by Tracey Ward
“Already looking for me to die, huh, son?” Dad chuckles. His hands are on the agreement, but his eyes are on me. He smiles hopefully. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to pass any of this on to anyone else. I just want what’s due to me for my work. You can understand that, can’t you?”
I bite my tongue. Literally, it’s between my teeth being held captive. If I don’t, it’ll lash out at him, demanding what part of my success he seriously thinks he deserves. The ‘collaborations’ he’s suing me over were nothing but half-assed attempts to be civil with him when my mom begged me to try. He’s talentless. He’s an idiot, and I want nothing more right now than to tell him so.
But my mom wouldn’t want me to. No matter how much I’ve always hated his attitude toward my success and my career – the jealousy that oozed off him every second of every day, the way he tried to take credit for my very existence by reminding everyone who would listen that he ‘made me’ – he was still her husband. He was her friend, her rock, and, when she got sick, he was her caretaker. Twenty-four-seven. He was a shit father to me, but he was good as gold to her. It’s his only redeeming quality, but now that she’s dead, so is he, as far as I’m concerned.
“We understand a need to protect one’s intellectual property,” Greg agrees diplomatically. “Which is why Mr. Ryker is also insisting that you sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement regarding this settlement.”
My dad frowns down at the paperwork in front of him. Even if it was written in crayon using monosyllabic words, he wouldn’t understand it. “What does that mean?”
David sits up straight, coughing into his hand. “He means you can’t ever talk about this. The details of this agreement can’t leave this room.”
“You mean I can’t tell anyone I wrote those songs.”
“Co-wrote,” Grant corrects coolly. “And, no. You can’t tell anyone.”
“So, wait. I’ll get the money but none of the credit?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No,” I interrupt deeply, my voice rising from somewhere inside me. Somewhere dark and angry. “He wants the fame. He wants to walk out of here and tell everyone that he wrote chart topping songs. He’ll never have any fame of his own, so he’s trying to steal mine.”
Dad holds up his hand to me. “Now wait a minute, Jace. I’m not stealing anything. We’re agreeing that I helped you write those songs. That’s what these papers say, right?”
“They say whatever it takes to get you to fuck off.”
Grant turns toward me in his chair. “I thought we said you weren’t going to speak.”
I lean back, holding up my hands in surrender. Gladly tapping out.
Dad turns to Eric. “Is this what we agreed to?”
“The NDA has been on the table but we didn’t agree to it yet. I was hoping we could throw that part out.”
“It’s a non-negotiable,” Greg assures him firmly.
Eric frowns at him. He shuffles the contract in his hand, flipping quickly through the pages. “Everything else looks great, Alan,” he tells my dad. “The settlement amount is fair.”
“I would say it’s more generous than fair,” Grant argues.
“The future royalties alone will keep you comfortable for the rest of your life. More than comfortable. And if Jace’s career continues to rise, so will your payments. Signing an NDA is a small compromise at this point.”
Not for him it’s not, I think bitterly.
I watch my old man squirm in his seat. He’s unhappy with how this is going. They don’t know him at all if they think he’ll be satisfied with the money. It’s never been about that, not completely. He got a decent sum when my mom died. He’s not hard up for cash. It’s the credit he wants. It’s the recognition. The fame he could never get on his own. If he could latch himself onto mine, he’d be instantly validated. He could wear that crown all over town, telling everyone what a musical genius he is. Always has been. But with that NDA, that dream dies. His crown is stripped from his head and he’ll disappear into oblivion, just another wealthy man in a town full of wealthy men. A nobody, just like he always has been.
He looks at me with sad eyes. It’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen, and it pisses me off that it makes me twinge inside. I feel a pang of guilt, of empathy.
Un-fucking-believable.
“You’re not going to give in on this, are you, Jacey?” he asks softly.
I roll my tongue inside my mouth, my jaw flexing tightly. I shake my head in one stiff movement. “No.”
He nods slowly, his face lowering over the contract. We all watch him pretend to read it. He skips to the page with the numbers on it; the part he understands. He’ll be rich. That’s something, right? That could give him what he needs to get his own album out there. He could produce it himself with the king’s ransom we’re paying him. And he’s still my dad. He can drop my name all over L.A. and see what doors it opens for him.
And when he falls flat on his face the way he always does, he can see who the real talent in the family is.
“Okay,” he mutters dejectedly. He holds his hand out to Eric. “If you think it’s a good deal, I’ll sign it.”
“I think that’s the right move, Alan.”
David offers his pen. “I agree. This is a very fair deal, NDA and all.”
I watch impassively as he takes the pen in his thick fingers. He hovers it over the paper, hesitating. Finally, he takes a deep breath and scribbles his name across the line at the bottom. Eric and David show him where else to sign, where to initial, reminding him when he gets to the NDA that if he breaks this part of the contract, he loses everything. He’ll owe me all of the money back and any future payments will be stopped immediately. He’ll be ruined.
