by L. Philips
“Nah, I asked myself, what would Tess do?”
With a chuckle, I take out my phone and dial, making a quick call to Jon.
“Mr. Pierce.”
“Hey, want to meet me outside for a rumble?”
“Theo and I will be right there, sir.”
When I park, Theo and Jon are there to flank the sides of the Land Rover, keeping the crowd a safe distance from the car, ready to protect us if need be. Nate and I look at each other, a thousand thoughts passing between us in just one glance.
“Just keep walking, whatever you do. And let Theo do his job. If they grab on to you, he’ll deal with it. No need to throw punches when you’ve got a former Raiders linebacker covering you.” Nate’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, and it really is like the movies. Digital camera flashes can be just as intense as the old flashbulbs. If you get blinded, close your eyes for a few seconds. It goes away. And if all else fails, I’ve got you, Nate.”
Nate nods once, then looks out the window at the salivating mob. He turns back to me, a bit paler than before. “Let’s go.”
“Let me come around and get your door,” I say. Nate raises a brow and I shrug. “What? I like to play the part of the gentleman.”
Nate smirks. “You do a convincing job, paparazzi or otherwise.”
He leans forward and kisses me, and the flashing outside truly starts. It will be the next headline, I’m sure. Then it’s time.
Jon does a great job of shielding me while I get around the car to Nate’s side, where he and Theo provide a nice Secret Service–esque barrier with outstretched arms, trying to keep the crowd in line as I open the door for Nate. Though I can feel his quick pulse and the clamminess of his hand when I take it, Nate is the picture of grace and dignity as he climbs out of the tall vehicle. He takes his time, flashing a smile to some of the closer cameras before letting me draw him to me. We pause long enough to lock eyes, drawing a little strength from each other before walking the coals, so to speak. The flashing intensifies. The questions come at us so fast, shouted and demanding, that it’s hard to pick out a single one from the crowd. The ones I hear are predictable. Uncreative, really.
“Nate, have you forgiven the Pierce family for your father’s death?”
“Does this mean you believe Richard Pierce had nothing to do with Mick’s fall?”
“Mr. Pierce, is it true Nate only agreed to date you after you gave his father’s recordings back?”
“Mr. Grisheimer, is it true your father’s master recordings still exist?”
“Richie, what does your father think about your new relationship?”
“Rich, are you planning on a double wedding with your sister and Taylor Huffman?”
Well, I guess there are some new ones.
Nate does wonderfully, keeping close to both me and Theo and walking straight, hardly wincing at the flashing cameras, a slight smile on his face to disguise his annoyance and fear.
When we reach the door, we finally pause and turn around as if we’d rehearsed it. I hold up a hand and the throng quiets like magic. “We have time for one question.”
The cacophony of questions screamed at us in desperate tones is deafening, but it doesn’t matter. There’s really only one question to answer. I look to Nate, nodding for him to take it. He nods back, and as soon as he starts to speak, there’s silence again.
“It’s true that Richard was kind enough to give me my father’s recordings so that I could hear them, but there are no plans to release them at this time.” He smiles at me, and I smile back, and emboldened, Nate adds, “However, I can tell you . . . my father’s songs are works of art. He was every bit the genius he was promised to be.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from Nate. He’s radiant as the cameras flash all around us and questions are lobbed at us like grenades. I take his hand in mine and we both turn back toward Paradise’s front doors, ready for the next challenge.
* * *
***
Parker is waiting for us in the lobby. His face reveals equal parts panic and doom. Behind us, Jon and Theo have made sure not a single one of the cockroaches with a camera can get in, but they gather at the windows all around us, peering in nosily. The only sounds are their muffled voices through the glass. The lobby itself is eerily silent. Parker steps forward.
“Your father came home early because the deal in London fell through. He was already pretty angry, then he saw the headlines, so . . .” Parker puts a hand on each of my shoulders and bites his lip like he might be trying to keep in sobs. I feel like I’m a soldier marching off to battle and this is our last good-bye. “He is livid. Understatement. You may just want to get back in your car and drive to Tijuana.”
“I’m not running from this, Parker, but thank you for the concern.” I remove his hands from my shoulders and give him the most reassuring smile I can muster. “But if the worst happens, it’s been nice working with you, even if you do tell my sister everything.”
Parker has the decency to look a bit ashamed of himself. “I’m not sure how she does it, sir. Something about the way she winks at me. It’s magic.”
“It’s something like that.” I look back at Nate. “I suppose we should just head up to my father’s office and get it over with.”
“Will you need my assistance?”
I shake my head at Parker, who is more than a little relieved to be left out of it. “I think Nate and I can manage. Thanks.”
With a short good-bye, Parker flees.
“He’s a tad high-strung,” Nate remarks.
“He’s spent years working for my father. It’s a coping mechanism. Ready?” I nod toward the elevators, and Nate nods back. We step in. The ride up to the top of the building is silent, except for the thumping of my heart in my ears and Nate nervously drumming a beat on his thigh. The doors part to the luxury of my father’s office. Father is sitting at his desk, chair turned backward, staring out the window. It’s quiet in here too. There’s no ringing phones, no tapping on keyboards, and the staff are scarce.
