by Holly Hart
"I wanted to catch you two before we went into the meeting," he said quietly, looking only at me. I could tell that this conversation was primarily directed at me, not Alicia. "Fred's looking for any excuse to drop you. He needs a reason, so the last thing I need you to do is give him one, okay?"
"Got it." I grinned. "Chill, Mike – you worry too much. I'm a changed man. I'll be on my best behavior."
"You better be," he muttered. "Come on, it's time."
The long, glass boardroom table had space for twenty, and it wasn't hard to tell that the chair at the head of the table was being left for the CEO, Fred Peters. I had a sudden, overwhelming urge to sit down in it as soon as I saw it, and I could tell from the way that both Alicia and Mike's postures stiffened, they had noticed what I was looking at and were both holding their breath, praying that I wouldn't take it.
A year ago, I'd already been sitting down in a chair. Hell, even a month ago I'd barely have thought twice about it. After all, I was Clay Hunt, Atlantic Records' bestselling artist – didn't I deserve to sit there?
But I didn't. I didn't take it. I certainly felt the desire to establish my dominance over the odious CEO, felt it almost overwhelm me. But at no stage did I feel the urge to succumb to the desire. One side of the table was already clearly taken – three seats clearly delineated by stacks of paper and already laid-out notebooks, so I sat in an empty seat on the other, tapping my foot irritably on the floor to express my displeasure. Alicia and Mike let out deep breaths they'd been holding in, and I had to hide a smile.
"Did they really need to hold it here?" I joked. "What's Fred trying to prove?"
"You talking about me, Clay?" The Atlantic Records CEO sternly inquired as he strode into the room, closely followed by three suited flunkies, all bearing strained expressions on their faces.
"All good things," I replied with a broad smile. "I was just remarking on what a glorious spot for a meeting this is."
"I'm not sure you're going to like it as much by the end," Fred replied curtly. I bit back an equally curt response.
"Well, let's not start the meeting on a bad foot, eh?" Mike interjected, clearly doing his best to hold me back from putting my foot in his mouth. I wish I could tell him that, for Alicia's sake more than mine, I had no intention of putting a foot out of line.
"Hmm," Fred continued, "however you wish. I'm not sure it'll matter. Let's not beat around the bush – Atlantic Records is considering pulling Clay's EP."
I sat in stunned silence, and for once it was Alicia who got angry. "What about my contract?" she shouted across the table in an uncharacteristic fit of rage.
"Sit down, little girl," Fred replied dismissively. "Your contract isn't worth the paper it's written on. Unless of course," he continued, looking over the table inquiringly, "you've got the money to sue us? But," he looked her up and down dismissively, "looking at you, I really don't think that's something I need to worry about."
This really wasn't going to plan.
I had to make a choice – did I stick to my original plan of attack and keep my mouth shut, or did I say something and defend my woman?
Put like that, I didn't have a choice. Still, that didn't mean I had to carelessly throw myself into battle like the headstrong man I'd been before I met Alicia would have. I bit down on the rising tide of aggression that was flooding through my veins, closed my eyes and concentrated on the one thing I knew would undoubtedly calm me down – Alicia. I took several deep breaths and harnessed the tide of anger for good, turning it from an uncontrolled, red-hot burst of murderous rage to an ice cool, cold and focused hostility.
This wasn't the anger of a bad boy singer acting out, it was the ice cold calmness of the boardroom executive. If I had to fight Fred, I was going to do it on my terms, not his.
"She might not have lawyers," I heard myself say, surprised at how calm I sounded, "but I do, Fred."
"Why would you go to bat for her?" Fred said, wrinkling his nose dismissively. "How much is she worth to you, Clay? I'll pull every one of your albums if I have to."
"You'd sink Atlantic," Mike replied, stunned. "You still need Clay, even if you think you don't."
"We've run the numbers," Fred snarled. "We can take the hit. Look at the chart, Mike: Atlantic has three albums in the top ten, and new talent is dominating the top fifty. It's been a good month, and the truth is, we don't need Clay, not anymore."
