, “Yeah, that’s fine. Lucy will like that.”
“I haven’t seen the little shit in a while,” Ayden says with a smirk. “You used to bring her around here a lot more. What happened to that?”
“Paparazzi,” I answer. “They hang outside all fucking day, and I don’t want her in the tabloids. Not when she’s getting older, and she’ll start school and shit.”
“How very mature and fatherly of you, Ky,” Oliver says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “I try. She’s also just easily distracted. She can’t sit down for very long. When I’m in the box I can’t pay attention to what she’s doing out here.”
They all nod knowingly. I can’t hide the side effects of what my kid’s mother did to her. Not anymore. It pisses me off, the things Lucy will have to struggle with for the rest of her life, but I know it could be a hell of a lot worse than it is. So, in a way, that gives me some solace.
“You guys come to dinner, too, if you want,” I offer to the others. “Mom won’t mind.”
“I can’t,” Ayden tells me. “I have a date, my friends.”
“With that Victoria’s Secret model?” Dylan wants to know. “The one you met at that award show?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,”
“Good for you,” Noah says with a chuckle. “She’s hot as hell.”
Ayden grins and adds, “She’s fucking killer in bed, too.”
I shake my head with a chuckle as Oliver says, “I’d go, but my sister is flying in, and I told her I’d pick her up from the airport.”
“I might come by,” Dylan cuts in. “I got nothing better to do.”
“Sounds good, just let me know,” I tell him.
I look him over, watch his hands as he fidgets slightly. Dylan has been acting a bit squirrely lately. I haven’t brought it up because I don’t want the other guys to flip out on him, but I’m really hoping it isn’t because he’s using something other than weed. I really don't want to hear anything from Noah specifically. When it’s time for work, he’s usually ready for anything, but on any other day, he’s just not himself.
“You good?” I mumble lowly so only he can hear me as the others begin to gather their equipment for the box.
“I’m fine,” he retorts immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem a bit fidgety is all,” I inform him. “So, I’ll ask again… Are you good?”
Dylan stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m fine. Will you just let it go?”
“No need to get aggressive,” I say in regard to his angry tone. “I was just asking.”
“Are we ready?” Dylan asks Noah, dismissing me. “Want us in there?”
“Yeah, you can get in the box,” Noah tells us all and swivels his chair toward the panel.
I follow the others into the box with my guitar. Once the equipment is hooked up, I look at Noah through the glass as he puts his head phones on over his ears. I sl
ing the guitar over my shoulder and put my mouth up to the hanging microphone so Noah can hear me.
“Ready?” I ask him.
He gives me a nod. I lift a hand to Ayden behind me, giving him the signal to start up on the drums. We all begin to play together, a slow song that Noah wrote for a mystery girl that we’ve yet to figure out. Dylan sings lead on this one, as the key is higher, and I take backup. I fumble over the words as soon as the door to the studio opens. Alivia and Girardi walk in, but immediately begin to back pedal. It’s too late, though, the take is already messed up.
“For fuck’s sake, Girardi,” I see Noah mouth.
“Sorry, guys,” I mutter to the rest of the band.
Seeing her in my work place was one thing, and now that’s she standing in the place where I literally create my work, I feel unnerved. Alivia looks through the glass at us, and Dylan raises a hand in a small wave. She smiles and waves back. I set my guitar down and exit the box, standing a few feet away from Alivia.
“So sorry, Mr. Parks,” Girardi says to me immediately. “I didn’t realize you guys were in the middle of the session.”
“The light is on,” Noah snaps and raises his hand toward the top of the door. “Red means stop, fuckwit.”
“Relax, Noah,” I cut in. “I messed up the set anyway.”
“Because they walked in when they shouldn’t have,” my brother argues.
I raise a hand to silently remind him to settle. Alivia looks guilty, and I meet her eyes.
“Taking a tour?” I ask softly.
“Yes, but it wasn’t my idea,” she insists.
I smirk as Noah says, “See, Girardi, already throwing you under the bus. Now, get the fuck out of here. Good to see you, Liv.”
She gives him a small smile and murmurs, “Good to see you, too, Noah.”
“My apologies again, Mr. Parks and Mr. Lawrence. It won’t happen again,” Girardi mumbles before pushing through the door.
Alivia looks at me, emotionless, before following him out. Noah turns back to the panel with a shake of his head.
“Fucking moron,” he mumbles to himself.
“She looks good, doesn’t she?” I ask quietly, even though I don’t need an answer.
Noah looks up at me from his chair and says, “Careful, Kyler. You know how it ended last time. You have a kid now to think about.”
“Thanks, Mom, I’ll keep that in mind,” I snap and head back into the box without another word.
After two hours in the studio with the guys, we finally call it a night and head our separate ways. Noah, however, gets in his car and follows me home. I pull my car into the garage, Noah parks in the driveway, and we walk up to the garage’s connecting door together. I hear the crying and screaming before I even walk into the house.
“Yikes, man,” Noah chuckles out. “Sounds pretty bad.”
“Yeah, maybe we should turn back around and head to your place,” I joke but only partly.
He shoves me inside with a laugh, but I think he instantly regrets it when the screaming only gets louder. We find my daughter sprawled out on the kitchen floor sobbing and throwing a tantrum while my poor mother watches helplessly a foot away from her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask while looking between my mom and daughter. “What happened now?”
“She’s just in one of those moods,” Mom tells me.
I crouch down next to Lucy and rub her back as I murmur, “Baby, get up off of the floor. Why’re you so upset?”
I slip my hands under her arms, and she willingly lets me lift her off of my kitchen floor and into my arms while hers go around my neck. Her head hits my chest, her tears dampening my t-shirt. I stand, and her little legs wrap around my waist. I smooth her dark hair away from her face and try to look at her, but she quickly burrows back into my chest. She hiccups, but her sobbing begins to quiet.
