“I’m honestly surprised too.” His palm skimmed down my back and cupped my ass. “Doesn’t matter now. We’re worldwide, baby.”
Later that evening, while Frank was holed up in his studio, I took the liberty of stalking my brother’s Instagram account. His last photo, posted two days ago, was a selfie of him and Levi sitting in front of a large monitor with a screenshot of Isabella’s face in After Effects.
He’d changed his handle from @ftninja2001 to @ashtheman2019.
working on some sic shit with my bro @LeviBernstein, the caption below it read.
There were no photos or videos of Frank anywhere on his feed other than a few snippets of live Hall Affinity footage, which was fine. Half of L.A. had gone to that show.
After I’d ensured Ashton hadn’t been posting anything he wasn’t supposed to, I dialed his number.
“What up, sis?” he yelled. Loud music boomed in the background.
“Where are you?” I asked suspiciously.
“At Levi’s.”
Relief washed over me. Thank God, it wasn’t some bar or a strip club. Ever since Frank bought Ashton that car, I’d been dreading the call from the police to inform me my brother was arrested for something insanely stupid. Like breaking into Selena Gomez’s house. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“I’m crashing here.”
“Can I talk to Levi, please?”
“Why are you calling my phone then?”
“Because I need to talk to you too,” I explained. “After I talk to Levi.”
The next thing I heard was Ashton shouting over the noise, followed by the thunder of footsteps and the rattle of a soda can.
“What’s going on?” Levi barked. The smack of his lips and the grind of his teeth told me he was eating. “Did Frank see the rough cut?”
“Are you corrupting my brother?”
“Don’t you worry. He’s on his best behavior.” Levi’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I told him I’d take him with me to interview Athena Angel.”
“Don’t feed him lies.”
“I’m not lying. Did you see the press release? She’s gearing up for a new tour.”
“I haven’t checked the Rewired inbox today,” I confessed.
“Okay. I got something for you.” I could hear Levi moving to another room so we could continue in silence. “I know you don’t want to do any on-camera work right now, but I haven’t told Shayne about it yet. I reached out to Bennett’s manager last month about an exclusive and he specifically asked for you.”
A surge of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. During my first two years working with Levi, I got excited about every single interview we locked in. Eventually, when it became part of the routine, I stopped getting emotional, but once in a while, when we nailed down an artist with a story worth sharing, I felt it again. This rush was a reminder of why I did what I did. We created a connection between artists and their fans. We lifted the veil. We let others see who the people injecting their soul into every song they wrote really were.
“I’d love to meet him, but”—my voice shook—“Frank and I are going public and I don’t know if this is the right time for me to be getting back in front of the camera.”
Levi was silent for a long moment. “Your name is all over this interview.”
“When do you need an answer?”
“We have a couple of weeks to decide. Bennett’s not fond of the press in general. The label is super picky about publications he speaks to, so I can stall, but ideally, if you could give me an answer before the first, that would be great.”
“I want to do it, but I’ll need to think about it. By the way, I showed Frank the cut and he loved it. He’s still considering my offer, but I believe it will be a yes. For now, let’s just lock in the screening date because I can’t pitch without it. How does April sound to you?”
“If he decides to be part of the project and I have to add more footage, that’ll be tough.”
“Isn’t tight deadline your middle name?” I laughed.
“No shit.”
“All right, then I’m emailing Maria tomorrow about April. Give me my brother now.”
“We’re not smoking weed, I swear!” Ashton bellowed over the phone after Levi returned it to him.
“I need to talk to you about something else.” My tone was serious.
“Okay. You’re not moving to Tibet or anything like that, are you?”
“You wish.” I paused. “Frank and I are going public, which means you’ll probably get stalked on social media and be approached by reporters. I want you to be aware of this and I want to make sure you understand you can’t talk to anyone about me and Frank.”
“I got it.”
“People will promise you money, Ashton. A lot. For exclusive info and photos. Your only response is no response. Capiche?”
“Okay.”
“If you open your mouth, Frank and I will never speak to you again and you’ll be off Dreamcatchers.”
“Geez, why you gotta be so mean?”
“I’m not mean. I’m just trying to make sure you understand the situation.”
“I’m not dumb. I get it.”
“Okay, great. Let’s call Mom tomorrow and see what day is good for a family dinner. Frank wants to meet her.”
Saying those words out loud felt strange. If someone had told me six months ago I’d be introducing Frankie Blade to my mother, I would have laughed in their face.
“And hey, Ashton,” I added before ending the call. “It’s probably a good idea for you to set your Instagram account to private. At least for now.”
Chapter Seven
Gary Torino was a fiftysomething no-nonsense guy who worked mostly out of his Sherman Oaks studio. On day one, the band was scheduled to arrive early to track the instrumental parts first. Frank and Isabella weren’t needed until after lunch.
It was a hectic morning with an incident of spilled coffee and a fight over the toothpaste tube. Frank had been on edge the entire week. The therapy sessions helped him to stay sane, but despite my attempts to keep all the