I drop Nate’s hand and walk toward him. “Father?”
A moment passes with no response, then he turns in his chair. His expression is blank and detached. When he speaks, his voice is soft and utterly disappointed.
“I cannot believe that you would be so irresponsible.”
I lift my chin and look directly at my father, trying to keep my voice just as steady as his. “I wasn’t. We were in the middle of nowhere, talking to Nate’s stepmom about things that needed to be talked about.”
“I trusted you with those recordings.”
“And you can still,” I say as evenly as I can manage. “Nate and I, and Tonya, are the only people who have heard them, and they’re safe under lock and key in Nate’s house now.”
I look over at Nate and he confirms this to my father with a slight nod. My father studies Nate like he is some kind of insect he might need to smash with his Italian leather shoe.
“I want to see the contract.”
“He didn’t sign one. I didn’t write one,” I say, and flinch when my father’s face goes instantly purple with rage, but continue anyway. If I’m a dead man, I have nothing to lose. But if I can convince him, I’ve got everything to gain. “And I won’t. Nate should have his father’s music. So should Tonya.”
“Don’t you understand that I’m trying to protect them? Protect Mick’s image and his reputation?”
“I do, and I want to too,” I say. “But I think you were wrong about his music being unlistenable. I think it shows exactly what he was going through, but I also think it shows his genius.”
A muscle in my father’s jaw twitches. “And what, you’re going to leak it to the world through TMZ? You seem to be rather close with a few of their reporters.”
The remark is a little (okay, a lot) below the belt, but I ignore it and look to Nate. “I think t
hat should be up to Nate. It’s his dad’s legacy, not ours. And he should have control over that. The music should be in his hands, not in our glass case.”
“Please, Mr. Pierce. Let me have them.”
At Nate’s quiet plea, my father turns in his direction, truly looking at him, and suddenly, he changes. He softens a little around the edges, but his eyes are wide too, like he’s seen a ghost. It’s completely unsettling to see my father like that.
“You look like him,” Father says, speaking directly to Nate. “I couldn’t tell from the tabloid pictures, but looking at you now, you’re the spitting image of Mick, just cleaner cut. I could never convince him to cut his hair, though. Or give up the oversized flannel. His heroes were grunge rockers. I can’t imagine what he’d think of your suspenders.”
The corner of Nate’s mouth turns up. “And what do you suppose he would think of me falling in love with your son?”
My father hesitates, then after an excruciating pause says, “That, I couldn’t say. He lost all respect for me at the end, but then, he was having a difficult time in so many ways. I was just one of those ways.” Then, perhaps for the first time in Richard Pierce Sr.’s life, he lets his emotions get the better of him. “I’m sorry for my part in it, Nate. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for him. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you, too.”
Father furiously blinks and clears his throat, and he’s Richard Pierce once more: in control, impassive, stern.
“You know what I think about those masters.”
“I know, sir,” Nate answers.
Father nods once. “And I stand by it. But I think my son is right: the recordings should be yours. I’ll have Parker draw up something and relinquish the rights to them.”
“Th-thank you, sir,” Nate says, truly surprised. He glances at me cautiously. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I want anyone to hear those recordings, but Cameron thought it would be a good idea to maybe finish a song or two for him, as a tribute.”
“I see,” Father says. He glances down at his desk, notices a pen out of place, and angrily stuffs it into the gold-plated cup that holds twenty more pens just like it, all of them etched with Paradise’s logo. “And would that be included in the demo the two of you made at the Malibu house?”
My mouth flops open like a goldfish, the epitome of undignified. How on earth did he know already? It wasn’t the tabloids; they published photos of us kissing, not writing songs, after all. “Did Parker—”
Father looks amused and proud of himself, and although his arrogance irks me, the tension in the room has dissipated now that my father has some control again, and I’m oddly grateful for that.
“No. Parker was mum. Your twin, however, seemed eager to spill the beans.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t tweet it,” I grumble, and Nate snorts. I narrow my eyes at him, which only makes him snort again.
“She was only trying to help,” Father says. He gives me the barest hint of a smile. “Now, of course we will handle this like any prospective act. I’ll need the demo. Perhaps an actual audition. We can’t be too hasty with this. It has to be legit. Nepotism could hurt your reputation before you even have a chance to make one.”
There’s a whole discussion about nepotism and why, for sure, we cannot sign with Paradise that needs to be had, but right now I can only process one huge whopper of a revelation.
“Wait. You’re okay with this? You’re okay with me not wanting to work at Paradise?”
Father sighs. “Okay is not the word for it. But I figured this was coming. You and I have always been so different, Richie. I’m not surprised you’ve decided this isn’t the life you want.”
Nate’s hand slips into mine and he’s beaming at me, because if even my father knows that I’m not like him, then it must be true.
