It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. I look down at the plastic bottle in my hands. My thumb scrapes at the paper label, shredding it. “Look, man… I appreciate the opportunity, but I’m going to have to pass.”
Freddie blinks owlishly at me for several seconds before he turns away with a scoff. He turns back, looking even more incredulous. “What do you mean, you have topass? You made us the offer.”
“It’s no longer on the table.”
Oh, Eleanor is going to kill me. She’ll think I’m turning this down for her, which is only partly true, and not really something I see a problem with. It’s simple: I want to be with her more than I want to work with any one band. Beyond that, I don’t particularly want to work with this asshole anymore.
I mean, hell, after what I witnessed tonight, I’m not even sure how legitimate Freddie’s decision is. He’s always been sort of the default leader of the group, but why is he the only one in here right now? Where are the others?
Freddie’s jaw ticks. “Come on, Shaw. Just like that? Billy said you—”
“Billy Draper doesn’t speak for me.”
I set my water bottle down on the side table and push to my feet. Clearly, the option to stay here and wait for Eleanor is no longer viable. Things just got real awkward, and Freddie seems frayed thin. His knee is bouncing and he’s cracking his knuckles. He looks like he’s a heartbeat away from hitting something. And I’ve already been punched in the face once today, so I’m out.
“I’m sure you’ll land somewhere great,” I tell him as I walk away.
Not twenty minutes later, Billy is calling me.
I’m standing on the sidewalk outside the venue, already staring at my phone, when his name pops up on the screen. Eleanor hasn’t come out yet. I’ve been out here racking my brain, trying to figure out a way to prove to her that I mean what I say. To convince her I’ll never lie to her or hide anything from her again.
Funnily enough, the only solution I’d come up with was talking to Billy. But I hadn’t quite figured out what I wanted to say to him yet. Now he’s calling, and there’s no point in putting it off.
“Hey,” I answer.
“What’s this I hear about you walking away from Dempsey?”
I huff a dry laugh and run a hand over my mouth. “What, did Freddie call you? God, he’s such a little bitch.”
Billy snorts on the other end of the line. “He is. But yeah, he called. BecauseI’mthe one who connected you two. Do you not see how bad this makes me look?”
Guilt stabs through my stomach. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But then, why would I have? The decision wasn’t about Billy. It’smycareer. My call.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. It just wasn’t a good fit.”
“A good fit,” Billy repeats, like it’s the most idiotic thing he’s ever heard. “We’ve been over this. They’re on the precipice; their next album could be massive. You had it in the fucking bag, Adam. What the hell happened out there to make you walk?”
“Look, the band’s politics are a mess right now—”
Billy cuts me off with a huff. “So, what? You’re going to hand them over to Eleanor Thompson on a silver platter?”
Groups of concertgoers are scattered around me, some waiting for rides while others loudly debate where to go next. But it all fades to nothing, drowned out by my own pulse roaring in my ear.
My grip tightens around my phone. “Why do you care?”
“Excuse me?”
“I know this was a potential opportunity for you too. Butfrom the way Freddie talks about it, you have a good shot at getting hired as their new manager regardless of what label they land with. So why does it matter whether she’s the one who signs them?”
Billy makes a petulant noise. I can picture him angrily pacing around his home office, shelves lined with music memorabilia and relics of his glory days. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’d throw an opportunity like this away. And don’t give me that bullshit about the band’spolitics.”
My jaw twitches. “I need you to be straight with me, Billy. Did you send me here specifically because it was Eleanor’s meeting?”
“No. What the fuck? I told you this morning, I never mentioned it was her because I didn’t think it mattered. Clearly, I was wrong about that.”
This last part is muttered under his breath, and I can’t let it bait me. I remember Eleanor’s reaction, when she asked me not to call Billy to ask for his help earlier. How worried she was that word would get back to Griffin. I don’t want to drag her into the conversation… but I have to know.
“So Griffin Hastings didn’t put you up to this?”
