The Firsts: A Guzzi Legacy Companion Novel (The Guzzi Legacy Book 7)

by Bethany-Kris

  Which was why, when a week ago, an artist from Los Angeles contacted someone on August’s team with a story about an up and coming rapper who stole their artwork for a recent album release, and even plastered it across merch, no one questioned her decision to chase the story. She didn’t even ask if she could chase the story, but rather, let her boss know what she planned to do.

  Everything was a go.

  Just like that.

  Yes, she was told, get the artist’s go-ahead, do the interview, and then let us know where you want to go from there.

  No questions asked.

  Hayden Frankson, a digital artist just breaking onto the scene in LA, shifted in the chair across the table from August. Dragging his fingers through the dreds he kept tied back in a bandanna, he shook his head. “He’s going to bury me in legal—”

  “Not necessarily,” August interjected fast.

  Better to get the man off any topic that could possibly lead him to a decision where he backed out of this interview with her. Right now, that’s all it was. Just an interview to go over the story he had to tell, the proof he was able to provide about the rapper and the art he stole, and then possibly where they could go from there. Be it through legal action, something with Manic Media, or maybe even both if the guy liked the idea.

  However, they would go nowhere—and she wouldn’t be able to help the man at all—if he decided the threat of backlash from media, the public, or otherwise might just be too much for him at the end of the day. Not that she couldn’t sympathize with his feelings in that regard. God knew she had been canceled in one way or another online because a group of trolls decided she had too big of a mouth with opinions they didn’t like.

  Once was because someone decided to dox her even though nothing about her life was very private when she had been online—and so was her work—for years. If someone looked hard enough, they could find whatever they wanted about August.

  Not that she encouraged it.

  Yeah, her situation wasn’t exactly the same as Hayden’s, but the end result might be if they didn’t play their cards right.

  The artist sitting across from her dragged in a quick, shaky breath. Around them, the coffee shop with chrome and green accents kept the hustle and bustle going but other than the large latte in front of her, she really wasn’t there to enjoy the scenery or atmosphere. She didn’t need the man to tell her how nervous he was even just sitting there. It was obvious in every dart of his gaze whenever the chime over the door rang to say someone new had come into the shop.

  “Do you want to do this on another day?” August asked. “If so, I understand why, and we could catch up another—”

  “I contacted a lawyer yesterday.”

  “Did you?”

  Hayden shrugged. “Yeah, I figured ... better to know what I was looking at on the legal side of shit, you know?”

  “And?”

  “He told me to defend my copyright. That it would make a precedent for other artists and in the industry in general. Said a bunch of other shit, too, but that’s all legal jargon I really didn’t understand. You know what a buddy of mine said about it all?”

  August set the pad and pen in front of her on the table, ready to just listen for a while instead of asking questions that she might be able to fit into an article. Sometimes, she had to put the journalist side of her away and bring out herself. A human, with a heart and feelings, because people needed that more than they needed the views, clicks, and engagement she could bring to the table.

  “What did your friend say?” she asked.

  Hayden let out a hard laugh, the frustration bleeding through when he muttered, “That I should be grateful. Exposure, and all. A fucking joke, really. Like Tay-J putting my art on his shit—without even asking if he could—is gonna pay the bills. How? The guy didn’t even credit me. That’s not the kind of exposure I want, anyway.”

  “Is this? Because you should consider that, too. If you don’t want the exposure of problems from his side of things, be ready for the backlash this will cause. Either way, it’ll happen. It’s just a matter of what you control while it happens.”

  That made the man pause.

  “What options do I have from here?” he asked quietly. “Because from where I sit, it all looks like one big uphill climb.”

  That was the real question, right? At least, he knew what he was looking at. It was a step in the right direction. Better to know than to be hit from the side with it.

  “Going a legal route is a good start,” August said, “and so was contacting me. Because I can get you and your work into the public eye before Tay-J’s team even has a chance to respond in any meaningful way. If we can spin the court of public opinion in your favor rather quickly, then I can almost guarantee it’ll be settled faster than you could blink. Likely without much spotlight because they’ll have enough to deal with as it is. It’s just a matter of setting you in the right position to do these things. You understand?”

  “Not really,” Hayden muttered. “I just wanted to make some art.”

  August smiled, knowing that feeling all too well. “Thing is, you’re still making art. This isn’t going to stop that, regardless.”

  “You think I should defend my copyright?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you’re willing to help with ... publicity and—”

  “I wouldn’t have flown from Chicago to here if I wasn’t willing to leave Los Angeles with something tangible to hand back to my editor,” August replied. “Something that will help you, for the record. I’m not in the business of selling my morals for clicks.”

  Hayden nodded. “Okay.”

  “Really, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this.”

