Chapter 12

The past seven months had been one major change after another.

The first came when Brodie, the loudest and snarkiest fuckboy of us all, finally got his man. Unfortunately, Van quit being our manager after Greg Haddley outed him, and his relationship with Dee, to the press.

But everything worked out eventually. Van and Brodie eloped to Vegas. And it turned out that Van was moonlighting as a songwriter with a pseudonym, and now he was writing full time, for us. With Brodie. And other artists. So, we lost a manager but gained a permanent songwriter. And an honorary fifth member of the band. A family member.

Then came the second major shock of the year.

Holloway fell. For Dawson no less—our lead bodyguard, and a single dad. Turns out, Holls’ desire to escape Dawson and Dawson chasing after Holls, well, it was just their weird kind of foreplay. It worked for them. Those two were so in love, they were almost as nauseating as Brodie and Van.

The third major change? We cut ties with Bandit Music. Again, thanks to Greg’s stupid ass behavior. And to top it all off, we were turning thirty this year. A new decade and more changes were coming with it.

Faise and I grew closer. Now that Brodie and Holls had partners, all four of us didn’t hang like we used to. And us single guys gotta stick together.

But ever since Faise’s relationship with Dean, I didn’t look at my best friend in the same way. The rift between us had made me pause and question my feelings. I’d always been comfortable in his personal space but now it was more like a need than a want. We were shifting, and I just hoped that whatever was going on, it would bring us closer together, not push us apart.

Today was another big step. We had a full day with our new label, Hardwick, and their VP of Marketing, Averell Jones. The CEO couldn’t make it, so they sent the next best thing to officially welcome us to their team.

Me and the guys gathered around their boardroom table, our security team patiently standing guard outside.

We’d been waiting for over half an hour when suddenly, a tall, lanky guy in a red plaid suit stalked into the room. With an angular face, a messy mop of auburn hair, and a wicked grin, he nodded at us, phone in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

“Averell Jones, at your service,” he announced in a crisp British accent. “Apologies for the delay but I just got a new phone and it’s my first day here in Nashville, so, of course, I have no idea where to find anything, including my schedule. I swear, I feel like Mr. fucking Bean today.”

The image of that character had me biting back a laugh. Then I reminded myself to pay attention. Ignore the smile and the charming accent. After our experience with Greg, I was wary of music executives and their motives.

“So, welcome,” Averell added as he looked around the table.

When he spotted Faise, he paused. The once over was subtle. But I noticed.

My protective hackles activated.

“It’s my great honor and pleasure to bring a talented group as yours into our team. I’ve got some ideas I’d like to share but first, I’d like to hear from you about your expectations moving forward.”

“To start, we’re not working with homophobic dickbags,” Brodie announced.

I bit back a laugh at our frontman’s blunt words.

Averall nodded, seemingly unfazed by Brodie’s direct manner. “As a proud gay man myself and one of the leaders of our management team, I can assure you that will never be a problem.”

One fear laid to rest.

“Our main issue is trust,” I added, and Averell turned to me. “Off the record, things happened with our former label. Shitty things. They pretended to protect us but, in the end, sold us out. And I don’t mean ticket sales.”

Averell leaned forward. “Our job is to market you to the fans, not throw your personal life to the media wolves. If there are any concerns, you bring it to your manager. And of course, my door is always open.”

That sounded right, but only time would tell.

“And our contract has a three-month trial when it comes to our new manager, right?” Holls asked. “If we don’t like whoever it is, we can request someone else?”

Faise tapped the table. “Our last manager was Greg’s spy. And given that we’re here, with you, no guesses as to how that went down.”

Averell nodded. “I’m familiar with Mr. Haddley and Mr. Hines’s reputations. Be assured, that won’t happen with us.”

“We want someone like Van,” I suggested.

“No one will be as good as my husband,” Brodie interrupted with a cocky grin. “But yeah, as Ro said, someone like him. In fact, if my husband doesn’t know our new manager, it’s a no go.”

Averall leaned back and nodded.

“All that’s fair. We’ve assigned Jesse Aimes to your group. He’s been working in the UK as a manager for almost a decade. We sent his resume to your agent this morning so you can review it. His reputation is stellar. First things first, though, we’re going to get new promo materials done. We’ve got you scheduled with our studio photographer after this. Then we’re back here for lunch. Jesse will join us for a meet and greet and then it’s on to the PR team. And of course, tonight we have a party to launch our kickoff. Everyone and anyone who’s in the music business will be there.”

“What about dates?” Faise asked.

Averell smiled at him. “Love them. You?”

The fuck? Was he flirting with Faise? So much for being professional.

“I meant the upcoming schedule,” Faise replied with a cheeky grin as he leaned forward. “Not mine, but the tour dates.”

And Faise was flirting back? Not that I hadn’t witnessed that before. But why this guy? And why did I fucking care?

A sudden tightness in my chest left me uncomfortable and edgy.

“Ah, yes. We’re working on that now. We’ll have an update by EOD. It looks like a local concert the first week of June and then down to Florida, and nearby states. We’ll start close to home given the timing. Then you fly out to LA for a show on July 1 to kick off the west coast leg.” Averell’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me, I need to take this. Head on down to the studio on the tenth floor. I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

With a nod, he stood up and headed for the door.

