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He sighs. “They aren’t going to be happy.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t just want to be the man who looks good for the press. I want to be the man who is good. The man my pop raised me to be. And if the executives in Nashville don’t understand that, then I’ll cut my own damn records. Hell, I’ll start my own label,” I threaten.
He laughs. “You would, just to spite them, you crazy son of a bitch.”
With that, I know I have him.
“I’ll make some calls.” He pulls out his phone and looks at it. “Fuck, can we go somewhere I can make a call?” he asks.
I stand. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to my brother. We’re heading to an attorney’s office. You can ride along.”
“Why do you need an attorney? You haven’t done anything stupid while you’ve been here, have you?” he asks.
“I sure have,” I say as I wrap an arm around his shoulders.
“Garrett, are you serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack,” I tell him.
A string of curses falls from his lips as we make it to Langford.
I introduce the two of them, and they shake hands.
“Go ahead. Lay it on me,” Pierce insists.
Langford looks at me. “What’s he talking about?”
“He wants to know what stupid thing I’ve done since I got here to need to see an attorney.”
He laughs and holds up his middle and index fingers. “Two stupid things.”