Father continues. “The way I see it, one of two things will happen. Either you will be successful, and I’ll have another great act on the Paradise roster, or you won’t, in which case, you’ll end up back here working for me anyway.” Father clears his throat. “Rich, the truth of it is, you can do anything you want to do. You’ve always been gifted like that. That’s why I know that if you want to run Paradise eventually, it will be in good hands. But I’ve also heard you singing in your room for years. This isn’t a passing phase like when you dyed your hair black or played Pokémon all day.”
“Oh my god. I literally do not know which thing to mock first,” Nate says, and I shoot him a look before turning back to Father.
“But Tess isn’t sure about Paradise either,” I say, as if I just can’t let him let me off without some sort of punishment.
“She’s agreed to keep working here and learning. She thinks it would be a great gateway into creating her own organization, and I agree.”
Again, I’m totally stunned. “That, I did not see coming. When did she agree to this?”
“About a week into my trip to the Emirates,” Father replies easily. “And of course, she’s anxious to acquire her brother as an artist, if he lives up to the hype.”
My father smiles, proud of himself for the teasing he’s giving me, but my heart sinks.
“About that . . .” I look to Nate and he squeezes my hand. It’s exactly the reassurance I need. “I don’t think we can sign with Paradise, Father. Even if you do find the demo worthy.”
Father pushes back from the desk. “Well. That, I did not see coming. Why do you feel that way, Rich? I can understand how you’d be hesitant, with the history here between Nate’s family and this company, but—”
“No, it’s not that,” Nate cuts in. “Dad was ill. I know that now. The history . . . I won’t say I can just forget it, but I think we can all learn from it, right? It’s just that if we sign with Paradise, Mr. Pierce, we’re afraid we won’t be taken seriously.”
“It’ll just be a rich guy giving his son a deal. No matter how good I am, no one will believe it was on my talent alone,” I say. “I hope you can understand that, Father. I want to do this on my own. I want to prove I’m good enough.”
My father crosses his arms over his chest, thinking. He takes so long thinking that I can literally hear my pulse in my ears, speeding up with each passing breath I take.
Then he clears his throat and says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you, Rich.”
I swear the bottom drops out of my world. “Really? You’re not mad?”
“I’m upset that we won’t be working together. But I understand.” My father stands. His face is determined, all business, the last few moments now firmly in the past. “I hope that when the time comes, you’ll let my people assist you with negotiations.”
I catch myself before I can wince. “Actually, I think we’d better do that on our own as well. But I’ll happily take recommendations for a management team.”
“And you’ll have our attorneys look over contracts before you sign them,” Father says. “And that’s me speaking as your father, not the president of a record company.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, smiling.
“Rich, Nathan, I hope you’ll let me hear this demo sometime soon.”
“Of course, Mr. Pierce,” Nate says. “Anytime.”
“Good,” Father says. “Now, however, I have to meet with marketing. I swear to you, I’m never leaving the country again. Everything goes to hell. Rich, we’ll speak soon. Nate, can I assume I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”
A family dinner invite. Father is really making an effort. Maybe it’s just his guilt, but I don’t care. It means he’s okay with Nate being in my life.
“I’d love to,” Nate says, grinning. Then Father pushes the button for his secretary on his desk phone and asks her what’s next on the schedule. I know one of Father’s classic dismissal moves when I see one, so I pull Nate into the elevator and into my arms as soon as the doors close. I squeeze tight enough to bruise his
ribs.
He chuckles breathlessly. “So how does it feel?”
“How does what feel?”
“How does it feel to stand up to your dad and earn respect instead of being disowned?”
I chuckle. “Good. It feels damn good. You know, he’s not so bad.”
Nate nods. “He seems reasonable, actually. And . . . regretful, at least about my father.”
“He does.” I snort. “And you got an apology. I swear, you could have knocked me over with a feather.”
Nate laughs. “Me too. But Cameron, about Dad’s masters . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. They mean so much to me to have. And it means more than I could ever tell you that you fought for me to have them.”
I pull him closer, and he wraps himself around me. “As long as we’re thanking each other . . . thanks for being here when I talked to him. And thanks for putting up with the paparazzi. And thanks for seeing me, actually me, and not just my family name.”
Nate looks at me for a moment, then presses his lips to mine. “You’re my partner. It’s what partners do. Now, we’d better get going if we want to polish some songs up before our meeting.”
I pull back, scrunching my face up at him. “What meeting?”
“The meeting with a producer at Somewhat Damaged,” Nate says, grinning in an infuriating I-know-something-you-don’t-know way.
The elevator doors open and we step out into the lobby. Jon and Theo are still keeping the paparazzi at bay, and they nod to me, letting me know they’re ready for round two. I turn back to Nate. I want answers before we run the gauntlet again.
“Nate, wait. Who arranged this? Parker? Or Tess? I thought we weren’t going to use Paradise connections.”
“We didn’t. We used mine.” Nate’s beaming now, so damn proud of himself. “It pays to know Travis Blake. Now, let’s go prepare to sell ourselves to the highest bidder. With your voice and my playing, we’re a hot commodity. They’re all going to love us.”
I laugh, delighted and surprised. “Of course they will. I love us too.”
