by Elle Greco
“It’ll be nice to be out of those bunk beds,” Jett said. “After those, a motel bed will feel like we’re sleeping on Hypnos.”
Presley sighed at the name of one of the world’s most exclusive—and expensive—mattresses. “They have those at the Four Seasons. I love the Four Seasons.”
“It will be nice to have some privacy for a change,” I added. My face flushed as my thoughts went straight to Dion.
Presley smirked. “Did you bring your vibrator on tour?”
I shot her a sour look.
“Bring what on tour?” Rafe asked, walking into the club.
My face got hot. A look passed between the three of us. Presley and Jett burst out laughing.
Rafe shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it on the bar. “You don’t have to stop talking. I know all about it.”
My eyes bulged, and my face got even hotter.
Jett snorted. “You do not.”
“Sure I do,” Rafe said. He plopped onto a barstool and rested his chorded forearms on the bar. “Just let them have their bidding war. Sit back and enjoy."
Presley cocked an eyebrow. “Bidding war? What bidding war?”
“Wait? Are we talking about the same thing?” he asked.
“We’re talking about Nikki’s vibrator,” Jett said, and I was pretty sure my head was going to spontaneously combust from the heat of humiliation. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, his hand scrubbing at his face. “Okay, but you didn’t hear it from me.” He looked at each one of us, not continuing until we each gave him a nod. “According to what I just heard, there’s a bidding war between Grimm and Pop Art for Satan’s Sisters.”
That sound? That was my jaw hitting the floor.
Presley blinked at him. “What?”
“When I was leaving the recording studio, Vince was on a conference call with Grimm and Eric, the A&R guy, discussing it. And from the decibel level of Grimm’s voice, I’d say Pop Art is winning.”
Warning bells went off in my head. “Wait. Who the hell is negotiating this deal? Vince?”
“Who else?” Rafe said, cracking his knuckles. “And if you tell him I told you, I will deny the whole thing. No joke, don’t screw me.”
“Screw you?” I asked. “Sounds like we’re the ones getting screwed. Vince is not supposed to—”
“If not Vince, then who?” Presley jumped in. “We’re pissing in the wind here, Nik. We have no one to go to bat for us except him.”
“We have us,” I reminded her. “We do this shit all the time.”
Presley tossed up her hands. “We negotiate door splits with shitty clubs in LA, Nik. A record deal? That’s big league.”
I turned to Jett. “Vince is not signing us with Grimm Records.”
“Sorry, Nik,” Jett apologized. “I’m with Presley on this one. I just want the best deal, and one that includes holding on to my publishing rights. We can’t do this on our own. And you sound paranoid.”
“Vince is negotiating for us, and we’re taking his advice,” Presley said. “Case closed.”
“There is no case closed,” I protested. “What happened to making decisions together?”
“Why do you hate him so much?” Presley questioned. “He’s done right by us.”
“He’s an asshole!”
She waved her hand at me. “Please.”
“I just spent six hours in the recording studio with him,” I said. “Trust me, he’s an asshole.”
“Oh, come on, Nik.” Presley tossed up her hands. “Would it kill you to be a little generous? After all he’s done for us.”
“What has he done exactly?” I snapped.
“Oh my God! We lived in his mansion!”
“He sent us to that fancy private school,” Jett chimed in.
“He married our mother—he couldn’t exactly leave us stranded on the sidewalk,” I countered.
“He could have sent us to live with Dad,” Presley yelled.
“Dad wouldn’t have taken us,” I yelled back.
“My God, Nik, you are so freaking thick,” Presley snapped. “Mom wanted to send us back to Maine. Vince was the one who said no.”
I stared at her, my chest heaving. “That’s a lie,” I whispered.
“Fuck!” Presley yelled, throwing her arms up then dropping them back down. She closed her eyes and took a breath before opening them again. “God, Nik, are you so damaged from what Dad did that you can’t even see when a man is doing right by you?”