When he stepped outside of the boardroom, I turned to the guys. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” Brodie asked. “I like him.”

“Me too,” Holls nodded.

“He seems great,” Faise replied. “A cool guy.”

I crossed my arms. “Really? Was I the only one who saw what happened?”

The guys looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

I stared at Faise. “This is our first-time meeting with him and he’s flirting with you? The fuck is that?”

“You mean, that whole thing about dates?” Faise scoffed. “It was a joke. He was just teasing.”

“Uh, no boo,” I insisted, my heart pounding out of control. “Open your fucking eyes.”

“Right back at you.”

“What does that mean?” I asked and reached across the table for him.

He shrugged my hand off. “Nothing. And so, what if he did? This is the biz, yeah? Happens all the time. We’ve fucked plenty of people we worked with. It is what it is. If there’s consent, there’s no problem.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to sleep with him,” Faise countered. “What’s it to you anyway? If I wanna flirt or fuck, it’s my business. He’s hot.”

Brodie and Holls murmured their agreement, and I gave them my best fingers as my mood nosedived.

“So, you’re gonna fuck with someone at our new label? Jesus Christ, are you nuts? We just signed our contract.”

“I can separate work and play,” Faise insisted. “And we work with our manager, not directly with Averell.”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” Holls interrupted. “But Ro does have a point.”

“Said the man who slept with his bodyguard. And don’t start either, Dee, given Van was our manager,” Faise snapped and held his hands up. “Look, I never said I was gonna have sex with the guy, all right? It’s harmless flirting. We all do it. Or, we used to, before everyone started pairing up. It’s no big deal, just chill. It’s time to head off to the studio to get our shots done anyway.”

“Maybe you can fuck the photographer too while you’re at it,” I bit out and stormed out of the room.

“Ro!” Faise shouted but I didn’t want to look at him right now.

A firestorm burned in my gut.

I stalked over to the elevator and slammed the button for the tenth floor. Suddenly Faise was there, and our bodyguards too.

“What’s going on with you?” Faise asked.

“I just don’t want you to make a mistake. Like Dean.”

A visceral jealousy burned through my veins, turning my rational thoughts to ash.

Even though Faise was right, he could fuck whoever he wanted, it ate away at me. Which was so fucked up since he and I weren’t… we were just… shit, I didn’t even know anymore.

Brodie and Holls walked over to join us, and our lead singer gave me the look.

No way was I going to spill my guts. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Don’t Dee. I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m just worried about optics, is all.”

Yeah, right. Because that was me. Always worried about what other people thought.

Not.

Faise wasn’t in the wrong. I’d fucked plenty of people at our old label—music execs, PR staff, hair and makeup, the list goes on. So, who was I to judge? But the thought of him with Averell, or, fuck, any guy, was making me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling.

The elevator ride down was awkward, with no one uttering a word. Faise stood farthest away from me, biting his lower lip, his toe tapping out a nervous rhythm. I wanted to reach out but when Faise looked over his shoulder, the pissed look on his face stopped me short.

When we stepped out of the elevator, we were greeted by Averell’s EA, Caley, who introduced us to the photographer, a thirty-something guy named Evert Jackson, and his assistant, Bailey. There were the usual lights, backdrop, and camera equipment being set up.

Evert’s face was familiar to me, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly where and when I’d met him.

“Evert? Didn’t you do the cover shoot for our second album?” Brodie asked.

“That’s right, about four years ago,” Evert replied with a smile.

“You’re from down east, right? Boston?” Holls mentioned.

“Maryland, but I split my time between Nashville and LA. And please, call me Ev. It’s an honor to work with you guys again. New label, new look, eh?”

“Only if we can convince Ro to shave his head,” Holloway joked.

“Never gonna happen,” I replied, and placed a protective hand over my hair.

No one touched my hair. Except my boo. If he still was my boo. I glanced at Faise but he refused to look at me.

“I’m with you there.” Ev pointed to his head.

Like me, Evert had long hair. But while mine was loose and messy, he wore his dirty blond hair worn in a tight braid down his back.

Wearing a pinstriped vest—no shirt—and baggy jeans with chains that hung from his belt loop, he had that effortless style that celebrities paid big money for. Colorful tattoos snaked up both his arms, and beaded bracelets rattled as he moved his hands. His green eyes were framed by wire-rimmed glasses. When he smiled, the crinkles at the corners of his mouth deepened, the glint of his gold lip ring catching the light. As an artist who captured the essence of rockstars on film, he could have easily been one himself.

“I’m just finishing my setup. Head on back to wardrobe, hair, and makeup.”

We were ushered into a change room and given our first outfit for the shoot. A denim kilt for Brodie and skin-tight jeans for the rest of us. Nothing else. Nothing odd about that.

An hour later, our hair styled, make up done, and our bodies oiled up, we headed back to the set. Evert was standing on a ladder, adjusting one of the lights.

“You guys look great,” he offered with a smile. “Hold on one sec.”

I spotted Averell entering the room, moving to stand on the periphery, watching us. I could feel his stare. Not aimed at me, but at Faise.

Not in the mood to share, I turned and gave Averell my back, blocking Faise from his view.

Fat chance, fucker.