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My gaze snags on a homeless man who just whipped out his dick and started pissing on the side of my building.
Great. There’s one thing I can complain about.
“They’re getting antsy,” Simon says, his voice gruff.
“Who’s getting antsy?” I play stupid on purpose because I’m stalling. I don’t want to tell him I know exactly who he’s talking about and that I’m fairly certain the deal might be dead in the water thanks to Scarlett kicking my ass out of her penthouse apartment.
And that definitely isn’t what Simon wants to hear.
I turned that disappointment and frustration with Scarlett into a goddamn song, and look at me now. According to Simon, people are clamoring for more. I took a chance and put together something in my bathroom, recorded it on my phone, and everyone is still talking about me.
Maybe they’re talking about me even more. I don’t know, but I can’t believe my luck.
It continues to work in my favor.
“You know exactly who. Roger. The entire Irresistible Records team. They want the contract. They’re dying for the contract so they can get this deal started, especially since you released that song. I swear Roger has already bought you a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles.”
“Why doesn’t he fly me on the label’s private jet?” That’s what they used to do back in the day, but maybe I’m not as much of a huge deal as I used to be.
“They got rid of the plane.”
“Really? Why?”
“Bad publicity. Instead, they sold it and announced they were reducing their carbon footprint. Now they look like superstars who are all for saving the environment.”
I wonder at their ulterior motives, but I’m not going to question it now. “Love that they’re so conscious.”
“It’s the right thing to do.” Simon takes a deep breath. “Listen, we need to get back on track. What’s going on with Scarlett Lancaster? You convince her to be your girlfriend yet?”
I’m about to say no when he keeps talking. “Come on, Tate. Don’t say no. Just lay some of that charm on the girl and convince her the two of you can make magic together. It’s not too far off the mark. Now you’re writing songs about her and breaking the fucking internet.”
Alarm makes my spine stiffen. “How do you know the song is about her?”
“It’s called ‘Red,’ Tate. You say the word ‘scarlet’ in there a couple of times. ‘Happy birthday.’ ‘Pink dress.’ Shit like that. The clues are all right there in the lyrics. Everyone knows the song is about her, and they are eating it up.” Simon sounds pleased. He’d much rather talk about the positive stuff, and I don’t blame him. “If she hears that song and still doesn’t want to be with you, then you’re fucked, my friend.”
Shit. When I was writing it—even secretly dreaming about it going viral—I never imagined Scarlett would hear the song and get mad over it. The lyrics don’t show her in the best light. Is she going to be mad?
Probably. When it comes to dealing with Scarlett, I don’t always make the best choices.
“I’m sure she loves it,” I say with way more confidence than I feel.
“We can all hope, and I can hold off Roger for only so long. Just fucking sign the contract and do your best to convince her to be your girlfriend or whatever before you leave for Los Angeles. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. And what are they going to do anyway if she doesn’t show up in LA? Take the deal away from you?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they would do, Simon, and you know it. Those clauses are airtight. I break it, I’m done. I’m not putting my career at risk. Not again.” I rub the back of my neck, my gaze still tracking the man staggering around, an empty vodka bottle clutched in one hand. No wonder he had to take a piss, if he drank that entire bottle.
“You have nothing to worry about. They want you. They’re salivating over the chance to make another album with you. Roger told you himself that he jizzes his pants every time he sees videos of you singing at that party. He’s got a massive hard-on for you,” Simon explains.
“If you think that’s going to convince me to go for it, I hate to break it to you, but that is the last thing I want to hear, Simon. I don’t want to think about Roger and his giant boner for my singing.” I know none of what Roger says is literal, but still.
“He’s a fan. He might possibly be your number one fan, so I don’t see how the little heiress being your girlfriend or not is going to actually ruin this deal.”
“You’re not even making sense. You just told me a few days ago that Scarlett was the only way I’d get this deal secured. Now you’re like, ‘Fuck it, just sign it.’ No way, bro.” My voice is flat. My thoughts bleak. I press my forehead against the window, staring out at my shitty little neighborhood. “I’d rather pass than lie to them. I’m not about that anymore.”
Another sigh sounds in my ear, this one softer. “What, you’ve got morals now?”
“You’re damn right, I’ve got morals.” Even though I’m perfectly willing to participate in a fake relationship if I can still get Scarlett on board. “Can’t you renegotiate this? Send them a counter?”
“I was trying to avoid that. Hoping you would just sign and we could move forward.”