Jett rested her hand gently on my arm. “I think you need to be a little more circumspect, Nik. Vince gave us a good life. Better than what we had with Mom. Way better than we would have had with Dad.”
“A stable home? A closet full of clean clothes? Food in the fridge? We can thank Vince for that,” Presley huffed.
“We can thank the maids for that,” I said, my voice surly.
“A good education,” Jett added. “Private school was all Vince. So is UCLA.”
I yanked my arm away from Jett. “You’d have gotten a scholarship.”
Presley rubbed her temples. “Stop being so stubborn, Nik. Vince is looking out for our best interests.”
“Is he really?” I hissed. “How much money does he stand to make from this deal? Grimm offering a little kickback maybe?”
“Hey, maybe Pop Art’s not the best label for you.” Rafe waded into our argument with caution. “Indie cred don’t pay the rent.”
“Statistically speaking, Grimm is a hit-making machine,” Jett said, backing him up.
I slid off the barstool and looked back and forth between my sisters. “I cannot believe that this doesn’t bother either of you.”
“What doesn’t?” asked Dion, walking into the club. Even in baggy cargo shorts and a long sleeve T-shirt, he looked hot, and I felt my anger slipping.
“Nothing,” I muttered. I paced toward the stage. “Let’s get on with this sound check. Where the hell is the sound guy anyway?”
“Easy now,” he said, following me. He dropped his voice. “What’s going on?”
“Like you don’t know,” I hissed, settling in behind my drum kit.
“No, I don’t,” he said. “How about telling me why you’re pissed instead of assuming I’m the asshole?”
“Because you usually are,” I snapped, picking up my sticks.
He leaned over my snare drum and snatched the sticks from my hands. “No, you don’t get to do this. You tell me what you think I did.”
“Pop Art? Grimm?”
Dion’s eyes flashed. He turned back to Rafe. “Really?” he shouted to him from across the club.
“Dude, it was an accident—”
Rafe started to make his excuses, but I cut him off. “Why the ever loving fuck is Vince negotiating our deal?”
Dion turned his attention to me. “Because you have no one else in your corner.”
“See?” Presley called from the bar. “I told you.”
I ignored her and plowed forward. “If I had known that we needed someone in our corner, I would have picked someone.”
“Who?” he asked.
I blinked. It was a good question, and one I couldn’t answer.
“A lawyer,” I said, to get something out.
“Which one?” he pushed.
“I have a few in mind.” My eyes narrowed to slits.
Dion laughed. “You are so full of shit. It’s adorable.”
“Don’t tell me I’m adorable,” I spat out.
“Nik, come on. Vince is not going to fuck you over. No way,” Dion said.
“That’s not the point, Dion,” I said.
“What is?” he asked.
“It’s that… I just…” I stopped, my anger reached its boiling point, causing my brain to malfunction.
“Exactly,” Dion said. “You have no point. Vince is handling this, Nik. He’ll do right by you.” He turned toward my sisters and pointed at each of them with the drumsticks. “All of you.”
“That’s because you want your solo deal with Grimm to go through,” I snapped.
“That’s not fair, Nikki,” she huffed. “One has nothing to do with the other.”
“Jett?” I asked, looking to my other sister. Presley could say what she wanted, but there was no way that her pending solo deal was not coloring her view of the whole situation. Jett had no conflict of interest.
“I don’t know,” Jett said, her gaze going to the worn wood of the bar top. Then she shrugged. “Vince can negotiate, but it doesn’t mean we have to sign.” Presley’s back went stiff, and I opened my mouth to argue. Jett held up a hand. “Look, I’m not signing with either label just to get a deal. If the deal doesn’t make sense, I’m not doing it. So, if Vince isn’t negotiating in good faith, we squash it. Regardless of what label it comes from.”
“But—” I started. I wanted to argue with her because, well, I wanted Satan’s Sisters on Pop Art’s roster.