Alan nods silently in understanding. He’s not looking at me anymore.
The paper makes its way across the table back to me. Greg offers me a pen, leading me through the document the same way the boys took my dad through it. I sign it quickly, without thought. Without emotion. When I slide it back to Greg, I don’t feel anything. No sympathy or regret.
“That’s it,” Greg reminds the room. “Once we leave through that door, this is a dead issue. Neither side is legally allowed to discuss the terms of the settlement. Understood?”
I nod once. Alan nods several times, his head bobbing like he can’t make it stop.
“Good.” Greg stands, offering his hand to the men across the table. “Thank you, gentleman. My office will send over copies of the contract this evening.”
“Thank you.”
“Thanks. It was a pleasure working with you.”
“Jacey.”
I ignore my dad’s voice. I’m already up out of my chair, stepping behind Grant to head for the door. My hand is on the knob when he says:
“Your mom would have wanted us to be better than this.”
I clench my hand around the cold steel until the tendons in my hand stand out under my skin. It looks thin pulled over my bones, like it could tear. Like it could split wide open at any second.
“She would have wanted us to stay close,” he continues. “That’s all she ever wanted.”
“Well, she’s gone,” I grind out.
“We owe her more. We should at least try to act like a family. Not force each other to sign these NBAs or whatever it is to keep each other quiet, actin’ like we don’t even know each other.”
“I don’t know you. And you never bothered to get to know me.”
“Cut me some slack, son. I was bringing up a boy in Hollywood. That ain’t easy. You were with those producers more than you were with your mom and me. We did the best we could.”
“She did the best she could to raise me,” I remind him, turning slowly. “You did the best you could to follow in my wake, trying to leap frog me every chance you got. You wanted to be the fucking Cyrus’, but the problem is that you don’t have any goddam talent! You’re a loser! A never-was! And all you ever did with me was try to latch onto the fame
! You think I don’t know that you tried to get signed on with my label a million times while I was growing up? That you pitched Christmas specials and Halloween specials every year, trying to get on stage with me?”
“I was trying to bond with you.”
“You were trying to use me!” I snap, stumbling a step toward him, propelled by my anger.
His lawyers shrink in close around him protectively.
Alan shakes his head, his eyes heavy with sadness. “No, that’s not it. I just wanted to be close to you. I’ve always been so proud of you.”
“Jealous,” I laugh bitterly. “Not proud. You wanted my life and this was your last shot at stealing it.” I grab the door handle again, yanking it open. “Sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
“Jace!”
“Don’t follow him, Alan,” I hear David warn. “It’s over.”
Footsteps follow me out the door. They’re hurried but not running. They’re also not cowboy boots. I know it’s Grant without looking.
“Get me on a flight back to New York tonight,” I tell him briskly.
“You haven’t even been to your apartment. You don’t want to—”
“New York. Tonight.”
“Alright, but what’s the rush?”
I stab the elevator call button. It burns green as jade around the black button. It looks like an eye. A brilliant green, gilded eye staring innocently back at me.
“I have a rehearsal to get to in the morning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Greer
He’s not supposed to be here, I think anxiously. He said he wasn’t going to be here.
He also said he was going to call and he didn’t, so his word isn’t worth much. He’s erratic, totally unpredictable. More proof as to why I need to keep my distance from him.
It’s easier said than done. I work with him. I’m being paid to be in this studio with him, watching him dance. Listening to him sing. What I’m not being paid for is meeting his eyes in the mirror, feeling my face and body burn as he devours me with his gaze. He’s not shy about it. He doesn’t try to hide how he feels. At least, how he feels about my body. It’s written all over his face when he watches me dance. When he walks past me, adjusting my stance with his huge hands on my small waist that linger and burn me clean through.
“A little slower,” he tells me quietly, his body behind mine. “Don’t be so eager to cross the stage. The song is slower than it used to be. You’re reacting to what you remember, not what you’re hearing.”
I nod mutely.
He squeezes my sides before moving on, talking to Tim behind me.
My breathing resumes, stuttered and faltering in my chest.
Cam nudges me gently. “You okay?”
I force a smile. “Of course. Yeah.”
He’s not buying it. He’s also decent enough not to call me on it.
I’m at war with myself. My body wants so many things that my head can’t handle. That my heart can’t fathom. But it wants those things so desperately, so viscerally, that they’re impossible to ignore. I can’t control the way my body ignites whenever Jace is close. I can’t stop my stomach from trembling at his touch or my heart clenching when he speaks. I can’t deny the way I want him. The way I need him; not just his body but him. Every last piece of him, all the way down to the furrow between his brow that says he’s struggling too. With something bigger than me, something that he can’t get away from, no matter how fast he moves. He’s haunted and I want nothing more than to help him. To protect him.
It’s a weird feeling for a runaway to have. I usually feel so painfully vulnerable, I can’t even imagine helping someone else. And I am afraid, there’s no denying that, but for once the fear is taking a back seat to desire. The desire to touch him, taste him, shelter him in the small, fragile confines of myself. I’m not crazy enough to think he’d want that from me, but I want to give it to him just the same. No matter how frightening the thought is.
