Chapter Five: That Day

Chapter Five

Fiadh

THAT DAY

Performed by Natalie Imbruglia

Fiadh watched as Adria and some of their detail left in a flurry of activity. Her heart pounded out an aching cry for Adria's sister who was bright, beautiful, and fiercely determined to become a pediatrician. A shocked silence filled the studio, and all Fee could think was that everything was crumbling apart.

Landry and Paisley were at each other's throats, Leya was off on the campaign trail, Nikki was hurting, and now Adria was gone…hidden away for who knew how long. This was how bands fell apart. This was how things cracked and fissured.

She couldn't let it happen. She refused to let it happen.

Not when it was all she had left.

She shut that thought down before it could bloom into painful memories of her family. She was happy with her life, spreading love and joy the way she'd always wanted to―through songs―using instruments she'd learned at her mother's feet.

She shook her head again, pushing those thoughts to the background, and turned to their manager. Tommy was dressed like he was a rock star, in black leather and gold chains. Sometimes, he even acted like one, but he was also very good at what he did. Between him and their label owner, they'd taken The Painted Daisies from obscurity to Grammy-award-winning success in a handful of years.

Lost Heart Records was renowned for finding undiscovered talent and turning them into success stories, but the man who owned it, Nick Jackson, was rarely involved with actually making the music. He preferred the business side of things―copyrights, numbers, and marketing. So, when he'd shown up at the studio today, it had made Fiadh anxious for some reason.

And now, with everything spiraling, she wondered if it had been a sign.

Tommy dragged a hand over his face. "Well, fuck."

The front door of the studio opened, and a man in a suit entered. He was younger than Tommy and Nick, maybe close to thirty, but there was an aura about him that screamed dominance. As if he was the male lion who'd win the battle for the pride even when the other two men had more knowledge and experience. He had dark-brown hair that was shaved slightly on the sides but left longer on the top. There was not a strand out of place, and yet it wasn't gelled into a helmet, like Tommy's. No, it was more like the hair was afraid to move and disappoint its owner. The man's bright-blue eyes took in the handful of people in the room, brows collapsing in on each other and a frown taking his full lips and turning them down. He didn't look like a man who smiled often, and yet the frown also seemed out of place. Like he was better expressionless. Stonelike. Because his chiseled jaw could easily be a sculpture in any museum Fiadh had ever visited.

When he reached them, he took Fee in from head to toe with a careless assessment before he pretty much dismissed her to turn toward Tommy and Nick.

This pissed her off without him ever having opened his mouth.

"Where are the others?" the man asked in lieu of a greeting.

"Well," Tommy said, dragging his hand over his chin. "We've had some shit hit the fan this afternoon."

Mr. Alpha-Man's jaw ticked, eyes squinting. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We should postpone this meeting," Nick said. "I've got to get ahold of Ronan Hawk and reschedule the documentary as well."

"Explain," Alpha-Man demanded, and Fiadh bristled, not sure why Nick or Tommy would be taking orders from this unknown asshole.

"Who the hell are you, and why do you think you can come in here and demand anything?" she asked.

Cold eyes landed on her again, his jaw ticking even harder before he settled in on Nick. "You haven't told them?"

Nick straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "I'd planned on it, but as I said, we've had some bumps today. I think it would be best to hold back until we can get everyone together next week."

Alpha-Man glared. "I'm leaving for Germany tomorrow. I'll be there through the end of the month. I have this single window of time, Nick. Unlike these creative types"—his eyes shot to Fiadh again—"I can't just blow where the wind takes me."

What the actual fuck?

"Listen, jer―" Fiadh started, only to be cut off by a woman who emerged from behind Alpha-Man.

"Call your little bandmates, Fiadh. Get them here so Mr. Riggs can talk to them," she said. It wasn't the woman's tone or the fact that she was telling Fee what to do or even her stuck-up attitude that had Fee bristling. Instead, it was because the woman had said her name wrong like a million other assholes had before her. She'd pronounced it, Fee-ah-duh.

A flicker of something like irritation crossed Alpha-Man's face. He shoved his hands into his pockets and darted a look that could kill at the woman. "It's Fee-uh. Like Thea with an F, Shari."

Fiadh didn't know what to process first. That this man actually knew how to pronounce her name right, that he'd called the woman out on it, or the fact that she'd been commanded to call her friends without Tommy or Nick saying a word.

She turned to the two men the band had trusted for seven years and demanded, "What the hell is going on?"

Nick's eyes lowered to the ground before they raised back up to meet her face, and they were full of unshed tears. Tears that made Fiadh's chest ache and her stomach plummet.

"I've sold the label," he said quietly.

Oh, shit.

Fiadh's legs gave out, and she landed on the arm of a chair behind her.

Nick came over, squatting down in front of her. "My wife's sick, Fee. I just want to spend what's left of her time at her side, giving her the best of everything."

How could she possibly stay angry with him for selling now? For passing them off to someone else when his reason was so noble? So damn good!

"Oh, Nick…I'm so sorry," Fiadh said, putting a hand on his shoulder, true sorrow filling her for him and his family.

