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“A 10:00 p.m. curfew? No parties? No alcohol? And no guests?” he murmurs, running his finger over the words with furrowed brows. “Band practice every Monday through Friday at 8:45 a.m. Weekly shows at undisclosed locations. IE; The KC Club South, The KC Club Shores, and River’s Run, on Saturday evenings. A once-a-week group therapy session.” Swallowing hard, his gray eyes meet mine with confusion.
“Whoa. Therapy?” Rad asks, holding my stare, and I shrug. “Pretty Girl, I don’t need therapy. I’m as right as rain,” he says with a lop-sided grin, brushing off his shoulders like this is nothing more than a little stop before he returns to his fame.
My breath hitches at the nickname, and my lungs squeeze in my chest. Seeing the same old, carefree Rad from five years ago sitting before me liquifies my insides. A multitude of memories hit me square in the chest, reminding me of our adventures together. From the man who insisted I was his girlfriend when I wasn’t to the man whose eyes drop to the table, filling with sadness. Rad refuses to look at me again like I broke his damn heart, and maybe in his mind, I did. But that’s on him. If only they had come to me and let me explain what happened, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess.
“Right. No matter how right you feel, it’s required of all bands that stay in this house.” I give a sharp nod. “This isn’t a negotiation,” I say with authority, reminding them I’m the one in charge here. Not them. The sooner they realize they’re stuck, the sooner we can move on to fixing their career and getting them the hell out of my house.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Kieran murmurs once again, letting his attitude out to play. Still glaring out the window, he rubs a hand down his face.
“Well, believe it. That’s why you’re here. This is a unique opportunity for each of you. So, don’t blow it. No matter our past, you have a better future. And whether you or I like it or not, this is happening,” I say in a calm tone, clasping my hands in front of my body. “Does anyone else have a problem with that?” I ask, staring around the table at each of them shaking their heads. All except shithead Kieran, who glares at me with a scrunched-up face filled with more rage than before.
“Unless we get a better offer,” Kieran mutters more to himself than anyone.
I really shouldn’t punch him, should I? You think one knock to his stubborn as hell head would do the trick? I’d love to find out.
“Sure, go ahead and try.”
I know my fucking worth and what I bring to the bands. So do other record labels out there. Try and see where you get, you insufferable dickhead.
Collecting the contracts from each of them as they sign, I place them into a folder to file later.
“Your belongings should be here at any moment. Please unload your possessions into one of the rooms you select upstairs. There is storage in the attached garage for vehicles and such. I will allow you all to get settled in for the rest of the weekend and explore your new house. There’s a home gym in the basement with anything you may need. There’s also a recording studio down there for when inspiration strikes.” My eyes scan the boys, as they sit attentively, listening to my speech.
“Remember, we will start band practices on Monday with no exceptions. Same time, same place, in the practice room. Every amenity possible is here that you could need. Per the rules, you’re permitted to leave the property to get groceries or some fresh air. But please remember, you represent West Records and always have. Your public image is also important.” My eyes zero in on Kieran when he scoffs, muttering under his breath again like a petulant child.
“Also, under no circumstances are you allowed to visit the house across the street without warning. That’s my home. So, no unannounced visits. The moment you step foot inside, your contract is terminated unless you are given permission to do so. If you need me, my direct phone number is on the fridge. I am your contact for anything you may need now. I am your boss. This house—this opportunity is your last chance with West Records. If you fail, there is no more. Are we clear?” I scan the guys again when they each nod their heads in reluctant agreement, not wanting to accept the fact that I’m now in charge of their every move.
“Good. I’ll return with copies of your signed contracts on Monday. I’ll also put a copy of your new schedule on the fridge for practices, therapy sessions, and your performances.” I give them all a tight smile, deciding this is as best as any time to walk out the front door and let them unload their things. The next six months will test them and me beyond belief.
The moment I step into my house, I release my frantic breath. Fuck. That was worse than I thought, but I survived the ordeal unscathed. Besides a few snarky comments here and there, they all seem to be settling with the fact I am momentarily back in their lives as their damn boss.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me that my other best friend, Olivia, has texted. It’s useful that my friend has connections to higher powers and is a badass agent with Veritas–the government agency resembling the FBI, only more secretive and illusive.
Olivia
Sorry, Riv. Busy day on the home front. Just saw your message. Is it the same content as before? Anything new?
Me
It’s okay. And yeah…same shit… Same flowers… Somehow it ended up on my desk.
Olivia
Really? Your desk? Did Kat leave it there?
That reminds me. My assistant and I need to have a very serious discussion again about the packages I receive from the obsessed psychopath who loves to watch my every step. Hell, she even scheduled the installation of my home security system and cameras when I felt threatened enough. She should know this is serious and not something to mess around with. Yet, she leaves the reminders of his obsession on my desk.
ME
Yeah. Going to talk to her. Want me to pass it on to Carter?
Olivia
Yeah. I’ll get it from him tomorrow. So sorry, Riv. We’ll get them, I promise.
ME
It’s escalating, Liv… I’m starting to freak out… What if this gets worse? Effects Ly?
