by Cassie Mae
“We have a contract. You gotta give me a little faith, here.”
After a nasty glare worthy of a teenage drama queen, she straightens her shoulders and reaches for an acoustic guitar. I’m already dreading the first chord.
She starts off flat, unless that’s how she’s supposed to sound because when I glance at Kevin, he seems absolutely enraptured by her. Another reason why business shouldn’t mix with pleasure—there’s rarely an unbiased opinion available.
Matt starts working with the soundboard, making the music at least tolerable. My heart is pounding yet again, and strictly because it’s so hard being in here, doing my father’s job, pretending that I know what I’m doing. How the hell do I know if a ballad or an upbeat song will sell better, especially since I don’t turn the radio on anymore? I’m just going off instinct.
I clear my throat and swallow hard, grasping the back of the chair in front of me for some grounding. My eyes slowly close, and instead of listening to the music, I pay attention to the lyrics, which are actually pretty good. After the second verse, Ruby hits her groove, and the music starts to match the words. I turn to Kevin.
“Who’s her lyricist?”
He seems lost for an answer for a moment, but he finally gives me one. “She wrote this one with… an old acquaintance.”
“She has the rights to it?”
It takes him another second, but he eventually gives me a slow nod. My gut is screaming at me to dig further into this—not here, though. I need to keep my paranoia under control.
I rap my fingers on the chair in front of me and give Matt a side glance. One short, firm shake of his head makes me feel better about my decision. I stand up straight and let out a long sigh.
“It’s good,” I tell Kevin, though the song isn’t over. “But I can’t market her this way yet. We need to establish her audience before taking these risks, and her first single with her previous label got people craving something similar from her, not different. Not yet.”
“She isn’t gonna be happy.”
“She will when the numbers roll in.” I drop my arms and nod to her. “Break the bad news, manager. Then work on Something ‘Bout Life. I want the single ready by the end of next week.”
“Next week?” he stutters.
“I know it’s tight, but we’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot. It’s already been two months since her last song.”
“Not that I’m disagreeing, boss,” Matt says, and I can’t help but finally feel competent in my job. “But how’re we gonna create enough buzz in a week?”
“Getting on that now,” I improvise, pulling the phone up and pressing Jerome’s extension.
“Broken Records, Ethan Davis’s office.”
“I need you, Paige,” I say. I distinctly hear something crash to the floor before she fumbles back on the line.
“Um… what was that?”
“Alex said the interns were starting up an Instagram for the label.”
“Yes…”
“Get down to studio eleven and bring your phone.”
“Got it. Sorry.”
I hang up, half-amused, half-confused as to what she was apologizing for.
I spend the next few minutes explaining to Kevin and Ruby the marketing plan I’ve got in mind, and their skepticism isn’t helped with Paige taking so long to get down here. After ten minutes and another call up to Jerome’s desk in which I receive no answer, I have Matt take them through the upbeat song.
“If you want something done…” I joke, taking out my phone and snapping pictures myself. The more time passes, the more humiliation I feel at not being able to get an intern to complete a simple task.
Kevin slumps into one of the chairs after an exhausting session, Paige still nowhere to be found. “You want to keep Ruby around? Just saying, you might want to put your money where your mouth is.”
It’s an empty threat, and I know it. But it still doesn’t make me feel any more confident, especially when Matt backs Kevin up with a chuckle.
I tuck my phone away and excuse myself as politely as I can. By the time I’m at the elevator, I’m ready to punch the buttons in.
Expecting to see Jerome’s desk empty, I stop short as I get to my office and see Paige sitting on the floor, knees propped as earbuds dangle from under her mess of hair. Her eyes drift up, connecting with mine, taking in the tick in my jaw and what I can imagine is a bulging neck vein.
“Ethan, I—”
“If Jerome is out tomorrow, tell Alex I want someone else to step in.”
