And suddenly, I know the heated staring contest we had a few moments ago wasn’t proof of our mutual attraction, like I thought. It was evidence of Savage’s disdain for me. His objection to me joining his band on tour. Clearly, Mr. Rockstar doesn’t think I’m worthy of the opportunity, but Reed is calling the shots, against his will. I’ve heard rumors that sometimes happens in the world of River Records—Reed calling the shots against an artist’s will. And now I know the rumors are true.
Shit.
I’m going to be stuck on tour with a guy who’s not happy I’m there. A guy who’s not only gorgeous and brooding and talented and hot . . . but also a flaming fucking dick.
Three
Savage
When Kendrick returns to our group, he’s got none other than The Prick in tow. We greet our lord and master, half-heartedly, before Reed says, “I’ve got some bad news, guys. Cooper went into rehab this morning, so Alexa Play Music won’t be able to finish the tour.”
Ruby looks distraught, which isn’t a surprise. During the international leg of our tour, Ruby became good friends with the talented but tortured lead singer of the opening band. Reed assures everyone Cooper is safe and sound, but definitely out of commission for the foreseeable future, as he confronts his demons, head-on.
“The good news,” Reed says, “is that I’ve already found a new opener who’s thrilled to join the tour. Laila Fitzgerald. The timing is perfect. I can push up release of her sophomore album, pretty easily, and make it a win-win.”
Everyone but me reacts favorably. They say Laila is incredibly talented and that her debut album was fantastic. They mention the fact that Zeke, our producer, also produced Laila’s debut, which is kind of cool. And through it all, I feel like my cells are physically vibrating.
Reed says, “Laila wanted to come over here to meet everyone and thank you for the opportunity.” He rolls his eyes. “But I told her we had a few things to discuss and you’d find her later to say hello.”
“I was so relieved you said that,” Kendrick chimes in. “I didn’t want her coming over here and figuring out the band had no idea.”
Everyone laughs at the notion, but I clench my jaw, feeling annoyed. It irks me to no end that Reed has full discretion to slot our tours, without even asking our opinion, thanks to our shitty contract. Yes, Reed’s technically got full control in these matters, but, still, as a matter of professional courtesy, it’s my opinion he should have discussed this with our band before telling Laila. Especially since, if you ask me, Laila’s not even a good fit, musically, with our band and brand. Is Laila talented? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean she should be opening for Fugitive Summer. Reed should put her with Aloha. Or maybe 2Real.
And yet, everyone around me continues reacting enthusiastically, like this is the best idea, ever. My aggravation ratcheting up with each passing second, I look across the room. And this time, when my eyes meet Laila’s, she’s got no beaming smile for me. No lustful stare. This time, the only thing on Laila’s face is a death glare. And I must admit, it’s a good look on her.
“She’s not a good fit,” I declare, turning away from Laila’s blue daggers. And everyone stops talking and looks at me like I’ve yelled the earth is flat. “You should put her with 2Real,” I suggest. “He’s going out soon, isn’t he?”
Reed’s face contorts into an expression of pure disdain, the likes of which I’ve seen many times from him. “Thanks so much for your opinion, Savage,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “The thing is . . .” He leans forward. “I don’t actually give a flying shit what you think about this decision. I wasn’t asking for permission to put Laila on the tour. I was merely informing you, as a courtesy, that I’ve already done it, so you won’t wonder what the hell she’s doing there when she shows up at her first soundcheck.” With that, he flashes me a nonverbal “fuck you” before smiling at Kendrick. “I hear it’s your birthday, KC?”
“Yep. The big two-five.”
“Wow. A quarter century. You can rent a car now.” He chuckles. “Feel free to take home any bottle you want from any of the bars. There’s some pretty expensive Scotch behind that one . . .” He points across the room, to a bar located near a set of French doors, and names the brand. “Tell the bartender I said you can have the whole bottle.”
“Thanks, Reed. I’ll take you up on that.”
“Please do.” He smiles at Ruby, his favorite in our band, by far, and wishes her a good time. And then, with a quick nod to Titus and Kai, he heads off without even a cursory glance at me.
“Fuck you, too,” I murmur to Reed’s departing frame.
“I’ll catch ya later, guys,” Kendrick says. “I’m gonna get that bottle of Scotch and ask Laila if she wants to—” He gasps. “No! Fuck my life. Nooo!”
“Well, that was fast,” Kai says to his younger brother. And when I follow their mutual gaze, I see Laila in conversation with a good friend of ours—a guy named Cash who plays guitar for another River Records band, Danger Doctor Jones. Cash is in profile to us and standing all the way on the other side of the party, but, even so, it’s clear he’s currently hitting on Laila with everything he’s got.
“Motherfucker,” Kendrick declares.
“You snooze, you lose, baby brother,” Kai says, whacking Kendrick’s broad shoulder.
“It’s