I stood up sharply, and the screech of the metal legs of my chair dragging across the hard floor shocked the room into silence, killing Mike and Fred's spat immediately.
"Clay, what the hell are you doing?" Mike asked plaintively.
"I'm not going to sit here and have him," I replied, jutting my head at Fred with disgust, "sit here and talk about my fiancée like that. We're done."
"But she's—" Mike began. I shot him a hard look, and what he'd been about to say died in his throat.
"What do you mean, you're done?" Fred scoffed. "Sit down, young man."
I looked Alicia, watched as she silently begged me not to torpedo my entire career for her. And then I proceeded to do it anyway. She was worth more to me than a million dollars, more than ten, and certainly worth more than the ego stroke of sitting on top of the bestseller charts.
"No," I replied simply. "Pull my albums if you have to, but I'm not having this conversation. Atlantic isn't going to release our EP, because we aren't going to give you the files. Oh, and Fred?"
The Atlantic Records CEO raised his head, and I couldn't help but revel in the expression of shock on his face. I'd called his bluff, and he knew it. "Yeah?"
"If you have a problem with that, you know where to find my lawyers. Come on guys, let's go."
I kicked the chair and sent it spinning off behind me, clanging in the silent room until it finally came to a halt by the boardroom's glass wall. I extended my arm for Alicia, and she took it as though in a daze. Mike followed us out with his head in his hands. No one spoke a word until we were speeding back down towards the parking lot in the elevator.
"Clay, all you had to do was keep that temper of yours in check," Mike said in a horrified tone of voice. "He was never going to pull your albums, or the EP; it was just a negotiating tactic…"
"I know," I replied simply. Alicia looked at me in shock.
"Then why did you do it?" they exclaimed in harmony.
"I said already. No one's going to talk to Alicia like that in front of me and expect a damn cent from me. Understood?" I fixed Mike with a glare, making it absolutely clear that on this topic, he wasn't to fuck with me.
The elevator chimed as we reached the garage. "It's not just your career, Clay," Mike muttered, already striding angrily to his Mercedes. "It's ours, too."
Alicia and I walked to my BMW in silence. Neither of us broke it until we'd silenced the car's chiming reminder to fasten our seatbelts.
"Clay," she whispered, "how could you do that? This was all I'd ever wanted…" She didn't even sound angry – just disappointed, broken.
My stomach sank like a stone. I hadn't even considered that aspect – how could I be so stupid? I was certain that my career wasn't over: the moment they heard I was back on the market, a dozen labels would be clamoring to sign me up, especially when they heard the quality of what Alicia and I were producing. But I'd made my decision alone and in the heat of the moment, without so much as a courtesy call to the beautiful woman sitting to my right.
"Alicia, trust me – it's not over. Atlantic was never going to give our EP the support it needed to succeed. We needed to find a new label for it anyway. You saw how Fred was in there, didn't you?"
She nodded back doubtfully.
"Tell me, honestly – did he have the look of a man who would spend a cent more than the absolute bare minimum on this record?"
"I guess not…"
"No. He hates me – and that's my fault, I know. But he's hated me long before that meeting. Liss, I need to know if you'll stay with me?" I begged. "I can make this right – I promi
se."
"I couldn't leave you now, Clay – none of this changes a thing," Alicia said with wet eyes. "Especially not after seeing you with those kids this morning…"
And then I had it – a flash of divine inspiration that told me how I could prove myself to Alicia. All that talk of lawyers upstairs must have been percolating in my brain.
"Will you let me try and give you a kid, Alicia?" I begged, my face lighting up with the neatness of the idea. "If it turns out you can't have one, then you've lost nothing. But why waste the chance, however small it is?"
"Clay," she sighed, "we've been through this. I love you, and I can't deny you're amazing with kids, but raising a child is very different than turning up and giving them presents. How can I trust that you'll be there for us?"