I storm past her, surprised I don’t get some sort of defense or fight from such an argumentative woman. Once the office door separates us, I realize that not only am I surprised, I’m disappointed. I could use someone to butt heads with, and instead, I’m left with only my own failure to battle.
It was the first warm day in New York after a brutally cold winter that dumped record-breaking snow. The sun was shining, and the dirty old snow was finally starting to melt. I managed to convince Lily, my coworker, to take my shift so I could go home and surprise Kevin. With so many gigs piling up at night, we hadn’t had much time to just be together.
Since he was my manager, he came to my shows, but that wasn’t much of a date since we were both technically working. And when the gig was over and we were finally home, we were both too tired to keep our eyes open long enough to hold a conversation.
I missed the days when the only obligations we had were each other, but we couldn’t go back to high school, and I didn’t want to. We were working toward our dreams and were just on the cusp of finally making it. Once we did, everything would just fall into place. The life I always dreamed the two of us would have, married, traveling the world together all while sharing the memories with my best friend, Rebecca, was so close to our grasp.
The two people who meant most to me in this world would be with me through it all. The success, the fame, the spotlight. We would share it just like we’d been planning since we were sixteen.
Rebecca and I were the talent, and Kevin dealt with the business side. In the matter of three years he had helped catapult mine and Rebecca’s careers. We had well over a hundred-thousand views on our newest YouTube video within the first day. The gigs we fought for just to get on stage and get our names out there for free were now calling and offering us money. Pretty soon I’d be able to quit my waitressing job and fully focus on my music.
Yes, everything was falling into place.
A smile spread across my face as I made it to my apartment building. I got into the elevator and took it up to the eleventh floor, sending Mom a quick reply that Kevin and I would be there for Sunday dinner.
Kevin loved Mom’s cooking and never turned down a meal, and was eternally grateful when we first moved out on our own and had barely enough money to get by. The days of Ramen were behind us. With all the extra money from the gigs, we were even thinking of upgrading to a bigger place.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to my floor. An excited giddiness swirled in my stomach as I made my way down the hall. He was going to be so thrilled. It was still early, and we’d have the entire day ahead for just the two of us. My mind immediately jumped to the later, heat spreading down to my core as I thought about all the sexy things we would be doing tonight.
I put the key in the door and stepped inside. It was quiet, and I wondered if he was still in bed. He tended to sleep until eleven the day after a gig. Even better. The later wouldn’t have to wait. I slipped out of my pink cable knit sweater and down to my thin white tank top, ready to sneak into bed and wake him up with a special surprise.
I pushed into the room, and my body froze, a sickening feeling twisting my gut. I rested my hand against the doorframe, to keep from collapsing at the sight of a naked blonde on top of my boyfriend.
I knew I should say something, or turn around and run away, but my brain and body couldn’t find a common ground. I was stuck. Frozen in place to watch my boyfriend take this whore to org
asm.
She cried out, her head falling back, revealing her to me. Fragments of my heart chipped away until the realization settled in and it completely imploded.
“Rebecca?” I managed loud enough for them to hear over her cries.
Kevin tossed her off of him and onto the bed. He pulled the blanket up around his waist and jumped up. “Paige, it’s not what you think!”
“Not what I think?” I said, my voice so small I could barely hear it. “Not what I think!?” This time my voice echoed off the navy blue walls I hated but he insisted on.
“There’s no reason to overreact,” he said, and I heard it. The condescending tone Mom always accused him of having that I defended endlessly. She thought he undermined me, and I let him walk all over me. I never saw it before. I just thought when two people loved each other, they compromised. But no there was never any compromise. It was always about what he wanted.
Shock mixed with regret and anger.
“You think this is overreacting?” I asked. “What about this?” I picked up the framed picture of us taken at out senior prom and threw it as hard as I could at him.
He ducked, and I silently scolded myself for not throwing it a little faster so it hit him in the head.
“What the hell, Paige? Have you lost your mind?”
