Page 48 of Before You Fell

Damon steps aside allowing us to get in. “I know what happens when you find your own way anywhere.”

Cruz grins, leaning against the mirrored wall. “That sounds unfairly personal.”

“It’s based on evidence.” Damon hits the button for the rooftop level and turns as the doors close, pinning us all with that manager stare. “Listen carefully, because I am only saying this once. Label executives will be up there. Radio people. Streaming people. Journalists who still think being invited somewhere makes them important. You just smile, shake hands, and you do not insult anyone important.”

“Define important,” Jax says.

“Anyone who can make my life harder.”

Jett looks at Damon with his quiet, deadpan expression. “That’s most people.”

“Exactly,” Damon says, pointing at him.

“What about sex in a bathroom?” Cruz asks while checking his reflection in the mirrored wall.

Damon doesn’t blink. “Use the fucking lock this time.”

“Look at you,” Cruz says. “Managing the band and keeping my cock out of the headlines.”

Jax frowns. “So, bathroom sex is allowed?”

“It’s not encouraged.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Damon’s stare cuts to him. “No public scandals. No fights. No threatening photographers, and no telling executives their children look weird when they shove a photo in your face.”

Then his gaze lands on me, because apparently, in an elevator full of walking bad decisions, I am still the headline act.

“The kid looked weird,” I say, leaning against the elevator wall. “Anything else, Dad?”

“Yes, Phoenix,” Damon says. “Try not to call anyone at the label an asshole.”

“You want me to lie at an industry event? That feels off-brand.”

“I want you to smile and shut the fuck up.”

“What if they are an asshole?”

“Especially then, Phoenix.” Damon’s eyes narrow. “You will survive ninety minutes without telling the truth.”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Honesty is part of my charm.”

“No,” he says. “Your face and singing voice are part of your charm. Your mouth is a fucking liability.”

I grin. “Funny. That’s not what most people say about my mouth.”

Damon’s mouth tightens. “You are not here to be yourself. That goes for all of you.”

The elevator climbs, dragging us toward a room full of fake smiles, expensive liquor, and people pretending they aren’t desperate to stand close to the thing they plan to sell.

Me.

I hate these parties but I love them even more. Because the second those doors open, every suit and every pretty little wannabe on that rooftop remembers exactly who the fuck I am.

The elevator doors open on the rooftop and the party is already doing what industry parties do best. Lying in good lighting.

Black marble. Glass walls. Gold everywhere, as if enough shine could make rich people appear less dead behind the eyes. Waiters drift between bodies with trays of champagne no one is drinking for the taste. Executives laugh too loudly. Journalists hover at the edges, waiting for someone famous to bleed in a direction they can turn into front-page news.