by Cassie Mae
Paige holds my stare, tucking a rundown notebook against a simple black t-shirt that shows enough of her feminine curves to make my heart double its pace. The straight blonde locks flow out from under a crocheted hat, giving me the impression of someone who is comfortable in their own skin. The lip ring glints from that plump and tempting mouth, and I start to question my vision. The woman in front of me, standing upright and tall in complete contrast to the fraud I accused her of being, is in the literal sense of the word… breathtaking.
She doesn’t say anything, keeping her lips relaxed and unmoving as she slaps the open notebook onto the conference table. With a quick glare at Kevin before a less accusing stare in my direction, she turns on her heel, and stalks out the door.
It takes me much longer than the other two men to realize the words scrawled across the page.
Caged in You, by Paige Teller
It took me everything I had to walk into that meeting, but my God it feels damn good after the fact. The look on Kevin’s face was priceless. He knew exactly what the notebook was before I even placed it on the table.
I carried it with me everywhere, always jotting down lyrics and songs when inspiration struck. He used to tell me he was jealous of the notebook because I paid more attention to it than I did to him. When I found him and Ruby together, I blamed myself for so long. Blamed the stupid notebook as if that was the reason my life fell apart around me. Now I know it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t the notebook.
It was Kevin. I just couldn’t see past the boy I fell in love with to realize the man he had become. A lying, manipulative jerk who took advantage of me time and time again. Who only cared about his success and damn anybody that got in his way of achieving it.
Handing that notebook over to Ethan was like lifting a weight that had been dragging me down for so long. I was done being taken advantage of. Done being manipulated into thinking I was a nobody. I may not have a million YouTube followers, or a hit song on the radio, but that doesn’t make me less of a person. Besides, if it wasn’t for me, Ruby Foxx wouldn’t have an album at all.
The conference door opens, and as stupid as it is, my heart flutters at the possibility that it’s Ethan running after me. The way his eyes swept over me, widened and lingered when he figured out I was the girl beneath the blonde hair, made my heart swell. The blood in my veins warmed, and the broken part of me started to heal.
I dyed my hair for me, but when Ethan’s lips parted and his eyes filled with hungry desire, I can’t say that it didn’t make me happy.
Trying not to look too pathetic, I casually glance over my shoulder.
“Paige!” The voice is like a baseball bat to the head. Ethan didn’t run after me. Kevin did, and by the rigid set of his shoulders, I know he’s angry.
I bite back the satisfaction in that little piece of knowledge and turn to face the man who almost broke me completely. A year ago, I never had the courage, but now I’m ready to put the past behind me—to stop letting him have any hold on my life.
“What do you want?”
He approaches, dark eyes wild with rage. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve always been jealous of Ruby, and if you think this little act is going to destroy her, you better think again. We’ll destroy you. We’ll have her lawyers all over you, burying you until you can’t determine your head from your ass. Good luck trying to fight back on an intern’s salary.”
I don’t even throw my promotion in his face. It doesn’t matter. He can think whatever the hell he wants.
“If you even think about it, the only person who will be destroyed is you,” Ethan’s voice floats across the corridor like a welcome song. “I’m seconds away from ripping up that contract. You keep saying we need Ruby Foxx, but the fact is you need us more. You’ve lied to us from the very beginning, and Paige can sue you for copyright infringement. That notebook is more than enough proof, but if you want more, I’ve got her videos as well. So either shut your face and get the hell out of here, being grateful that I don’t can your ass, or I’ll escort you out myself, and trust me, I won’t be gentle about it either.”
Kevin’s lips press into a thin line, his hands clench into fists at his side, but Ethan doesn’t back down. He stands tall, looking the couple inches down at Kevin, proving his dominance.
I appreciate Ethan defending me, but this isn’t his fight. It’s mine, and until I put an end to it, I’ll never be able to move on.
“Thank you, Ethan, but I can handle this.”
“Paige, I just wanted to…”
I look at him, catching those gorgeous gray eyes that I stared into so deeply only a few days ago and swallow the tears creeping up my throat. “I know, and I appreciate it. I do. But this is something I have to do.”
I turn back to Kevin, and he scoffs.
“They are my songs, and you know it. I’m not going to roll over and watch you take credit for something I did. Those are my words, my emotions on those pages, not yours, and sure as hell not Ruby’s.” I laugh, thinking of how much of a sucker I’ve been. “I was going to let her have it as long as I was credited as songwriter. But no. Not anymore. She can’t have it.”
Red anger spreads up Kevin’s neck to his face. “You can’t take her song. That’s her next hit.”
“I just did. If you have a problem with it, talk to my lawyer.”
“Like you have a lawyer?”
Mr. Michaels steps out from the conference room and smiles. “She does. It’s me.”
Kevin yanks at his collar, knuckles white as he pulls it away from his neck. His eyes darken to onyx. Flames lap at the surface as his face distorts in rage. He steps toward me, and I see Ethan ready to pounce on him, but am happy when he lets me handle it like I asked.
“You’re a nobody. Always have and always will be. Dyeing your hair won’t bring Minka Scott back. She died when you left, and there’s no way you can resurrect her now.”
