Next In Line: A Cake Series Novel

by J. Bengtsson

  I sat rigid, my heart beating wildly as memories flooded back. I’d been young, but I still remembered my father’s erratic behavior. The fights with my mother. The acetic, sweet smell of alcohol on his breath. I looked up at my sister, realization dawning on me for the first time. She’d been such an easy target, what with her smug, aristocratic attitude, that I’d readily accepted, even perpetuated, the belief that every wrong ever done to me was a direct result of her; when all this time, we were both casualties of the same broken man.

  I had nothing to say. Andrea looked down into her glass. The conversation irreversibly stalled until… “I’m getting a divorce.”

  My god, she was full of admissions today, each one equally stunning. Andrea divorcing? She’d always seemed so stable in her marriage; at least that’s how she always made it seem in those pictures on Facebook, bragging of lavish vacations and fancy dinners. In every image, they were either laughing or kissing. It never meshed with their actual personalities, which were decidedly bland and unfriendly, but I always just assumed he brought out the best in her. Now I wondered if those photos were all a lie, a way for my sister to showcase to the world a false reality.

  “Is it a mutual decision?” I asked.

  She expelled a bitter laugh. “Depends on which of the three of us you’re asking. Len and his girlfriend are quite in agreement — me, not so much.”

  I cringed… for her.

  “How ironic, right?” she said, anger wrapped tightly around each word. “History repeats itself.”

  She was, of course, referring to the affair that had produced me. I wondered if she even realized how her words reflected on me. Did she not hear the accusation? I fought off the desire to strike back. Andrea was clearly at her lowest. Easy prey. I could either take the high road or the low. Swallowing hard, I went high.

  Reaching over the great divide, I laid my hand on her outstretched arm. “I’m sorry. That truly sucks. He’s a giant wanker.”

  She laughed. “Yes, he is…among other things. But thank you. I know I don’t deserve your sympathy, but I’m going to take it anyway. What about you, Jesse? How are you doing?”

  She looked around my modest apartment. It was nothing special, but I kept it modern and clean, or at least as clean as possible with a young child. Compared to her two-story home with landscaping and a pool, I’m sure I appeared to be on the cusp of poverty.

  “I can’t complain.”

  She looked back in Noah’s direction. “No, I suppose you can’t. Do you have a man in your life?”

  Now it was my turn to stare into my glass. “I…yeah… That’s a tough one.”

  “Really? You’re so confident. Pretty. I’m sure you have them banging on your door.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said. “Most guys can’t see past my seventy-pound accessory.”

  Andrea again turned her head to look back at Noah. “Do you… uh… do you ever wish you hadn’t, you know, taken on so much so young?”

  “If you mean do I ever regret having him, no. It hasn’t been easy, but he gives my life happiness and meaning.”

  She nodded, taking a healthy swallow of chardonnay. “I think if I could have given Len a child, I might have been able to make him happy.”

  I looked away. Andrea? A mother? Had she forgotten her words the night I’d come banging on her door?

  Yes, she’d said. I’ll give you a job, but you can’t stay here, Jesse.

  Please, I’d begged. Just until the baby is born, and then I’ll find more permanent housing.

  Absolutely not. You know I don’t like kids.

  Dragging in a breath, I shoved those memories down. I couldn’t get into it with her here, not with Noah’s ear just a room away.

  I pretended I hadn’t just heard her ludicrous comment and turned to another topic near and dear to my heart. “Are you selling Angel Line Tours, Andrea?”

  She startled at my question. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Rumors amongst the staff.”

  “What staff?”

  Like I’d tell her. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Well, that’s a shitty thing to spread around.”

  “So it’s not true?”

  She hesitated. “It’s complicated. When I married, I gave Len a stake in the company. He owns fifty percent.”

  “Andrea! Why would you do that? It’s your grandfather’s company.”

  “I know! I was young and dumb and in love. I wasn’t the same person back then.”

  I begged to differ.

  “He’s forcing you to sell?”

  “Either that or buy him out. And I don’t have the revenue to buy him out, so…”

  I took a healthy swallow myself before bopping the glass back onto the table. Through a barely controlled growl, I said, “I can’t believe you’re just going to roll over.”

  “What else can I do, Jesse?”

  “Fight it. Fight him. I don’t care. Save the company!”

  “For who? Me or you?”

  “I know you don’t care what happens to me or Noah, but this job is the only thing paying for a roof over our heads. If the company sells, what am I going to do?”

  “What are you going to do?” she scoffed. “What am I going to do?”

  Of course, she would say that.

  14

  Quinn: Walk and Talk

  Carrying a cold-brew espresso in one hand and a laundry list of to-dos in the other, Tucker rattled off information faster than I could process. Since calling him minutes after ushering my brothers out the door last night, he hadn’t stopped working. I don’t think he’d even slept. If I’d had any doubts about my new manager’s competence, they were squashed after spending two hours with him.