“Nik,” Rafe said, his voice low. He nodded toward Jett with what appeared to be a measure of pride. “Be smart about this. Jett’s right. Bands are closing out their contracts owing the labels tens of thousands of dollars because the suits send them off on tours they know will never recoup.”
I slumped behind my drum kit. Rafe and Jett were both right. There was no reason to sign with either of them if we were just going to get screwed.
“We’re good, then?” Dion asked, looking at me. I lifted one shoulder to acknowledge him and then yawned. I was beat.
The door to the club swung open then, and a raucous group of five guys, two with guitar cases in tow, tumbled in.
The first one through the door stopped dead in his tracks, causing a pileup behind him. “Holy shit! You’re Rogue Nation,” he shouted.
“It doesn’t look like sound check is happening,” Presley muttered.
“Vince is gonna freak,” Rafe said, his eyes moving to Dion.
We were sound checking tonight to have more studio time before tomorrow night’s gig. Tonight’s band needed to do their sound check, and they had priority.
“Shit. I gotta move my kit,” I grumbled, getting off my stool and stretching.
“I’ll help,” Dion said, while Rafe went over to distract the fawning band.
“It’s fine, Dion. I got it,” I said.
“I’m helping before Rafe and I have to head back to the studio.”
“The studio, for what?” I asked.
“Dad wants us to listen to the mix,” he said.
I stayed silent and focused on breaking down my kit, trying to hide my disappointment that I wasn’t invited to hear the mix with them.
“Nik, come on,” Dion said, reading my mood. “It’s not personal.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s fine,” I lied, not looking at him.
His hand wrapped around my bicep, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Have dinner with your sisters. Get some rest. I’ll see you in my room at nine.”
My eyes widened before narrowing into a glare. “Do not even think that I am having sex with you.”
Dion burst out laughing.
I shook my arm out of his grip. “Sorry, didn’t realize the idea of having sex with me was so funny.”
Dion stopped laughing, and his eyes smoldered. God, the look he gave me nearly did me in.
“Not even a little,” he said. “I’m laughing because you forgot about the RockPlay interview.”
I blinked at him. “RockPlay interview?”
“Yeah, Alice set up an interview with both of us.”
I let that sink in for a moment. RockPlay was the most influential magazine for nascent bands. A feature was huge.
“What about Rafe?” I asked.
“Dude wanted you alone. Female drummer angle. But Alice wanted me in on it, too,” He shrugged. I stared at him, my mouth gaping open. “Shit. Fucking Alice. She didn’t get in touch with you directly?”
I shook my head, the only part of my numb body I could move.
“Okay, well, now you know.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not doing it.”
He raked his hand though his blond curls. “Come on, Nik. You’re kidding right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Dion evaluated me, his eyes warming as they ran over my curves. “Really, Dion?” I snapped at him.
“I don’t get your problem, Nik,” he said. His eyes lifted and met mine. “It’s RockPlay. And you’re saying no? Why?”
“Because it’s RockPlay,” I said, tossing up my hands. “I mean, RockPlay? Now? You think it’s a good idea? I mean, you know, after what happened? Last night?”
He released a breath. “Nik, no one knows about that. Not that it matters—it wasn’t your fault. You were slipped something.”
“Uh-uh,” I said, my head doing a slow back-and-forth. “I’m not chancing it. No way. Do you know what that could do to me? To my career?”
“Nik, your career is fine,” Dion said.
I tossed my hands in the air. “For now. This could blow up in my face at any minute. Pop Art will sprint in the other direction. No one wants a junkie on their roster. It’s not the ’80s anymore.”
“But, Nik, you don’t even smoke pot,” Dion said, his voice measured. “You were slipped those pills.”
“I overdosed, Dion,” I said, my voice climbing an octave higher. “And after what happened to Kyle? The damn story practically writes itself.”