  That was all August needed to hear. Grabbing the pad and pen, her gaze scanned the questions she had already prepped for this meeting. Already, she could see the article-style interview forming in her mind, and how she wanted to open it.

  What happens to art when the artists are forgotten?

  It felt like a good headline. One that could catch attention. She could already see the bold, black, block font taking shape across the page, leading the reader into the opening paragraph where in just a few words, she would already have them ready to devour the rest of the article. At the end of the day, the writing was still August’s passion.

  What she did best.

  Because the truth that followed would certainly make everyone think; when artists were forgotten, they stopped making art.

  “All right,” August said, feeling the buzz of her phone down below in the bag at her feet. “Let’s circle back around to when you found out they had stolen your art for the album. We’ll go from there. Sound good?”

  “Sure,” Hayden replied.

  As he drudged up the details of an event she knew had to be traumatic for an artist that was still relatively unknown in his industry, she reached down to pull her bag into her lap. Digging through it to find her buzzing phone, August was entirely unsurprised to see she had three missed calls.

  All from her husband.

  Beni’s contact, with the three black hearts she’d put beside his name, lit up the banner on the home screen. The last notification wasn’t even a call, but a text.

  Love you, babe, catch up later, okay? I know you’re busy, he’d written.

  She was always busy.

  So was he, lately.

  No doubt, he wouldn’t pick up if she called back. A quick glance at the time told her that he was probably on the south end of Chicago like usual. Doing ... whatever he did.

  She learned not to ask. Things worked better that way, but this was their life.

  God knew she loved it.

  And him.

  She loved him.

  That’s what mattered the most.

  28.

  Beni

  THE one regret Beni Guzzi had as he pulled up to the private airstrip on a mid-January evening? That he’d told his wife to go ahead to Los Angeles
without him. Not that LA was his thing or that he had anything to do there while she handled work of her own, but hell ... he bet it was a lot warmer there than it was when he stepped out of his black BMW Roadster.

  The car—a gift to himself for his recent twenty-sixth birthday—would be parked in a nearby jet hangar owned by his uncle, the Outfit’s boss. Until he returned from the business trip, anyway.

  He’d miss the car.

  Barely even had time to drive it so far.

  God knew winter wasn’t the best time to have it on the road, and he would pay for it come spring when it would need a touch-up anywhere that the salt on the road dared to touch the paint ... but hey, it was still worth it.

  Mostly.

  “What are you doing taking that car out in this weather?”

  Beni chuckled at the question, turning away from the driver’s door to see the familiar figure approaching through the falling flakes of snow. “Can’t help but take it out, can I? Look at it.”

  Tommaso did, his cousin humming an appreciative sound the closer he came to the Roadster. With all its sleek lines, the blue accents he had done on the top and mirrors of the car certainly added to the sexy appeal. Beni still loved his superbike but even he wasn’t crazy enough to bring that out in the winter.

  “Certainly draws attention,” Tommaso replied. “And you know how everybody feels about that, Beni.”

  “Not you, too.”

  Tommaso gave him a look. “What about me?”

  “Listen, I get enough shit between my father, your father, and every other made man who thinks I’m too flashy for their liking. You can’t give me all this money and expect me not to do anything with it because people will stare. That’s all I’m saying.”

  And he was sticking to that, too.

  Fuck what the rest thought.

  “Well,” his cousin drawled, eying the car again.

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s fair. The car is ... a bit much, though. I mean, for winter. Let’s be fair, Beni. Nobody is foolish enough to take a vehicle like that out on the roads this time of year. You’re asking for trouble, and I don’t mean just from the mob. How do the tires even stick?”

  He had a point.

  Not that Beni would say so.

  “You just worry about what you’re driving. How about that?”

  Tommaso rolled his eyes and turned with a wave of gloved fingers. “Whatever, come on, you’re already late. Theo’s waiting.”

  “I’m not already late. I’m five minutes early.”

  “Except he’s already on the jet, and you’re ... out here running your mouth, man.”

  Well ...

  Fine.

  “Are you coming this trip, or just seeing us off?” Beni asked.

  “Just here to see you off. You know how Dad is with me and the guns.”

  Right.

  The boss of the Outfit preferred to have his son under his feet more often than not. Beni understood the reasons why, of course. If men were looking at Tommaso as the next man to take over the family, then ... he should be placed where he could be watched at all times. Better to be seen and known in this business than forgotten.

  Beni wasn’t quite the same.

  A couple of years back, he took up working under Theo’s portion of the Chicago mob. While the man handled his position as the front boss—with Cory Rossi as well—he also had a major hand in the Outfit’s gun trafficking business. Something Beni found he was pretty good at when someone offered him the chance to get his hands into the pot as well.

  It was better than running for Capos.

  Or the streets.