Nick stood and waved a hand at Alpha-Man. "This is Asher Riggs. President of Ridgeway Media Industries, which is a conglomerate of paper, TV, and radio media. He's branching out into music, and my label is the second one he's picked up. With all the different avenues his company has at its disposal, it'll increase the options for The Painted Daisies beyond anything I could do for you. You're in good hands."

She doubted it. Nick and Tommy had already made them a worldwide, household name. What more could the suit do for them?

Alpha-Man―Asher―looked down at his watch again and frowned. "The film crew is due at the house in thirty minutes, so why are we talking about postponing?"

Neither Nick nor Tommy jumped in to defend them, so Fee did instead.

"If you must know, Adria's sister was kidnapped, Leya was called to the Democratic Convention, and Nikki's in bed with a migraine," Fiadh said, not daring to mention the squabble going on between Landry and Paisley.

Asher's jaw ticked. "I understand that music takes a bit of…creative license…in order to come to its full potential, but I will never—and I mean never—support us missing commitments. You've signed up to do this documentary with Ronan. The band will fulfill its obligation."

It was said high-handedly, like a father scolding a child, and it made her stiffen even more. Her muscles were wound so tight that if someone touched her, she was sure she'd break apart. She rose, stepped closer to Asher, and twisted her head to glare up at him.

"Listen, jackoff, just because we're artists, doesn't mean we shirk our commitments. We've never jerked anyone around―press, workers, stadiums, or otherwise. Not once. But sometimes, things can't be helped. Like a girl being fecking kidnapped. Or are you hard of hearing and missed that part?"

Her Irish accent coated her nouns and shortened her syllables in a way they hardly did anymore unless she got overly emotional.

Asher's eyes squinted, the blue gaze landing on her and sending icy shivers down her back. Shivers that came with an overpowering awareness of everything about him. The soft hint of an earthy and yet citrusy scent that surrounded him, the way his muscles rippled beneath his suit, and the way those firm, full lips looked entirely too kissable. She despised it—everything about him.

"Adria's absence can easily be explained," he said, tone sharp and decisive. He shot a look at Nick and Tommy. "I already told you I thought six females in one band is too many. We should cut it down to four. This could be the start."

What the hell? Fiadh stepped closer. "I know I did not just hear you suggest we lose two of our members?"

He didn't even blink an eye. "It's more cost-effective without losing the core talent."

"And just who do you think is the core talent? Who the hell do you think we can just drop? Because our drummer happens to be pretty irreplaceable," Fiadh growled, rage and fury flying through her. She knew if she looked in a mirror, her face would be a deep shade of red, and her freckles that normally were hard to see would be popping because of it.

His gaze flickered over her in complete silence.

"Me?" she snarled. "I'm one of the ones to get tossed?" She was going to hit him. She was going to pummel her fists into his massive, muscular chest if she had to stay there. Instead, she pushed passed him and headed for the door, tossing a "Feck you" over her shoulder.

"Fee, that isn't what he meant," Tommy shouted after her.

But it had been. The asshole, new owner of their label had just suggested she be removed from the band. Cut off from her family. The only people who were at her side anymore. Well, screw him. She wasn't going anywhere.

She stomped out to the sidewalk with one of their detail on her heels. She glanced both ways down the street, searching for the dark SUVs that normally waited for them.

The bodyguard behind her said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Kane. The last car took Ms. Rojas into hiding, but Andy, who took Ms. Rani out to the farmhouse, is coming back with the Escalade. We just have to wait a couple of minutes."

Shit. She'd planned her dramatic escape and was now stuck on the curb, twiddling her fingers like some wannabe waiting for the superstar to look her way when she was supposed to be the rock star.

The door of the studio opened behind her. Tommy and Asshole-Asher came through, followed by his doting assistant in her tight skirt and Jimmy Choos. Fiadh ignored them all as the bodyguard repeated to Tommy the reason they were waiting.

"We'll take the limo," Asshole-Asher said and stalked on long legs toward one parked around the corner.

"I'm not getting in a car with him, Tommy. Hell will freeze over first," Fiadh said.

Tommy ran a hand through the bristle on his chin. "Play nice, Fee. He can make life miserable for all of us. He owns the label now. He can pull the plug, and you'll be done recording this album altogether. The Painted Daisies will join the host of bands to have come and gone and been forgotten. You want that?"

"He's talking about cutting some of us…cutting me!"

"Asher is just stirring the pot, seeing what falls out. He does it every time he takes over a business. The Painted Daisies are successful because of each of your unique voices, talents, and cultures coming together. He won't carve it up into something less," Tommy insisted.

She wasn't so sure.

Tommy took her by the elbow and pulled her toward the limousine Asher and his little friend had disappeared into.

Fiadh's heart had been heavy before Asher had shown up. Full of worry for her best friend and her sister and the boy who was tearing them apart. Full of concern for Leya trying to fit into the genius family she felt like an ugly duckling in. Aching sorrow for Adria's family struggling with her sister's kidnapping. Fear that Nikki's headaches were more serious than she was letting on. And now…now she felt like all of that was amplified because, while her friends all dealt with these enormous things happening in their lives, the band could be falling apart, and they didn't even know it.