A manic laugh rose up my throat as I picked up the picture of the three of us in Cancun for spring break three years ago. “No. I think I’m finally seeing things clearly.”
I flung it at him, and he ducked again. The glass hit the wall with a shattering thud and then fell to the floor in broken pieces, just like our relationship.
“Paige,” Rebecca said, now wearing one of Kevin’s button-up shirts. My vision went red, and everything around me faded. All I could see was my best friend, the person who I trusted the most, naked beneath my boyfriend’s shirt. “Let’s talk about this.”
The anger that had been boiling to the surface exploded in a raging fire of newfound hatred. “Talk? About what? How it feels to have my boyfriend inside you? How you’re a heartless bitch who can’t keep her damn legs shut?”
Her face turned red, but not in embarrassment. No. Rebecca didn’t possess that emotion. An ugly crimson of rage burned in her brown eyes.
“You know what. Screw you. How long did you honestly think he could go without sex? It’s your own fault. Maybe if you didn’t stop putting out, he wouldn’t have to find it elsewhere.”
“Get out,” I growled, hating her stupid face. Hating every damn memory we had since we were thirteen. Hating that so many good memories were now tainted because of her. She didn’t move so I picked up her clothes and tossed them at her. “Get out!”
She startled at the white blinding fury in my tone, then grabbed her clothes and hurried out.
“Kitten,” Kevin said, reaching out, but before he could touch me with those disgusting treacherous hands, I jumped back.
“You too. Get out!”
“This is my place. You can’t kick me out of my place.”
“My name is on the lease. I pay more rent than you do. I sure as hell can kick you out. Now you can either leave, or I call the cops to escort you out. Choice is yours.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Maybe the old me wouldn’t. Maybe I should be in the bathroom crying my eyes out, but seeing my best friend riding my boyfriend’s dick made something inside of me snap.
I picked the phone up and started to dial. “Nine. One.” I let my finger hover above the phone for a moment to show him I wasn’t messing around.
“Fine! I’ll leave.”
He got dressed, then gathered a few things before walking out. I almost wanted him to beg. To tell me how sorry he was and how he made a mistake. That he would do anything I wanted as long as I forgave him. He didn’t say a single word. He didn’t even look at me as he left.
As the door clicked shut, the strength I managed to muster fled, and I collapsed into a pathetic pile on the floor, sobbing into my hands at the loss of the two people who I thought would never let me down.
Tears prick my eyes, and I hate how that memory has any hold on me still, but it does. Just thinking about that day brings all those horrible feelings back. The heartache, the regret, the betrayal. All of it.
The line to the elevator is out of control, and I don’t want to wait. I just want to get out of this damn building, so I hightail it to the stairs, taking them down as fast as I can. Anger and disappointment battle it out in my head, turning my mood to shit.
Outside, instead of heading left to go to my apartment, I go right to get a much needed caffeine fix.
Jimmy mans the register, and I don’t even manage a greeting before I blurt, “Large iced coffee with two extra shots of espresso.”
“Rough day I take it?” he says, and I sigh loudly.
“Rough would have been a good day. Today was the epitome of suck.”
“I get off in fifteen. Why don’t you grab a chair and wait for me? I’ll bring you your coffee when it’s ready.”
“Thanks,” I say, thankful that I have Jimmy in my life. He is a godsend.
I take a seat on the worn leather couch in the corner and pop my earbuds in. I scan YouTube, watching video after video of people performing covers. I know if it’s worth watching within the first second. A few hold my attention for the entirety, but not many.
I click over to another video, and a suggested video pops up, staring back at me like a nightmare walk down memory lane. I thought I deleted them all, but apparently I missed one.
Since I feel like torturing myself, I click on the video. The girl on the right I barely even recognize anymore. Dirty blonde hair, no lip ring, contacts, and way too much sunless tanner. Her laugh is what I miss most—it’s genuine, and I don’t know the last time I laughed so effortlessly. After I left New York, I did everything in my power to forget about the girl I used to be. I don’t even look like her anymore, but sometimes if I look closely enough in the mirror, I can still see her. I try not to look.
