Dozens of calls, emails, messages, Twitter DMs, Instagram comments. And most of them hateful.
Calling me a liar. A whore. A money-grubbing nobody.
Not to mention what this will mean for my near future. I have to deal with William actively trying to destroy my life while simultaneously struggling to launch Pride into the stratosphere. It’s enough to make anyone crawl into a hole and never come out again.
My hands curl into fists and I don’t know if I can handle this.
Baptist clears his throat. “We should discuss the elephant in the room. Your beef with the Crawfords is going to be a problem. Ansell and I discussed it, and we both agree you should lie low for a while.”
My heart starts racing. Here it is, what I was worried about. “I don’t know what that means.”
Ansell says, “Normally, we’d want the manager to work directly with the band to get them acclimated to the new deal as quickly as possible, but in this case we were thinking you should keep to yourself for a little while.”
“I’ll take over the onboarding process,” Baptist says. “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing them from you. I’ll just take care of the boring paperwork and all that good stuff.”
“What will I do?”
“Keep your head down. Don’t ruffle any feathers. Hide from the Crawfords until their emotions cool down.” Ansell leans forward. “Watch your back.”
I stare at him, chewing my lip, thinking about Heiko.
“All right,” I say, looking down at the table. “I’ll do my best.”
It’s like they’re giving me a gift, but not letting me have it yet. And I’ll admit, there’s a horrible part of me that feels relief. I’m scared of screwing this up with Pride, especially right now while I’m distracted with William and all that crap. I can totally understand why Ansell and Baptist want to take lead, at least right now.
Still, Pride is my band. I found them. I want them.
And suddenly a spark ignites in my chest.
I worked hard to get here and I’m not going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. Ansell and Baptist want me to step back for a little while and that’s fine, but I refuse to let this become a long-term thing. I’m taking over Pride’s management, I just have to solve my problems with William as quickly as possible.
Determination floods my system. I can do this. I have to do this.
Otherwise, what was this struggle and hard work for?
“Thank you.” Ansell sits back. “That’s all for now. Go back to your desk and give the band a call. Tell them the good news.”
“Try to enjoy this little victory,” Baptist says, grinning. “Might be the last exciting thing you get to do for a while. I know it’s not perfect, but we’re rooting for you.”
I blink at him rapidly and he’s smiling huge. I let that comment sink in and stand, feeling numb. I thank them, head spinning, and hurry into the hall thinking about Kari. She’s going to be so damn happy, and god, what if Baptist is right? This might be the last joyous moment I get until William decides he doesn’t want to torture me anymore.
Which might be months or years.
I’m a wreck as I shamble to my desk. My head’s spinning and my hands are shaking, and I keep trying to think of ways I can end my issues with William so I can start focusing on Pride. I can’t let Baptist and Ansell take my band away, not now when I’m right on the cusp of something bigger than myself.
Real success for the first time in my life.
As I reach my desk, I slow to a stop and frown. Someone’s sitting in my chair, but it’s not Blair.
“Uh, hello?” I get closer and the person swivels around.
My father’s glare meets my eyes and I throw my hands to my mouth to keep from screaming.
Chapter 9
Marie
“Daughter.” My father’s voice is low and gravelly. He sounds like he smokes a pack a day although he’s an obsessive health nut that runs like fifty miles every week. I’ve never met anyone so rigorous and routinized, except for maybe Ansell. My father does nothing that isn’t already scheduled weeks in advance and he believes in the gospel of hard work like it’s a religion.
Which makes this surprise visit all the more terrifying. My father does absolutely nothing without thinking about it for days in advance.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“You haven’t called me back.” His face is flat and controlled which sends a shiver down my spine. I know that look—he’s hiding his real feelings beneath his business mask.
“I know, I’m sorry, I keep meaning to but—”
“We need to talk.” He rises from my chair. My father is a tall man, lean and well built, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His jaw is square and his eyes are a deep, piercing green. All my life, my girlfriends have told me that my dad’s attractive and I used to really hate it. Now I understand that my father uses his looks to his advantage whenever possible, like everything else in his life.