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“I’d never do anything to–”
“I know you wouldn’t,” he interrupted. “But let’s just play it safe, okay? You do this on the side. I won’t say a damn thing as long as you’re not dropping the ball anywhere else.”
I bristled, but before I could say anything, Marshall stood up. He brushed at the immaculate lines of his suit and smiled down at me. It was a sad smile, weary and full of our shared loss. “I know you’ll protect Quinn. Even if it means getting your hands dirty. That’s why I’m telling you to keep it off our books.”
I knew he was thinking about the family we couldn’t save. I knew he was thinking that at least, unlike cancer and car accidents, Jason Cain was an enemy I could fight. I could tie a legal noose around his neck and let him hang. If I had to, I could wrap my bare hands around his throat. And I had Marshall’s full blessing.
I started to say thank you, but he was already moving toward the door. It was just as well, I decided. I would have addedsirto the end and pissed him off all over again.
That night, after I put Noah to bed, I considered calling Quinn and telling her what I thought she should do. But the more I thought about it, the less I was sure that I knew. She could absolutely record a junk third album, send the masters to Jason, and call it done–but what would that do to her career? I wouldn’t put it past him for a second to release the shitty album in an attempt to torpedo her career. A twisted form ofIf I can’t have her, no one can. She could also declare bankruptcy if she could prove the label was adversely affecting her finances somehow. And of course, she could do something to violate the morality clause.
But I wanted to do better. I wanted to be able to look her in the eye and tell her that she never had to deal with Jason Cain in any capacity ever again. I’d taken care of it. And the only way to do that was to take care of it myself.
Without thinking too hard about why this was so important to me, I called my parents. They lived five minutes away, and they were almost always at home. Sure enough, my dad picked up right away. When I asked if they could come over and hang outwith Noah until I got back, they almost seemed relieved to have something to do.
I was on the road to LA in half an hour, after I turned on the TV for them and told my mom not to clean anything. I didn’t know if she’d listen, but I hoped she would. I wanted them to relax in their retirement. That was why I’d bought them the condo outright and had my cleaning service go over once a week. They deserved it.
Now I just wished they’d enjoy it.
I had made some calls and found out that one of Jason Cain’s clients was having an album release party at a nightclub in the city. A couple more calls, and I managed to wrangle a plus one invitation. It wasn’t hard. You wanted a packed crowd for things like this, and this wasn’t one of his top clients. Jason might even be glad I was there… until he found out why.
I didn’t know what the hell to wear to a nightclub, so I wore the same suit I’d worn to work. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The looks ranged from fashionably edgy to downright bizarre. While a few people gave my suit a knowing smirk–look at the prick in a suit–most party goers seemed to think it was an ironic statement. So the counterculture had made a full circle.
I didn’t give a shit either way. All that mattered to me was that the bouncer found my name on the list–a scrawled add on at the bottom–and I spotted Jason Cain almost right away. He was impossible to miss, standing on the edge of the stage, talking to what I assumed was the DJ. The crowd and the noise and the lights were throbbing around me, a dark sea strobed with neon flashes, but he might as well have been standing in a spotlight. I moved toward him, careful to keep him in my sights even as I had to navigate a circuitous route through the crowd.
His eyes landed on mine as if he had somehow felt the intensity of my gaze. His lips automatically twisted into a cool smile as he assessed where he might know me from, and if I was a person worth smiling at. I saw the answer click in his brain. The smile cooled further, collapsed into a sneer. Jason Cain didn’t like lawyers very much these days. We were always coming with bad news. He couldn’t do this, he shouldn’t do that.
Rather than disappearing into the crowd, he finished his conversation with the DJ, keeping one eye on me the entire time, and then sauntered over to the steps I was standing at the bottom of. “Are you here to serve me, counselor?”
“I’m here to negotiate.”
His interest sharpened. His eyes narrowed. “On whose behalf?”
“Quinn Collins.”
“Quinn.” His lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace. “You’ve seen her?”
I stared at him, neither confirming nor denying.
Jason nodded to himself. “Yeah, you’ve seen her. And she sent you here to get her out of doing my third album.”
“Herthird album.”
“For me.” Jason jogged down the short flight of stairs so quickly that when he reached the ground, we were nose to nose because I hadn’t had time to take a step back. Not that I would have.
I stared him down. We were the same height. He was stockier, but I didn’t know if it was muscle or fat. This close, I could see there was something wrong with his eyes. The pupils weren’t just dilated from whatever he’d put up his nose, and they weren’tjust bulging from the years he’d spent doing it. The pupils were deformed. They weren’t perfect spheres, but rather a wavering circle.
Whatever the cause, the effect was demonic. Bile rose in my throat at the idea that this guy controlled any part of Quinn’s life. Forget doing the junk third album, I needed to get her away from himnow.
“Quinn is prepared to give you two hundred thousand dollars to be released from her contract.”
Jason laughed. His eyes became slits, but they stayed trained on me. “Quinn owes me a million.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped. I didn’t know Quinn’s net worth exactly, but I knew the ballpark range for an artist like her. She’d made her money solely on music. She didn’t have endorsement deals or a makeup line that brought in the real money. There was no way Jason Cain stood to make a million dollars off this third album.
“A million,” Jason repeated, liking the way the number rubbed me wrong. “But I’ll tell you what, counselor. I’ve got a few private concert offers for her. If she does them, I’ll let her out of her contract.”
I thought about the last time she’d done one of his private fucking concerts. “No fucking way.”