It’s a war I’m winning, but also losing.
“That’s it, everyone!” Danny announces with a sharp clap of his hands. “We’ll see you next week. Remember – rehearse, rehearse, rehearse! If you think you’ve rehearsed enough—”
“Rehearse again!” we finish for him.
He laughs, throwing his fist in the air triumphantly. “My people! Thank you! Yes! Have a good night. Get some sleep. And what?”
“Rehearse!”
“I love it.”
Jace laughs as he clasps hands with Danny. They pull each other into one of those bro hugs where they clap each other on the back, their hands gripped between them like a buffer. Jace looks happy as he speaks in Danny’s ear. Danny laughs, nodding his head in agreement.
“You ready?” Cam asks. He’s holding out my bag to me.
I smile, taking it up on my shoulder. “I have to pee.”
“You want me to wait for you?”
“You mean you don’t have a dinner date? Or a lunch date? Or some reason to run away as fast as you can?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, looking down his nose at me. “You got something on your mind?”
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“I don’t know. What do you think you know, because you obviously think you know something?”
I glance around us, making sure no one is in ear shot. Naomi and Tim are heading for the door. Clara is already a ghost, out of the show for good. She dropped out after the first day. Danny said she didn’t believe that they were serious when they told her it was a one-show gig. She thought she’d be kept on as one of Jace’s dancers after it was over. When it was made clear that that wasn’t true, she got pissed and walked out on the whole thing.
I can’t decide if she was overly-confident or an idiot assuming she’d be kept on. I’m sure if she knew my situation, she’d call me an idiot, so fair’s fair. Girl’s a moron.
“I heard you,” I whisper fervently to Cam. “The night you left the bar to chase after Samantha, I came home and heard you inside the apartment.”
Cam’s face falls slightly. It’s a slump in degrees, starting with his eyes. “What did you hear?”
“You getting your rocks off. And Samantha.”
“Samantha?”
I pause, frowning. “Yeah. Samantha. She was—Wasn’t she with you?”
Cam scrubs his hand under his nose, looking around the room. “No. That wasn’t Samantha.”
“I saw her leaving, though. It was a blond. She looked just like—” It hits me then. It hits me hard, like a slap in the face. “Oh fuck.”
“Now what do you think you know?” Cam asks carefully.
“Eve?!” I whisper furiously. “You’re fucking Eve again?”
“Was,” he corrects emphatically. “I was fucking Eve, and it was only that one time.”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t judge or anything.”
“Come on, Cam,” I plead. “You can’t do this to yourself again.”
“I told you, it was one time. I fucked up.”
“No, really?”
“Sarcasm. Helpful.”
“Well, what the fuck?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“I think it’s a goddam nightmare.”
He winces. “Okay, that part is what you think, but I didn’t fuck up the way you think.”
“How then?”
Cam takes my arm, leading me to the edge of the room. It’s emptying out. Only Jace and Danny are left in the other corner talking quietly over the table.
“Samantha and I…” Cam begins, searching for the right words. “We’ve been… we’ve been kind of dating lately.”
“Samantha doesn’t date.”
“Okay, well, we’ve been sleeping together lately.”
“Before or after you slept with Eve?”
Cam’s face darkens. “Both.”
I smack him hard in the chest. The sound echoes through the studio, grabbing Jace and Danny’s attention.
“Ow! Damn!” Cam shouts, rubbing his chest.
“You douche.”
“I know.”
“You cheated.”
“Not exactly. Samantha and I, we weren’t exclusive. She was sleeping with other people too. But she found out about that night with Eve, and she blew up. She’s not talking to me anymore.”
“How long has this thing with Samantha been going on?”
“I don’t know. A few months maybe?”
“And you’re only just now telling me?”
“We agreed not to tell anyone.”
“And Eve just happened to show up out of nowhere that night? Or did you call her, Cam?”
“No!” His face is disgusted. “I never called her. I couldn’t find Samantha so I went home. Eve was there waiting for me. She said she wanted to talk. I let her upstairs and things just happened. I know it’s fucked, but I couldn’t stop myself. She threw herself at me like nothing was ever wrong between us and I messed up.”
“She told Samantha, didn’t she?”
“No, but I did.”
I smack his chest again. Harder this time.
“Shit!”
“You idiot,” I lament. “Why would you tell Samantha?”
“I don’t know, Greer. To be honest?”
“Idiot.”
“It didn’t go well.”
“What a surprise.”
“Again with the sarcasm.”
“What do you want me to say? Good job?”
“How about, ‘tough break’?”
“Idiot,” I repeat.
“Not helpful.”
“Samantha told Eve you were sleeping together,” I muse, piecing it all together. “That’s why Eve showed up out of nowhere. She wanted to take back the toy Samantha tried to play with, like a jealous kid on a playground.”
