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Someone grumbles. Another gasps. And Asher, the once smug bastard, fucking begs—much to my delight. There once was a prideful man named Asher, who never got on his knees to beg another human being for anything. And yet, here he is, about to drop down and save face. I shouldn’t have a giggle bursting up my throat or joy humming through my body at the stark difference.
But I do.
“Kieran, you have to give this a chance. It’s a second opportunity for us to continue with our dream,” Asher pleads with desperation, falling back into his chair with a desperate huff, never taking his pleading eyes off Kieran’s retreating form.
“Bro, you can’t walk out.” Rad finally slides his gaze to me, quickly darting away with a twist of his lips and a shake of his head. His brows furrow, almost in confusion or maybe pain, but he shakes it off, running a hand through his curly mullet. I can’t believe he’s kept it after all these years.
“I can do whatever the fuck I please,” Kieran sneers, twisting away from the door. “You can’t be our band manager. You don’t fucking belong here. You belong in the gutter like the rest of Central City. Is this a fucking joke?” Kieran barks out, throwing his arms all around like a child.
“Oh, ouch. Awesome,” I mutter with so much sarcasm I swear one of them chokes on my tone. So much for biting my tongue.Must. Remain. Professional, River.Ugh. As much as I want to bash my fist into his dick and make him drop to his knees, begging for mercy, I don’t.
“You can’t be,” he hisses again like a hysterical child, readying himself to drop to the floor and throw a full-blown fit.
You’d think our daughter Lyric was in front of me, throwing herself around and screaming at the top of her lungs because I refused to let her eat unicorn ice cream for dinner—cue the eye roll. Somehow, my four-year-old manages to regain control of her emotions better than this full-grown man. Pathetic.
Cracking my neck, I straighten my posture and ready myself to face the bull. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll fight this every part of the way. And I say, bring it on, Kieran Knight.
“I am your new manager. That’s something you’ll have to get over right here and right now. I am in charge of you, officially, this time. You fuck with me. I fuck with your career. Do we have an understanding?” I ask with an even tone, trying not to let my boiling anger get the best of me. “This is a professional environment. We will not disrespect each other. The past stays in the past. This is the present. I will not be disrespected again. Got it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on each of them as they nod in unison, still giving me the stink eye. Reaching into the paperwork, I pull out a thick copy of their contract with West Records and throw it down the table. “If you want to read for yourself, it’s on page fifty-seven, subsection B. It’ll lay out everything you need to know when dealing with me and the professional services I offer at West Records.”
Kieran grunts, shoving the paperwork at Callum, who sits rigidly in his seat, clinging to the armrests of his chair.
“You read it,” Kieran barks out his order, pointing at the stack of papers.
Callum doesn’t flinch when he reaches for the contract and flips through the pages, using his photographic memory, no doubt. “Fine,” he mutters, stopping on my part of the contract, and he nods. “It’s-it’s all right here,” he says, heaving his breath while pointing at it.
A pang pierces through my chest. The old Callum was doing so well and coming into himself. Now, it seems like he’s reverted back to the stuttering, shy man I helped come out of his shell.
Those beautiful, gray eyes spare me one glance, and my heart thunders. Despair rests deep in his gaze when he flicks his eyes up and down my body. A familiar redness tints his cheeks until his gaze hardens again. Every ounce of life spirals out of his eyes, leaving me with his blank stare. My lips pop open when I zone in and really examine the faint remnants of black surrounding his slightly swollen eye, and then he turns away.
“How?” Asher mutters in a shaky voice, rubbing circles over his ghostly white temple, bringing me back to the conversation.
“I still don’t fucking believe it,” Kieran growls, throwing himself back into his chair. His fists clench when he leans forward, placing his elbows on the table.
Ignoring their questioning glares, I pull out another copy of their contract, flip it open to the page marked by Zepp, and scan the words.
“Well, believe it. As a matter of fact, don’t forget it. I’ve been doing this for three years now, and this is how it will go. There are moving vans on their way to all your residences right now.” I raise a brow when Kieran glowers at me with an unrelenting stare, but I shake him off. Nothing he can do will deter me from doing my job. “You’re to pack whatever you want to take with you on a six-month vacation.”
“Six months?” Rad gasps with wide eyes, finally looking up at me again. My heart pounds as memories of him and I on his dirt bike come back to mind but quickly dissipate. I don’t have time to rehash memories that bring me nothing but pain. The quicker they get this done, the quicker we can move on with our lives.
“You’ll never have to worry with me, Pretty Girl. I’ll fight off the monsters and keep your brain in your head,” he murmurs, shoving the helmet over my head with force and buckling it under my chin.
I shake myself out of that stupid, childish memory. I did have to worry about him. He loved me with his entire soul and pursued me the hardest. Only to drop me for whatever reason. Was it the Van kiss? Or did they decide they’d gotten their use out of me with Battle of the Bands? I did my job. They just didn’t hold up their end of the bargain.
“You can’t be serious,” Kieran shouts. “I can’t leave my place! That’s mine. There’s no way—”
“It says it in the contract,” Callum cuts in with a quiet but authoritative voice.
“Why the fuck didn’t we read that better?” Kieran grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you?” He glowers at Callum, who reads through the contract again, shaking his head.
Clearly, their friendship is falling to pieces. Judging by their cutting glances at each other and snarky attitudes, they can’t wait to leave each other’s presence. The Kieran I knew before was neverthiscruel to anyone. Sure, he had an attitude problem. But this? This seems like more.
“Yes. You owe West Records six months of total dedication. You’ve had time to sow your wild rock star oats, and now you need to prove that our investment was worth it. Six months at the Band House. Six months of practice, therapy, and rebuilding yourselves up. Six months of being mine.” An ominous grin spreads across my face, making each of their expressions drop. “And if you fail, you can say goodbye to your contracts and hello to unemployment. No other record company will dare to sign you after you leave us. They’ll all know you failed my program because I’ll make sure of it. The choice is yours. Music or nothing. At any time during this process, you’re free to leave. But your contract will be void. Oh, and I’m the ultimate judge. So, piss me off again, and you’re done.” I hold Kieran’s stare when his gaze hardens again. But for the first time since stepping foot in this room, he bites his tongue.
Good boy.
One point River. Zero for the boys.
“What the fuck did we sign up for?” Rad asks, swallowing hard, apprehension crossing his face.