  I’d had an agent in the past, and although I knew agents and managers had different duties, I was shocked by the hands-on approach Tucker took. He was singularly focused on me, acting as if I were his only client. My success, he’d said, was his success. Then it occurred to me… maybe I was Tucker Beckett’s only client. A quick Google search confirmed my suspicions. The asshole had made it seem like I was lucky to get him, when in reality, the guy was hella lucky to get me—and I was no treat.

  Turned out Tucker was every bit as much a pariah as I was. After having taken the fall for the highly publicized breakup of AnyDayNow, no artist would be caught dead associating with Tucker. Except me. Because… well… what did I have to lose? I was already dead in this business anyway. In fact, knowing he was untouchable actually made me trust him more, because under all those layers of confidence, Tucker Beckett needed me as much as I needed him.

  As we walked, Tucker talked. “Would your parents be okay having the press conference in front of your house tomorrow?”

  “A press conference?”

  “Yes, the one you’re going to give as a public statement of apology. We talked about this earlier, didn’t we?”

  We’d talked about a lot earlier, but given recent history, I definitely would’ve remembered if I’d been asked to apologize for something. Nowadays apologies were on a first-come, first-served basis.

  “Remind me who I’m apologizing to?” I asked.

  “Next in Line.”

  “Next in Line? Shouldn’t they be apologizing to me?”

  “Think of it like damage control. If you apologize first, it makes them look like shits if they don’t accept it. It’s all a game, Quinn, and we want to come out on top.”

  “So, basically it’s a non-apology?” I asked, growing ever more impressed with his devious mind.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, damn. I like it.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “So, why in front of my parents’ house?”

  “Sympathy, of course.”

  Oh, yeah, he was losing me now. “I don’t want their sympathy.”

  “In this particularly delicate situation, yes, you do. We need all the goodwill we can get, because, see, Next in Line wants to destr
oy you, and they’ll do it however they can, and that usually means attacking your character. Trust me, as someone on the receiving end of this, I know what I’m talking about. Right now, Next in Line is still in negotiation mode, trying to woo you back. But once they discover that you’re reneging on the contract, they aren’t going to play nice. I know Hollis well. There’s a very good chance he’ll smear your name and make things very difficult for you. The press conference is necessary to stay a step ahead. Get the public on your side, so Hollis’s team are the ones who look like the bad guys if, or when, they go after you.”

  Good lord, Tucker was good. Me, the guy who hated sympathy above all else, was actually nodding in agreement. Like Jake said, I had to be committed to change in order to grow, not only as a musician but as a man. Tucker was ushering in a new dawn, and with his leadership—and my newfound focus on greatness—we really couldn’t fail.

  Hell, yeah, bring on the pity party, fuckers!

  “Okay. Press conference it is,” I agreed. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Is telling the truth an option?”

  “Depends on what truth you’re asking me to tell.”

  “What made you leave the stage? The rumor going around is that the video triggered a type of PTSD episode. That theory makes you very sympathetic, and given your past, people are eager to forgive. If that’s what happened, then that should be our angle. And, honestly, Quinn, even if that wasn’t what happened, it should still probably be our angle.”

  I sucked in a breath, wishing it hadn’t come to this but understanding why Tucker thought it necessary. Besides, what did I have to lose? If people already assumed I’d suffered a flashback, all I was doing was confirming what we all knew to be true.

  “It’s close enough,” I admitted.

  “All right then. We’re in agreement.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Tucker smiled, clearly pleased by the ease with which I fell in line.

  “Excellent. That’s settled. I’ll schedule it for tomorrow. And hopefully at the same time, we can announce the other big news.”

  I cast him a questioning stare.

  “Your band.”

  My eyes expanded. “We’ll have it picked by tomorrow?”

  “We’ll have it picked by three in the afternoon today,” Tucker corrected, glancing down at his watch. “Speaking of that, Neil just texted me. We’ve got fifteen plus guys already gathered at the studio for the auditions. You ready to select your band?”

  See, this was the speed at which things happened in Tucker’s world. You either had to keep up or fall behind. It honestly surprised me that I wasn’t falling behind.

  “I feel like everything is happening…”

  “Too fast?” He finished the sentence for me. Tucker did that often, like his mind was working so fast it didn’t have time for periods.

  “Yes.”

  “It is fast. I’ve never done anything like this at this speed, but we’re working against time, Quinn. We have to jump on this while you’re hot. The plan is to release that song we talked about by the end of next week. Do you think Jake and Kyle would publicize it? Maybe even post links in their bios?”

  “I can ask. I’m sure they would. I can ask Finn too.”

  “Jesus, I forgot about Finn Perry. Your family is a gold mine of free publicity. And I’ll talk to Bodhi and RJ and the other guys in AnyDayNow. See if they can help us out too. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t actually hate me with every fiber of their being.”

  “Well, that’s good to know.”

  “And,” he continued, “your newfound following alone should be enough to get it trending. Then, with the added push of some big-name celebs, no one in the business is going to be able to ignore you.”