I smile at his narrow-minded perception of me, of the world, of what people consider success. “Good, because I don’t want to. I just want to be Paige.” I didn’t realize it until recently, but I was always hiding. Back then it was behind a stage name, and most recently behind the red hair. I’m tired of being someone I’m not, only showing pieces of the real me; I want people to know all of me. All the pieces. I look back at Ethan and realize he knows the most, and he’s the only one.
A low growl rumbles in Kevin’s throat, and I stand taller because of it. Because I know I’m getting to him. And I’m not going to stop until I win.
“Minka Scott might be dead, but Paige Teller isn’t, and I’ll live on through my words long after people forget about you. And, Kevin, they will. You keep saying I’m a nobody, but you and I both know that’s not true. The only nobody here is you. You used me because you wanted to ride the coattails of my success, and when you thought Ruby gave you more of a chance to get there, you jumped shipped and rode hers. At least when I make something of myself, I can look back knowing I did it on my own. More than you’ll ever be able to say.”
His lip curls, then his lips part as he lets out a ridiculously loud laugh. “On your own? The only reason you’re even here is because you’re screwing the CEO.”
Ethan lunges forward, but I manage to put myself between him and Kevin.
“I think it’s time for you to go now.”
I’m not going to defend myself. I know my relationship with Ethan has nothing to do with my position in this company or with my future. I’m not going to acknowledge Kevin’s pathetic attempts at trying to undermine me.
“Goodbye, Kevin,” I say, walking over to the elevator and hitting the button. Of course the doors open immediately when I’m not the one waiting. It’s almost as if the elevator gods are making up for all those other times. “Give Rebecca my love.”
I watch my past walk into the elevator, then I watch as the doors shut, putting an end to that chapter of my life.
Ethan
comes up beside me, and I hate that there’s this uncomfortable vibe between the two of us, that the gazes of the few people walking by linger on us.
“I’m sorry, Ethan, but I can’t let her have my songs. I know she’s supposed to be the one to help you save the label, and if it was anybody else, I’d let it go, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He moves his hand, and it comes up between us before he quickly drops it to his side. I assure myself it’s because we’re in public and not because he remembers he hates me. His gray eyes soften like a fog giving way to the sun, and a slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ll figure it out.”
I nod and suck my lip ring into my mouth, trying to hold back all the words I want to say. This isn’t the time or the place, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance again. He needs to know.
“I better get back to work,” he says.
Our gazes hold for a few seconds longer, and the words sit on my tongue, but I don’t manage to get them out before he tears his eyes away. He hesitates for a moment, and I go to say something, but I’m too late.
He’s already gone.
The nine o’clock news must be starting, and the highlight story takes place in front of the office yet again. I watch from the top floor, hands jammed into my pockets. My fingers wrap around a demo nestled next to pocket lint and a twenty. I wish I could say my thoughts were on the label, that I was desperately searching for ways to climb out of the holes I’ve been buried in. No, my mind has been playing the same track on repeat, and when I hear my office door creak open behind me, I whip around, heart in my throat as I hope to catch a glimpse of that foreign blonde hair.
My mother stands in the doorway, a saddened and nostalgic look in only her eyes because it simply cannot be expressed through the Botox.
“I’d have thought the décor would be a little more… modern with you here,” she teases, her hoarse voice breaking through the buzzing silence I’ve had around me since I sent everyone home a little over three hours ago.
“What are you doing here?”
She lets out a sigh that ends in a cough and steps up next to me at the window. Her eyes drift over the news van parked outside, and a muttered expletive escapes her overripe lips.
“I nearly decked that woman on the way in,” she says, folding her arms over her tailored white blazer. “Are you thinking of selling now?”
I don’t make any movement outside of my fist clenching around the demo in my pocket. “Do you think I should?”
My eyes carefully study my mother, hoping to catch a glimpse into her thoughts beyond all the money she’s put into her appearance. Neither of us has an emotional attachment to the label; in fact I wonder if this is her first visit because she’d rather not be here. Before my father’s heart attack, I only stopped by to take from his wallet. Not that he cared or noticed; his mind was always on work. It was the way our relationship was, and I still cannot fathom why he’d hand the label over to me. As I look from my mother to the reporter and back, I don’t have to wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing.
Things have changed though since I stepped in. Selling was the easy way, the Ethan Davis way… before an extraordinary person changed my view on things.
“No one would blame you,” my mother finally says, letting her gaze drift up to mine. “Your father—”
“Do you know why?” I ask, turning away from the window. “There were so many other options. Why was I even one of them?”
Her painted brow twitches inward a centimeter. “To run the label?”
I nod. “Everyone knows I’m incapable of doing it.” Yet, as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. There is one exception.
My mother turns and leans her shoulder on the window, ignoring the news behind her. “You weren’t always so…”
“Unreliable?” I offer up to her.
“Unpredictable.” Her lips stretch into a smile. “Cameron drafted his will when you were more involved with the music. When you graduated, he was hoping to sign you on as a partner.”
“He never changed it?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “He had ten years to do so.”