  Beni pulled his phone from his jacket, checking the screen to see if his wife had replied to his latest message about leaving town last minute. A lot of his work with Theo was done like that—a call came through with a time and a place for him to be, and that was that. He could question it if he wanted, but it almost always promised he wouldn’t get a call for the next job or meeting ... or whatever.

  His wife had replied.

  It made him smile.

  See you when you get back. I love you, Beni, she had written.

  No questions.

  No problems.

  That was usually how it worked between them now when it came to their life. He wasn’t the only one constantly busy with work or something that wasn’t about them. This was what they had signed up for together, though. She put her career first and so did he even if their jobs were worlds apart. If anything, his constant hustle taught him to respect hers as much as he did his own.

  So, he tried not to complain.

  Mostly.

  Sometimes, it was hard.

  Especially when all he wanted was his wife. Preferably at home in their bed. Spending quiet mornings together where nothing mattered but them. It didn’t matter as long as the two were together.

  Life wasn’t always so kind.

  “Put the phone away,” Tommaso said when they stepped up to the side entrance door to the private hangar. “Shut it down for the trip. We don’t need any towers watching where we are, right?”

  The paranoia, man.

  It never ended.

  “Let me tell my wife goodbye,” Beni muttered.

  As though he hadn’t already done that.

  Really, he just wanted to reply in kind to August’s I love you. He did, all the while Tommaso stood there with the door open like he didn’t have time for any of it. Once he was done, Beni shut the phone down and gave his cousin a look.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  Tommaso lifted one shoulder. “That’s a matter of opinion, and I find it’s better if I don’t have very many of those. People tend to share more of their own with me, then, and I learn interesting things that way.”

  Just like his father.

  Not that Tommaso realized it.

  “Here’s an opinion for you,” Beni muttered, stepping past the man to enter the hangar where he found a jet waiting in the middle of the large space. “I haven’t seen my wife in almost a week, and it’ll be another two before I do. So, less bitching from you right now might improve my mood ... but who knows?”

  “Mmm, Cam said Aug headed to Los Angeles for something, right?”

  “Work, not something. She has a job, man.”

  “I know that.” Tommaso sighed behind Beni and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you the same thing my father tells me whenever I complain about how much running I do for the Outfit.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Learn to make time, Beni. Nobody is going to give it to you in this business. That’s not how it works.”

  Right.

  Make time.

  Giving the waiting jet a look while considering the fact it would be another two weeks before he would be back home ... when the fuck was he supposed to make time?

  How?

  Tommaso gave him a look from the side, and as if he could read Beni’s mind, said, “You’ll figure it out. We all did.”

  29.

  August

  THE last half hour of August’s day when she was in the office always found her enjoying the time she had alone. Or usually. She tended to spend those thirty minutes going over any appointments she had the next day or reorganizing something ... she could never leave anything alone or the same for very long before she wanted a change.

  Her desk wasn’t an exception to the rule.

  That was why her assistant found August surrounded by a mess of her own making, mostly comprised of the different things she had yanked from her desk and put on the floor to envision her new workspace.

  Danielle didn’t even blink a lash at the sight. The girl was used to it, now. “Well, I was going to ask if you were busy, but ...”

  Picking up the glass bowl she used for mints and hard candies, August straightened to her full height with a laugh. “Not any busier than I usually am this time of day. What’s up?”

  “Uh, just a last-minute meeting. I forgot to mention it and—”r />
  “With whom?”

  Because that was all August cared about.

  Danielle only grinned. “He’ll be here in two minutes.”

  That didn’t answer her question. August set the glass bowl to the edge of her desk where it would be more easily accessible to anyone on the other side—and less to her, since she really needed to lay off the sugar—and turned to tell her assistant exactly that.

  The girl was already gone, though.

  Poof.

  Like she hadn’t been in August’s office in the first damn place. What is going on?

  That wasn’t like Danielle at all. She had only been working as August’s assistant for a few months—her last girl ended up going back to college when she figured out media wasn’t the best place for her focus during her internship at Manic Media.

  She kind of missed her.

  She did like Danielle, too.

  Usually.

  Reaching for the spot on her white desk where the phone had typically rested, August had every intention of calling Danielle to ask her to come back in the office but stopped with a shake of her head. The phone was still on the floor waiting for a new spot on her desk. And she had unplugged it to keep the wires from becoming yet another mess for her to handle.

  Just another day in the office.

  Nothing new to see.

  “Something wrong, babe?”

  At the new—and entirely unexpected—voice, August spun on her heels to find a man leaning in the doorway of her office. A man that shouldn’t be there. Not that she didn’t like the sight of Beni grinning her way because she did. More than he would ever know. In his leather jacket and dark wash jeans, he screamed the fun time she knew he could be, and nothing was better than that.

  He also wasn’t even supposed to be in the country.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Beni lifted one shoulder, winking as he stepped into her office, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he did it. “Making time, August, that’s all.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Us.”