"You don't need to," I said with certainty. Judging by the doubtful look on Alicia’s face, she wasn't convinced by my confidence alone. "No, hear me out."
"Okay…" she replied, lingering over the word. I could tell that she wanted nothing more than to say yes, I just needed to allay her doubts.
"You were thinking about having a kid with a sperm donor, weren't you?"
"You know I was."
"So you were prepared to have a kid alone?"
Alisha laughed bitterly. "Of course I was –why else would I be going out and picking up frozen sperm?"
"Stay with me," I begged. "I want to make you an offer. I'll sign a contract, today, that gives you full custody of the child along with enough money that he'll never want for anything – a college fund, you name it, he'll have it. Then, if I fuck up like you think I'm going to—"
"Clay, I don't think you'll fuck up…"
"You do, Liss, and that's fine – I deserve it, I really do. I want to prove to you that I can change, that I'm a better man for having met you, but I know my reputation precedes me. I know that you're thinking about the best interests of the child, not just us, and I respect you for it."
"Clay—"
"Let me finish," I asked desperately. I needed Liss to know that I was deadly serious. I loved her, and I was willing to back that desire to the hilt. "I love you, Liss, and that's the truth. You're the only girl who's ever looked at me and not seen the superficial crap – the money, the cars, my lifestyle. I want to have a kid with you, and if that means signing over my rights to prove myself to you, I will."
"Clay," Alicia sputtered, "this is crazy. I'm not some kind of escort."
"Oh my God, Alicia, that's the last thing I think about you. The money can go into a trust fund, so it's just for the kid."
"Can't you just," Alicia continued in shock, "prove yourself to me like a normal guy? That's what relationships are for, isn't it?"
"I could," I agreed, "but can you wait?" I knew that this could be the only chance Alicia and I would ever have to have a child of our own, and I wanted it more than anything in the world. Alicia fell silent, considering the meaning behind my words. I saw her face fall as, yet again, she was forced to confront the truth of her own infertility, and the ticking clock the Clomid had forced upon her.
"Clay, I dunno, this isn't just crazy, it's nuts!"
"Would you have a child with me if you knew that I'd truly put my past behind me?" I asked, placing my hand on her chocolate cheek and stroking her soft skin.
"Of course…" she whispered, and I knew it was the truth.
"Then give me the chance, Liss. What's the worst that can happen – you get the kid you've always wanted and he's set for life?"
"You keep saying he." Alicia whispered. "How do you know it'll be a boy?"
"My kid?" I grinned. "Of course it'll be a boy. And my God, that kid's going to be the pick of the playground."
I could see the war going on in Alicia's brain written on her face between her desperate desire to have a kid before it was too late, and her distrust that I had really changed. I wanted to try and convince her, to say one last thing that might swing the balance in my favor – but knew that I'd spoken my piece. There was nothing more I could do to convince Alicia to carry my child. She would have the final say.
"Clay, I need some time to think."
"However long you need," I agreed without missing a beat. This was great – she hadn't shot me down immediately. Then again, she hadn't agreed either… "I'll get the papers drawn up just in case."
20
Alicia
My finger hovered over Mike's name on the screen of my iPhone as I deliberated whether or not I should call him. I knew that in a sense this was going behind Clay's back – but I also knew that if I was going to agree to Clay's mad plan, then I needed to be absolutely sure I was doing the right thing.
Decision made, I stabbed my finger downwards onto the screen.
"Alicia?" Mike said upon picking up, a note of mild surprise in his voice. "It's not often I get a call from you. Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I agreed, injecting a note of false cheeriness into my voice, "everything's fine."
A pause hung on the line between us for a few seconds. Mike finally broke it. "Can I, I dunno, help you with something?"
I agonized over how to begin, but finally realized I just needed to throw myself into what would, no doubt, be a very awkward conversation.
"I need to ask you something, Mike."
"Shoot," he agreed over the sound of papers rustling in the background.
"You've known Clay for a long time, right?"
"Since before he got famous," Mike confirmed. "Why'd you ask?"
"I need to know – does he seem different recently?"