Dion flinched at the mention of his brother but kept going. “Please, Nik. We need this. The album’s stalled at number eight-three in the top one hundred. We need to crack the top fifty at least, and it won’t happen if we don’t do shit to move the needle.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “And RockPlay will?”
“It’s not going to drive it lower,” he said. He clasped my hand in both of his and brought it to his lips. “Nikki, I promise if for some reason they know about last night, I’ll squash it. I swear to you. I won’t let them hurt you. Not with me there. Please.”
Dion’s eyes were feral with desperation.
“It’s RockPlay,” I whispered. My gut felt like I’d been sucker punched.
“Nik, I promise,” he said. “Nine o’clock, my room.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat and nodded.
“Thank you,” he said, his lips pressing against my knuckles.
I pulled my hand away and focused on breaking down my kit. A small headache was blooming behind my eyes, and my breath was ragged.
“And Nik?” Dion asked. I turned my attention back to him. “After the interview, we need to talk.”
My sigh was heavy. “About what?”
His hand reached around me and locked around the back of my neck. His fingers pressed into the base of my skull, and he licked his lips. “About that no-sex thing.”
My breath hitched. My fear melted away, replaced by something much more dangerous. I squeezed my thighs together. Dion gave me his Cheshire-cat smile and then released me. I stared at his perfect backside as he strode out of the club.
15
I stood in front of Room 113, hand poised to knock. But instead, I remained in suspended animation, forcing myself to try that visualization trick that athletes do before big games. I’d already been at it for an hour. In my head I was witty and charming. I said all the right things.
Unfortunately, that was the point when my lizard brain allowed my mom entry. She told sordid stories to the reporter, and they both had a jolly laugh at my expense. I shook my head, as if that would rid her from my thoughts.
A shirtless Dion yanked open the door, and my eyes snapped open.
“Why the hell are you just standing out here?” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m just… mentally preparing.”
Dion’s eyes danced, and he wiped at his mouth to hide his smirk. Jerk.
“Were you able to
get some rest?” he asked, leaning his body closer into mine.
My eyes moved down his muscled chest to his hips, his jeans slung tantalizingly low, with the button undone. Mussed hair, half dressed. My stomach knotted.
“Is the interviewer here?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, not budging from the doorframe.
“Want to let me in, then?” I hissed.
“We need to talk about something first,” he said with a smile. My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Oh God, Dion,” I squeaked. “Did you have sex with the RockPlay reporter?”
Dion stepped out of the doorway, closing the door behind him. “We need to talk about the interview. RockPlay is asking about the gig the other night. What happened after. They know you were hospitalized.”
My eyes went wide, and I gripped Dion’s arm to keep from falling over. “I told you!”
“Easy, babe,” he said, putting his hand over mine. “Someone just shat all over your right to privacy, welcome to Hollywood. But that’s done, and now we need to deal with it. So how much do you want to admit?”
Ignoring for a moment that he hadn’t actually answered my question about having sex with the reporter, I pressed my hand against my forehead. “Crap. I don’t know. Can I deny it?”
Dion shook his head. “Someone who was at the party leaked that you were taken out by EMTs. Hospital records are easy enough to check if you pay off the right people. And Vince used your real name, which was stupid.”
“Shit,” I grumbled, my eyes glued to my feet. I kicked at the cement walkway with the toe of my Converse. “What do I do, Dion?”
“Alice thinks we should give them a version close to the truth,” he said. “She said dehydration has similar symptoms and isn’t unusual on tour.”
“You called Alice?” I asked, raising my voice. Dion shushed me.
“I didn’t call Alice. I texted her,” he replied. My hands fisted. “Don’t freak, Nik. Jesus. I don’t know how the hell to handle this shit either.”
I stilled at his admission. The man was self-assured to a fault. Hearing him admit uncertainty was refreshing but unnerving in these circumstances. If he didn’t know how to deal with this, how the hell would I?
“Nik?” he pushed. “How do you want to handle it? I told you what Alice thinks.”