The music starts on the video, and Rebecca sits down beside the old me. We count off before going right into a Beyoncé favorite. I take the lead, and a smile tugs at my lips when I hit a string of notes completely in key.
Jimmy nudges my shoulder as he sits down with my coffee in one hand and his other pointing to the screen. I stumble to click out of the video before he learns my deepest secret.
“Who was that?” he asks when I yank my earbud out.
“No one,” I answer, and before I can react, he rips my phone out of my hand.
He hits play, and I hear the chorus.
“Damn, this girl can sing. They both can, but this girl.” He points to the screen at me. “She has got it going on. You know what, she kind of looks like you. If you dyed her hair red and gave her some funky glasses.”
I try to keep my face as stone cold as possible. He brings the phone closer to his face, studying the screen. The song ends, and the old me speaks, causing Jimmy to do a double take.
“Shut up,” he says, and there’s no way I can deny it.
I shrug.
“Shut up!”
I grab the phone out of his hand and shove it into my bag. “Okay, now you know.”
“You’re like seriously good. Amazing. How did I not know you can sing like that?”
“I don’t sing anymore,” I say, my words clipped, hoping he gets the hint. I snatch my coffee out of his hand and take a sip, sighing in happiness. “Perfection.”
Jimmy’s fingers work the keys on his cell, and he smiles. “I’m a coffee genius, what can I say?” He taps the screen and glances up at me with that scheming smirk of his.
“What?” I ask, knowing whatever he’s about to say, I’m not going to like.
“Just sent a text to a few friends. We’re going out.”
He stands and holds his hand out to me. He impatiently waves his fingers, and I slip my hand into his. I get to my feet, and he wraps my arm around his.
“Where are w
e going?” I ask, hoping it’s somewhere with a good band.
A mischievous smile curves his lips. “You’ll see,” he lilts.
We walk arm in arm for a several blocks until he comes to a stop in front of a bar. He pulls me toward the door, and I see the sign and hear the horrible voices that can only be acceptable during a drunken night of karaoke.
“No. Absolutely not.” I spin away, but Jimmy latches onto my arm and drags me through the doors.
“I hate you,” I mumble just as his friends approach, and any hope I had at escaping is lost.
I was a business major when I graduated from Stanford. Like most of the people in that major, I only took it because you could use it anywhere you went because no one really knows what it means. The problem I had wasn’t attaining a job—it was finding the motivation to apply for one at all. My early twenties were mostly spent in the driver’s seat of my old BMW as I crossed state line after state line, and after that I lived off money I didn’t earn. Funny how it didn’t bother me up until two months ago. I was a stereotypical rich boy. The only thing missing was the pink polo shirt.
The difference my father’s death made is that now I’m determined to earn it—be worthy of the amount sitting in my bank account. Yet, as Grant flips through the pages of Ruby Foxx’s contract, I find myself relating more to the guy who was better suited to leaving the business lingo to the intellectuals.
“In layman’s terms, Grant,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. Pepper whines near my feet, annoyed that I had to shorten our time at the park to run in for this work emergency. He’s plopped on the floor, sniffing up Grant’s leg and probably hoping he’ll share whatever food he’s got in his briefcase.
I hear Grant let out an irritated sigh at my inability to keep up with all the legal jargon.
“I’m unsure if the songs they’ve given us are Ruby originals.”
I bring my hand down. “Who do they belong to?”
He shakes his head, flipping another page of the contract. “I have her stating here that either she or her manager wrote and co-wrote all the songs on the album, but Matt brought up that someone else was involved in the Caged lyrics. If that’s true, we need to have that person sign a release before we record a second of it. If they don’t, she’s in breach of contract and you lose your debut artist.”
