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Vehement denial sprung to my lips, but I swallowed that, too. “A little help,” I repeated. “And I will pay.”
“Okay, have it your way.” Callum studied my face, eyes narrowed as he tried to search mine through the dark lenses of my sunglasses. “Let’s go inside.”
I nodded like I was going to follow right behind, but it wasn’t until he was on the front step, his hand on the doorknob, looking back to see where I was that I finally got my feet to move.
I was a singer-songwriter. I set my deepest fears and vulnerabilities and pain to a rhythm and sang about it in front of thousands. But what I was about to tell Renee and Callum was a secret I’d kept bound up inside myself, buried as deep as I could get it, sure I’d never tell anyone.
But that was before I knew how bad it could get.
CHAPTER 4
CALLUM
We sat back down at the dinner table, but Quinn didn’t reach for her burger again. Instead, she pulled a fry from the edge and began pinching it between her fingers. Her distracted gaze landed on Noah.
I saw the problem immediately. “Hey buddy, why don’t you work on your homework in the living room,” I suggested.
Noah slid out of his chair obligingly and grabbed his backpack. While he settled himself at the coffee table with his red homework folder, I turned on the television and flipped until I found the Nickelodeon channel. “Stay in here for a little bit, okay?”
He nodded, surprised that he was getting cartoons before his homework had been completed and checked. I headed back into the kitchen to find Quinn holding that same damn French fry, talking quietly with Renee.
“We’ve got at least forty-five minutes until he gets tired of the TV,” I said, pulling up my chair again.
Quinn leaned back in hers, a shadow crossing her face. There wasn’t a hint of amber in her eyes now. They were pure steel. “Tell me what you know about Jason Cain.” She demanded.
“What I know or what I’ve heard?” When she only looked at me, I steepled my fingers and thought about it. “I know he’s one of the biggest indie music managers out there,” I said slowly. “His label has, what, fifty artists? You’re one of the biggest.”
Quinn looked completely indifferent, as if that meant absolutely nothing to her. Maybe it didn’t.
“I know he has high standards.” I was getting into rockier terrain now, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve heard he has… unrealistic expectations on occasion.”
Quinn was quick to correct me. “On every occasion.”
I searched my memory for other things about Jason Cain, but the things that came to me were rumors. Innuendos. Speculation. Nothing any self-respecting lawyer would repeat without evidence. “That’s all,” I said finally. “But I think the real question here is what doyouknow about Jason Cain, Quinn?”
“You’ve known him for a long time,” Renee prompted quietly when Quinn only stared at the mangled French fry she was still holding. “Since we were eighteen.”
“He was okay back then,” Quinn said. Her voice sounded strange, hollowed out. Normally, it was sumptuous and smoky. It moved easily from talking to singing, like she was always halfway there anyway. “He treated me like I was his kid sister or something. Warned me about other guys in the industry. Supported my vision for my first album.”
Quinn’s first album had sold over five hundred thousand units and gone gold. A huge success for an artist on an indie label. Her breakout single had been on the soundtrack of the biggest movie of the year. It hadn’t been my favorite, personally. It didn’t showcase her unique, languorous, hazy vocals that made me feel like I was drowning in rich brandy. That song had been an anomaly on that album, but then her second album was filled with replicas.
“But my second album–” Quinn shook her head, disgusted. “He pushed me into all these songs I didn’t want.”
“I hated your second album,” Renee said bluntly.
“I know you did. So did I. So did most people, apparently.” Quinn sounded almost smug about that fact. Her eyes sparked with satisfaction before going hard and flat again. “And that’s when things got bad.”
“Bad how?”
“He got really mean. Abusive, even. He started pushing me to dress sexier. He booked me a spray tan.” Quinn stretched out her arms and examined them. Her skin was pale and pearly, her blue veins faintly visible beneath. Her hair burned against it, the contrast like fire and ice. Jason Cain was a fucking idiot for trying to change a single thing about her.
“And then he pushed me.” Quinn pulled her arms back, folding them over her chest and jutting out her chin. “Apparently he’d called in a million favors and got me a spot on the VMAs. He wanted me to sing this song I had already refused to record. He said it would put me back on top. And when I said no and tried to leave, he pushed me.”
“What the fuck,” Renee swore, her eyes glittering with fury.
My thoughts exactly, but while Renee was used to saying everything that came into her head, I was used to weighing each word. Deciding what to give air and what to internalize. A dark, noxious rage was beginning to vibrate at my core, but still I kept silent. I had a feeling Quinn wasn’t done.
“I told him we were done,” Quinn went on. “He told me I still owed him another album, and if I didn’t make it, he’d sue me. He’d end my career.”
