“You’ve lost another fifteen percent,” he says, his voice sombre.
My mind is spinning, trying to think straight. Between the headache and this news, I can hardly begin to make a decision let alone even think about it. “So you recommend that now? Getting rid of the shares?”
“Yeah, now I do. The market is fucked at the moment. It might not take any more hits, but you just never know. You need to go into preservation mode, my friend.”
“Do it.” I know I need to make a quick decision and seems as though my mind isn’t at full speed today, I decide to trust him. He’s never led me astray to date.
“I’m on it,” he says, and we hang up.
I lean my hands against the edge of the vanity and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
This will be okay.
I will fix this.
West looks up as I enter the recording studio just over an hour later. He grins and raises his brows. “How’s the head?”
“Almost under control,” I reply, looking around for Van. I ran into Hunter outside but am yet to see Van. “Where’s Van?”
West shrugs. “No idea, but you’re early. I wasn’t expecting either of you for another hour or so.”
I pull out my phone. “I’m gonna call him and see if he’s on his way.”
He frowns. “Fuck, don’t start something with him so early in the day.”
Looking up at him, I ask, “What?”
“You two agreed on a time for today so don’t call him and harass him to come early. And what’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me,” I mutter, the pain in my head racheting up again.
“Something clearly has, because you’re here early for once, and you want to get Van here so we can get going. And I didn’t think you even wanted to make this album.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I do want to make this album, and I want to get this shit done fast.”
I’ve clearly confused West because he’s almost gaping at me. “What the fuck happened to make you do a complete flip on this?”
Agitation prickles my skin, and I shove my fingers through my hair. “My shares have taken a hit; a fucking huge hit. I’m bleeding cash, West. I need this to get done.” We’ve always been honest with each other so I lay it out for him.
His eyes bulge. “Fuck, sorry man.”
“Yeah. Me too, but it’s done and I can only move forward from here.”
Van strolls in, interrupting our conversation, and we both turn to him. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes and he looks as trashed as I feel. “I’m here, assholes. My head’s killing like a motherfucker so if we could work on something that doesn’t involve loud noise that would be fucking awesome,” he grumbles as he drops onto the couch in the corner.
“I feel ya, man,” I agree, and we nod at each other.
“Why did we think it was a good idea to drink that much shit last night?” Van asks.
The couch looks inviting so I sit next to him and lay my head back. Fuck, it’s heaven. “Because you were being a dickhead and giving me grief about this goddamn fucking sound of ours.”
After Presley left, Van and I had continued our argument into the early hours of the morning, consuming a shitload of alcohol in the process.
“And you were a dick to your girlfriend. That’s right; it’s all coming back to me now.” He turns his head to look at me. “Have you heard from her?”
“No.”
He sucks in a breath. “Fuck. You gonna get onto that?”