Mike suddenly sounded more engaged, as though I now deserved more of his attention. "Since when exactly?" Before I had a chance to answer, he asked another question. "Does this have something to do with Clay calling his lawyer?"
"You know about that?" I asked, mortified. I knew that Clay and Mike were close – but manager or not, I was seriously unsure about whether I wanted to have a relationship, hell – raise a child, with a man who shared so much with anyone other than me…
"I know that he called his lawyer, nothing else," Mike amended, sending my heart rate racing back down from the red zone. "I take it that it has everything to do with that."
I confirmed as much with my silence.
"To answer your other question," Mike continued, "am I right in assuming you want to know if he's been different since he met you?"
"I guess…" I murmured. This conversation was a hell of a lot harder than it had sounded when I'd played it out in the privacy of my own head, and that had been hard enough.
"In short – yes," Mike agreed with a sigh. "He sort of reminds me of the old Clay, before…" He tailed off sharply, like he was aware that he was treading on uncertain ground.
"Before what?" I asked with interest. "What do you mean, the old Clay? Did he used to be different?"
"Alicia, it's really not my place to say…" Mike said uncomfortably.
There was something here, I knew there was – and for the sake of my child, or at least my theoretical child, I knew I had to get to the bottom of it. Even if that involved a little bit more sharing than I was comfortable with.
"You want to know why I'm calling, Mike?" I said, baiting the hook.
"It'd be nice," he replied with a chuckle. Underneath his humor, though, I could sense a keen interest in the direction I was taking this conversation. After all, Mike and Clay had been a team for so long that I was without a doubt the intruder, and Mike had every reason to distrust me. Especially after Clay had torpedoed his career on my behalf the day before.
"Clay wants to have a kid. With me," I hastened to add. "I need to know if he's capable of raising a child. Mike – anything you know, I need you to share it with me."
There was a long silence over the phone, and then an aggrieved sigh. Finally, just as I was beginning to wonder whether I should prompt Mike for an answer, he started talking. It was slow at first, tentative, as though he was spilling secrets that had remained long buried.
"Alright, I'll tel
l you what I know," he sighed. "But, Alicia, you need to keep this to yourself. If Clay knew that I'd ever spoken to you about this, I don't know how he'd respond, but I can't imagine it'd be well. You promise?" Mike had an odd note in his voice, like he was dredging up a difficult memory, but it felt like more than that. Whatever he was about to talk about wasn’t just a story about Clay, but him, too.
"Promise," I agreed.
"Clay had a sister. A twin sister."
"He what?" I asked in shock.
Mike waited until I was silent again before continuing. "This was before he ever got famous. He was just doing what you did – singing in bars and clubs across town, always with her. They were beautiful together; they sang like I couldn't believe. That's when I met Clay."
Again Mike lapsed into a pained silence, but this time, I held myself back from jumping in. Mike was clearly reliving an agonizing memory, and I had no intention of causing him any more pain.
"You've never seen a man more excited than when Sarah found out she was pregnant. I think Clay was even happier than I was."
"Sarah is his sister?" I asked quietly, the shock of the revelation obscuring the greater depth hidden in Mike’s words.
"Was," Mike said sadly, confirming what I'd feared. "Sarah was Clay's sister. She was six months pregnant when she fell ill. She never went to the doctor, not at first, anyway – neither she nor Clay had health insurance at the time, and she thought it was just a fever. By the time she went to the hospital, it was too late."
"What happened to her?" I breathed.
"Septicemia. Blood poisoning. She wasted away in a matter," he paused, his voice breaking with the pain of remembering, "of days. They tried everything in that hospital, but nothing worked. It was antibiotic resistant; she didn't stand a chance."
"Poor Clay," I whispered, my heart rending just at the thought of what he'd suffered through. I'd never had a sibling, so I could barely imagine the pain of losing not just a sister, but a twin sister. I wanted to hold Clay, wished I been there at the time to comfort him.
"Poor Clay," Mike agreed.
