My heart swells in my chest, and I can barely hold back the tears welling in my eyes.
“I’ll come by the studio after, and we’ll go for lunch?” I ask, and Lauren nods, burrowing into my chest with a contented sigh.
* * *
The next morning is the worst kind of torture, and Davey shoots me a warning glareagain.
Not that I blame him. I’ve been staring with such animosity at Amara that she’s been squirming in her seat on the verge of tears for the past ten minutes. And it isn’t even because of that juvenile trick she pulled with Garderobe or her dragging us through this pointless and tedious legal process like the spoiled brat that she is, but rather because she’s the reason I had to leave Lauren this morning.
“We’ll miss you.”
Sure, it was mumbled in a state of ninety-nine percent sleep, but the way Lauren said “we” filled me with a sense of belonging I haven’t felt in a very long time. It erased every last shred of doubt I had about where my stability lays.
The lawyers have been at it for a while, nitty gritting the early termination of Amara’s contract, debating which songs she’s allowed to perform and which she isn’t. What belongs to the label and what belongs to her.
It doesn’t matter thatIwrote and produced most of her greatest hits. According to her dad-slash-manager, a/k/a the man trying to stare me down right now, Amara’s singing and face were what made them a success.
Which would have been fine, except, in the same breath, he’s trying to force us to see the contract through. Another two years on the deal, because while Amara may be the face and the voice of those top-chart songs, he knows we’re the heart and soul behind them.
It won’t help him, though. I’ll give her all the rights; I’ll even throw in a couple of ballads I had tailored for her. But she is not staying on as one of our artists. No way.
Benny Calderon smacks his hand on the table, cutting the lawyers off mid-argument on perpetual royalties. “If you want to keep seeing a dime off my daughter, she stays.”
“Mr. Calderon, we’ve explained before.” Davey leans forward. His voice is calm, but his stare is formidable, and even Benny knows not to interrupt. “Carrot Top is a family business based on family values. Any other situation, we could have smoothed it out. But Amara purposefully broke a promise she made to Michael and lied about it, sending him blind and vulnerable into Garderobe.” Davey leans back, his hard gaze shifting to Amara. “We have no room in our family for people who try to manipulate us and betray us when they don’t get what they want.”
“What is it you claim my daughter wanted and didn’t get, exactly, that made her break thisallegedpromise?” He directs his question at me, though he was fully aware of the arrangement with Garderobe. It was in coordination with him and her PR agency, which dropped her the second word of her actions spread.
They’ve been working with us for years and wouldn’t risk losing our business for one, soon-to-be has-been, spoiled starlet.
I’m about to answer him when a message pops on my screen, Hattie’s name on it. My heart stops beating because there’s only one reason Hattie would contact me directly, and I pick up my phone to look.
Hattie:Hey, have you seen Lauren this morning? She never showed up at the studio, and she isn’t answering her phone.
Mikey:When I left the house, but it was early. She’s probably still asleep. I’ll send Trista over to check.
Hattie:Okay, keep me posted. I’m running point here with Posey in the meantime.
Mikey:Thanks for the heads up.
I text Trista, then Lauren, asking her to answer so I know she’s okay. A couple of minutes and halfway to a heart attack later, she writes me that she’s fine. Nothing else, no joke on how I exhausted her last night or calling me Cupcake. Not even an emoji. Just a plainfine.
Her answer calms me about her physical health, but I sense she isn’t entirely okay, so I don’t call Trista off. She was close to the apartment as it were and is probably already there anyway, and I just let Hattie know that Lauren is a bit tired and will talk to her later.
When I look up, Benny looks downright pissed, and Davey is staring at me with a worried gaze.
“Remind me your bullshit question again?” Benny’s nostrils flare, but before he can respond, I continue. “And, I allow myself to call you out simply because there’s documentation of your approval for the Garderobe exclusive, as well as a heartfelt written apology from Amara’sformerpublicist claiming they didn’t know about her backstabbing move.”
He opens his mouth to answer, but I raise a hand to stop him. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Benny, that you didn’t either. But now both you and your daughter have blatantly lied to my face, more than once.” I lean forward in my chair, mimicking Davey’s position, holding back a smirk at his silent applaud under the table, and am about to tell Benny to sit quietly and let the lawyers do their job when I get a message from Trista.
LAUREN MELTDOWN. HOME NOW!
I slide my phone to Davey, standing and looking straight at Amara. “You can take all the songs, all the royalties, I don’t give a shit.” Davey hands me my phone back with a nod. “But you are no longer, nor will you ever again be, part of the Carrot Top Records family.”
With those parting words, I turn and walk to the door.
“You heard the man. Get the paperwork done.” Davey’s words directed at the lawyers have me smiling for a moment before I quicken my pace, wanting nothing more than to get back to Lauren as fast as I can.
Back to my family, where I belong.