“She missed you,” Mom whispers. “I tried to tell her you were on your way home, but she didn’t want to hear it.”
I rub Lucy’s back and kiss her temple. “I’m right here, baby,” I murmur to her. “Daddy’s got work, but I always come home, right?”
She nods against my shirt and sniffles. Noah looks us over before flashing Mom a smile and moving to give her a hug. He tries to give Lucy’s arm a squeeze, but she whines and yanks away from him all the while hiding her face in my neck.
“Alright, cranky,” I say to my daughter. “Why don’t I set up a movie for you, okay? Sound good to you?”
She doesn’t respond for a moment, but I finally get a small nod, and I take her to the living room. Once she’s settled with a Disney movie, I head back to the kitchen as my mom begins to pull pots and pans out to start dinner.
“Is this a common occurrence?” Noah asks with a smirk as I grab him a bottle of beer from the fridge.
“Pretty much,” I mutter as I crack my own open. “She just goes from zero to six hundred in a matter of seconds.”
“You know she can't help it,” Mom argues on behalf of my kid.
“I understand that, Mom,” I grumble. “You act like I haven’t been around the last four years. Like I don’t know.”
Mom never says it outright, and I know it makes her uncomfortable. I don't exactly enjoy talking about any and every problem my child has and will experience. The ADHD is the biggest and most visible problem Lucy has. However, as she's getting older, more behavioral issues have come up, and doctors say she'll likely have issues with conflict resolution and implusivity. Most recently, we've had to start carrying an inhaler because she's been showing signs of asthma. I know it isn't Lucy's fault, but I know who's fault it is. With it, all I can do is feel guilty. Putting the guilt aside is hard for me and my mother. My daughter didn't deserve it then, and all I can do is try to make the right decisions for her day by day.
“Well, I’ll say it’s a definite form of birth control for me,” Noah adds. “Holy shit, man.”
“That’s your niece you’re talking about,” Mom scolds him.
“Sorry,” Noah mutters sheepishly before looking my way. “Is Dylan stopping by?”
I shrug. “Not sure. He said he might, but I haven’t heard from him yet.”
“Daddy?” Lucy calls from the living room.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Noah and my mom before heading to the living room. Sitting down on the edge of the couch next to Lucy, I brush her out of her eyes and smile. “What’s up, baby? You feeling better now?”
She nods and whispers, “I colored today.”
“Yeah? You’re always coloring, huh?”
She nods again and looks up at the TV. Absentmindedly, she reaches for my hand. Her small fingers wrap around two of mine, and I give her a smile when she glances my way again.
“Love you, baby,” I whisper when she doesn’t say anything.
“Love you, Daddy,” she returns and leans into me.
I brush her hair away from her face once again before standing up from the couch and heading back to the kitchen. Noah passes me my beer, and I take a long chug.
“She’s feeling better?” Noah asks.
I nod and mutter, “Yeah, she’s okay. I think she just needed a little attention.”
“Honey, I want to again propose perhaps getting her into therapy,” Mom tries but doesn’t meet my eyes when she says it.
“She doesn’t need it right now,” I immediately argue. “I’ve taken her to every fucking doctor I can, and I’ve done what I can with what they’ve given me. She’s not emotionally disturbed, okay?”
“I never said she was,” Mom snaps back. “I’m just suggesting it as an outlet. She doesn’t know how to vocalize her feelings.”
“She’s four!” I shout, and immediately quiet down knowing Lucy can hear me. “She’s four, Mom. Four. I appreciate the input, but she’s fine. I've been to every appointment. I just need to keep an eye on it, okay? She doesn’t need that kind of shit right now.”
“I’m with him, Mom,” Noah mutters. “He’s the dad. She’s a child
. She’ll grow out of it. Every kid does.”
I know it’s wishful thinking, but I don’t correct him. Mom starts ranting off about being proactive, saying I should be prepared for when she becomes a teenager, in the event she doesn’t grow out of it. My jaw is clenched the entire time, and I will myself not to snap at her.
“I know you’re trying to help,” I say as calmly as I can. “But I need you to just stop. Okay?”
Mom gives me an apologetic look before turning back to the chicken she’s preparing for the oven. I’m fucking frustrated now, and I hate to feel that way towards my mother. It makes me angrier that she made me feel such a way all on her own.
“I’m going to go call Dylan,” I mumble and head for the sliding glass door that leads out to my deck. “I’ll see what he’s up to.”
Once I’m alone, I take a seat and press Dylan’s name in my contact list. It rings twice before he answers.
“Hey, man,” he says.
I scrub my hand down my face and mutter, “Hey, I wanted to see if you’re coming over or not.”
“Yeah, I can,” he tells me. “I can be there in ten minutes.”
I sigh. “Can you bring something?”
“Yeah, I got you,” he assures me. “How much?”
“Not that much,” I tell him. “I just need a bit to take the edge off. My mom is fucking freaking me out about my kid.”
“Yeah, I’ll bring something.”
“See you in a bit.”
Dylan arrives in time for dinner, and afterward, I tell him I’ll meet him on the deck once I put Lucy down. Noah goes out there with him, while my mom packs up her things to head home after apologizing to me for the millionth time. Once Lucy is in bed, I sing her the sun song, but this time she doesn’t fall asleep half way through.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I went to Lily’s today,” she shares, her eyes looking up at the ceiling while her hands fiddle with a stuffed elephant.
I reply, “Was it fun?”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else about it. Lily is the girl across the street. They’re the same age, and my mom is constantly putting playdates together for the two. Lily’s mom stays at home with her, so I think she appreciates my mom’s company just as much as Lucy appreciates Lily’s.