  “Is it just me, or does this seem too…”

  “Easy? Yes, Quinn. Sometimes it is. You’re uniquely positioned right now—and only right now—to make it big. Every minute we wait is another minute wasted.” He paused, and I could practically hear his mind churning. “I can feel this in my bones, kid. You gotta trust me.”

  There was nothing about Tucker and his slick appearance that projected dependability—hell, no one in this business even trusted him—but I did. Implicitly.

  “I do trust you.”

  He stopped walking. An expression I’d never seen on Tucker’s face emerged. Was it… gratitude? “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I made promises to my own kid that I didn’t keep. Biggest regret of my life. I swore to myself that never again would I lose myself to fame. You’ve given me a second chance to prove who I really am and what I really stand for. I won’t let you down, Quinn.”

  His sincerity proved to me I’d made the right choice.

  “Don’t you mean you won’t let the band down?”

  “I didn’t misspeak. Don’t mistake what this is. The band is your smoke screen. You’re the star. Think of it like Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. They exist to prop him up. Your band will do the same.”

  “Do those guys waiting to audition know that?”

  “Every single one of them knows the deal. They saw you on stage and know who you are. They also know where you’re going. And they want a piece of the action. I mean, think about it. Would you rather play side gigs at bars the rest of your life, or be on stage touring the world? These guys have waited their whole lives for an opportunity like this. Trust me when I say, they are well aware of the stakes.”

  Tucker had a way of making everything sound achievable. Whether it was or not remained to be seen, but I was inclined to believe the man. He had no reason to steer me wrong since both our livelihoods were tied to the success of this one shared mission.

  “Final piece of business before we go in,” Tucker said as we resumed speed walking. “Have you given any more thought to that matter we discussed last night?”

  I knew exactly what he was referring to: a shady backdoor deal to keep Hollis’s dirty little paws off my earlier music. Tucker wanted me to share the songwriting credits with a phantom cowriter. It was, he’d said, the only way to hold onto what was mine.

  “We’ll have a separate agreement with that person so they can’t turn around and claim the songs as their own. But Quinn, I can’t stress this enough; it needs to be someone you trust with your life. Jake maybe? Would he be willing to sign something to that effect to protect your music? No one would doubt it, seeing that he’s a songwriter too.”

  I knew Tucker meant well, but if he thought I was going to let Jake take credit for my music, he was seriously delusional. Besides, Jake and I weren’t the only songwriters in the family. There was another, and she was incredibly talented in her own right.

  “No. Not Jake. My sister Grace.”

  “He lives,” Grace teased the moment our Facetime call was connected. Knowing that Tucker expected an answer by tonight, I’d used the break in the audition process to contact my sister. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

  “There’s this funny thing about phones, Gracie. They actually work both directions.”

  “You don’t think I haven’t tried calling you? I can only assume you haven’t answered because you’ve been busy with the show. I refuse to believe you’ve purposely been shading your own sister.”

  “We weren’t allowed phones during Next in Line rehearsals.”

  “So, you’re saying you were rehearsing twenty-four hours a day?” she asked, trying to box me into a corner.

  I came up swinging. “Pretty much. What about you, Grace? I heard from a reliable source that you’ve been holding out on me.”

  The guilty expression on Grace’s face was all the confirmation I needed. She’d been actively keeping a secret from me. “Quinn, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  “What? You have a boyfriend. I’d like to know something about him. Is that not allowed?”

  “It’s allowed. What do you want to know?”

  “Why don’t we start with the basic
s first?”

  “Okay. His name is Elliott. He’s a student here at UCL.”

  “British?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he studying?”

  “To be an economist.”

  “So, then, no tattoos. That’s good.”

  She grinned. “How do you know that?”

  “He studies economics and his name is Elliott. Lucky guess.”

  “And he wonders why I keep him away from my man,” Grace thought aloud.

  My smile faded. “Is he good to you?”

  I could almost hear that wide smile of hers. “The best.”

  “All right then. I forgive you.”

  “Forgive me? For what?”

  “For telling Emma your secret before me.”

  “Well, if I didn’t think you’d be a judgmental ogre, you’d have been the first to know.”

  “Me? Emma spent ten minutes criticizing my shoelaces the other day. They were white, Grace. Apparently she found them too bright, and they were giving her a headache. That’s who you chose to confide in over me.”

  “Okay.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. So, what’s up, Quinn? You said you needed to talk to me about something important.”

  “I need you to take credit for my songs.”

  “Say what? Did you hit your head?”

  I explained the entire saga for my sister and how I needed her signature as a shield. “Anyway, he said to choose someone I trusted, and I couldn’t think of anyone more trustworthy than my baby sister.”

  “Ah, that’s so sweet. Of course I’d be happy to help you. I guess the only thing left to discuss is how much my silence is worth to you.”

  I nearly fell from my chair. “Wait. You want compensation?”

  “You need a service, Quinn,” she said, appearing totally sane. “One that I’ll be signing my name to. I don’t think fiftyK is too much to ask.”

  What the hell? Had her economist boyfriend rubbed off on her, figuratively speaking?