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I used to think this shit was cool. That it meant money and loyalty.
It doesn’t.
“Archie,” I greet as the rotund man finally releases his ass from the chair on the third try, his loose jowls shaking with each thunderous step toward us.
His manicured but yellowed nails from too many years of sitting in cloudy rooms like this dig into my shoulders when the old man pulls me into a half hug, the mix of stale andfresh tobacco filling my nostrils and coating my already aching sinuses.
I paste on my best charm and pat the guy’s back for half a second because if I don’t, I know it’ll make this shit worse.
“I hear you wanted to speak with me, son. Come,” He gestures to the less fancy leather chair in front of his desk. “Sit and have a smoke.”
Fat hands shoo away his guards that stand sentry beside his chair that severely protests his flop of weight, only to busy themselves with lighting another stogie despite the guards’ refusal to stand down. They merely just take a step aside.
Of course, they do.
Because Ian’s here.
I learned a thing or two last time. Maybe they did, too.
“I cannot believe the feedback from your new recordings, son.” Archie puffs on the stogie, pushing more smoke into the air from the turd pinched between his fingers. “Once we switch a few things, I think we might have another album on our hands.” He chuckles to himself, completely unaware of my rolling eyes because he can never be bothered with anything beyond his own greed.
We do have an album already. It’s As Above’s sound and my fucking heart.
I shoot a glance back at Ian who only cocks a brow at the man behind the desk.
“That’s exactly what I want to talk about, Arch.” I amend, effectively cutting him off from his own daydream and pulling my gaze back around to find his startled expression searching my face for the exact location I found my gull in.
“Son?” He questions but his face reddens with the anger I’m certain even I can feel radiating from him from across the room, its path only broken up by the seat I refused to take.
“The contract is up, Arch.” I lean into a brace on the back of the empty chair and stare down the man I thought would give us, my brothers and I, the world one day.
And I do it with a smile on my face knowing that Archie did not give us the world at all, but instead, taught us a valuable lesson.
Never trust a salesman.
His fist slams into the wood between us, ashes flittering from the lit cigar tucked between his thick fingers and landing among the piles of papers he’ll probably never file or scan.
“It’s up when I say it’s up,boy.” He growls at me, leaning closer in my direction, except what he doesn’t realize is that his intimidation game is over with me. He doesn’t lean far, thanks to all the extra baggage around his midsection, his balding head catching the light and reflecting beams back at me.
“Now,” I say with a lightness I barely feel as I push off of the chair and step around the furniture to walk by his stale nicotine-covered desk. I swipe a finger over the top, leaving a trail in my wake, and come back around to glance in Ian’s direction.
I tuck my elbow in to inspect the pads of my fingers and thumb only to find them turning orange the longer I rub them together.
“You have two options, Arch.” I spin back to the raging old man with pointed fingers. “Either you delete any recent recordings you’ve manipulated of my new album, or we can take it to court.” I shrug, arms dropping to my sides, and feel Ian step up to flank me as if on cue. “If you make it that far, that is.”
The guards standing sentry on either side of the old man flex at my words, hands finding handles of guns, awaiting the command to take us out.
“I’ll beg your fucking pardon, boy?!” Archie’s angry spittle flies from his shaking lips and lands on the dark desk, his voice rattling off the orangish-tinged walls. “You wouldn’t have yourlittle fucking band if it wasn’t for me! World tours?! Who got youthose?!”
I shrug, nonchalant and uncaring of his words.
“And you have the fucking nerve to threaten me?” Arch stands from his desk, making it to his feet with only one try this time, his fat sausage finger aimed right at me.
“Not a threat.” I glance back at Ian who shoots me a look that suggests I should fix myself so he doesn’t have to get involved. “Just a statement of fact based on your lifestyle.”
“You wouldn’t be the face of music if it weren’t for me,boy.” Archie seethes, arching forward, bracing his fists on the wooden panel.
He’s not wrong. We wouldn’t be where we are if it weren’t for him.