She lifts a shoulder, her blazer brushing the underside of her jaw. “I suppose he thought maybe one day you’d come around.”
I press my lips together, nodding at the shag rug under our feet. It’s fitting—this feeling of dissatisfaction at the answer to the question plaguing me for months. A disappointing revelation to top off a disappointing relationship. There was no note, no inspiring words to help me make the decision to fight my way through or to take off in flight. It seems that the only reason to stay at Broken Records is all my own. If only I wasn’t such a failure.
“It’s okay if it goes,” she says, wrongly assuming that I feel a sense of obligation to stay. “You can take the money from the deal and live very comfortably for a very long time.”
If this was only about the money, honestly I’d have done that long before now. The only problem was that I didn’t know what kept me from selling. At first, maybe I was trying to prove myself. Now… well, now all I can think about is the fire behind those green eyes of Paige’s. The way she toyed with the ring on her lip while a pair of white chords dangled down from her ears. It was in the way she spoke about an artist, or a song, or a simple lyric. This label gives a voice to a talented few who need to be heard. Paige knows it because she knows music; she lives and breathes it. Her words come back to me in a soft whisper, that music may be all around me, but it’s not in my heart and soul where it counts.
Correction… it wasn’t in my heart and soul. She placed it there, along with herself.
I let out a sigh, flicking my gaze back over my shoulder to the news van now getting ready to pack up and leave. “Dad always said there was no such thing as bad press,” I muse, turning toward my mother. “Maybe I could capitalize on it.”
She raises a sculpted eyebrow. “Your father wasn’t involved in a sex scandal.”
“It’s not a scandal,” I say, trying not to grit my teeth at my mother. It may have started out that way, but I doubt something as powerful as the hold Paige has on me could ever be considered scandalous.
My heart squeezes uncomfortably in my chest, and I rub at my shirt in a mindless attempt to get it to quiet. I lost her over an irrational reaction to her honesty. She opened up, showed me the raw pieces of her soul she hadn’t shared with a single person here in LA, and in true Ethan fashion, I selfishly took it as an insult and betrayal.
My mother twists the cigarette in her fingers, silently letting me stew over my shit decisions.
“I love her,” I say, letting the words slip off my tongue as naturally as breathing. “She doesn’t deserve to have her name slandered all over the media. She’s not using me to get anywhere. If anything, I’ve needed her much more than she’s needed me.”
My mother’s lips part, her eyes wide like she isn’t sure if she heard me right. An amused chuckle escapes me, and I blow out a sigh at the ceiling, shaking my head. I understand the shock; my father and I both keep our feelings close to the chest, preferring to show them rather than say them out loud. Yet, putting words to the tumbling feelings inside of me lifts a weight I didn’t know I carried.
“She can sing,” I tell my mother, the words now pouring from me as if they’ve been right at the back of my throat, waiting for the dam to burst. “Her voice… it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard. Gorgeous. Raw. Emotional. She writes her own lyrics, and they are perfection when paired with that voice. And at the same time, she’s a total contradiction, because while her music is soft and relaxing, she’s loud and frustrating. She is strong-willed and witty and articulate. I would’ve crumbled under the pressure of this company if it weren’t for her.”
My mother’s mouth twitches upward. “Does she know?”
I lift a shoulder. For being trained at hiding emotions, Paige has always seen right through them. However, I honestly don’t know if she’s caught on to this one, because I didn’t r
ealize just how strongly I felt until I put a voice to it.
“Probably,” I say. “It has to be obvious.”
My mother laughs, coughing again over years of smoke inhalation. “Ethan, if you haven’t told her, she doesn’t know.”
I humor her with a grin, running a hand over my head. “I screwed up,” I admit. “I wouldn’t even know where or how to start that conversation.”
She presses her lips together, not a single line in her overdone face giving me any clue as to what she may be thinking. Her eyes move to the desk, scanning over the piles of documents and contracts I have laid out. After a thoughtful moment, she glances back at me.
“Cameron always believed that the answers to life’s toughest questions could be found in music.” She smiles, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Maybe that’s why he was always listening. He was in constant search for an answer he couldn’t find any place else.”
I give her a half smile, exhaling over her head. She pats my hand once more, her fingers trembling against my skin, and says, “I’m going to the roof for my smoke.”
I kiss her forehead and let her go, wishing she wasn’t so addicted to those things. My phone feels heavy in my pocket, too heavy to pick up and dial Paige’s number. The words will come easier when I’ll be able to hold her again, touch her face, hear her sharp wit and wicked tongue that both frustrate me and turn me inside out.
The floor creaks as I cross the room. I settle into the high-backed swivel chair, and a fleeting thought of if I’ll be sitting in it much longer flies by in a dizzying whirlwind of other thoughts. The strongest of which is whether music really can be a key to opening a box of unanswered questions.
If it is, there is only one voice I’d like to hear give me that answer, and I pull out my earbuds and slide them in. It took me some time, but I found a well-hidden video on a blog post from a year back. She must’ve let a friend post it and forgot it was there, because every other reference to Minka Scott was erased, or the video was no longer available.
