by Cat Mason
“Could go for another round of drinks,” he says, glancing around at the empty glasses. “And a dozen of those red velvet cupcakes boxed up to go.” Looking at Chase, he smirks. “Hopefully those’ll smooth things over with the offspring.”
“That I can do.” The waitress glances around the table. When it’s clear no one is biting at her offer for dessert, she nods and walks away.
Once our drinks arrive, Cam goes over the details of the event, nearly all of which Vicki left out when telling us about it. All signed musical talent from Shaft’s record label, Evil Wiener Productions, will be in attendance. Once they’ve all performed, we take the stage before Shaft closes out the night. Half of the proceeds go to fund a program they’ve started to help fund music programs in struggling schools across the country.
You can’t help getting behind something with that kind of potential to change the future. I sure as hell know I would’ve been lost without having that outlet to turn to.
That feeling hasn’t changed.
As soon as the check gets handled by Cam and Aiden, Craig is out of the booth and at my side. Hovering over me, he clears his throat. “Miss Brandwell says it’s time to say your goodbyes and head back upstairs for the night.”
“Aw, Mom,” Hunter whines dramatically. “Five more minutes?”
Not looking amused with the joke, Craig’s body straightens. Jerking the knot of his black tie, he swallows hard. “I don’t call the shots, man. Just get paid to enforce them.”
“Suit yourself, Red.” Hunter smiles and rises from his seat. Walking around the table, he pats Craig on the back. “But, if I were you, I’d be takin’ advantage of the time and knock back a few beers.” Looking over at Vicki, he chuckles, giving him another clap on the back. “Or maybe a couple shots.”
“We should probably head up,” Quinn sighs, pushing to her feet. The unwavering smile she has worn all night finally begins to slip from her face. “If she gets too pissed off her head might explode. God knows they’ll never get that out of the carpet.”
“Ugh,” Bristol groans, swaying unsteadily on her feet. “Did you have to take it there?”
“Settle down, pansy ass,” Quinn snickers playfully. “You act like I force fed you tomato soup and made you watch Grey’s Anatomy.”
“It’s when shit like that comes out of that flapper on your face that I question my friendship choices,” she fires back, pressing her lips into a hard line.
Quinn beams, eyes lighting up. Shoving around me, she pulls a struggling Bristol into a huge hug. “I love you too, my little shitfaced whore nugget.”
“Easy, now, ladies,” Hunter warns, holding up a hand. “Big Man’s no spring chicken. Girl on girl action could be the thing to finally do his ass in.”
“Fuck you,” Henry fires back, his chest vibrating with soft laughter. “If puttin’ up with your ass all these years hasn’t done me in, nothin’ will.”
“Okay.” Chase steps between Hunter and Henry and pulls out her phone. “We need about two dozen pictures before we head back to make sure the kids haven’t ripped Gray and Daisy’s house off the foundation.”
Craig steps back, allowing us to have a minute to thank them for dinner and say our goodbyes. Vicki also doesn’t push when we spend another half hour having Craig and the waitress taking countless pictures from all of our phones. Which is right about the same time I notice several others in the restaurant snapping photos themselves. Some even coming up and asking to take photos with us. Instead of ranting or causing a scene, Vicki stands by the edge of their booth with Nigel, tapping her foot and looking completely irate while we take time out for every person who comes up to us.
I hope the windows of our suites are shatterproof.
“Ms. Chesterfield,” Vicki says coolly, extending her hand to Cam. “I have spoken to Mr. Boyer’s assistant about tomorrow. I can let you know once he and I have spoken, but I feel the need to warn you, I have no intention of budging on my initial decision against the meet and greet or interview.”
“Cool it, Vick,” I bite out quietly. “This isn’t the—”
“Miss Brandwell.” Cam’s hand shoots out, fingers squeezing tightly as she shakes it. “I feel the need to issue my own warning to you as well. The moment we get into the car, there’ll be a call going to Mr. Boyer’s direct line,” she says confidently. Releasing Vicki’s hand, Cam pulls her phone from the black clutch in her hand. Looking up at Vicki, she swipes open the screen. “Or, since I have both his home number and personal cell, we could always call Logan right here? I’ll put him on speaker for you.”
Vicki’s eyes widen. “That won’t be necessary,” she huffs, squaring her shoulders.
“Suit yourself.” Tucking her phone away, she hands her purse to Aiden. Stepping forward into Vicki’s space, she meets her toe to toe. “Since I can momentarily put aside the countless, asinine issues you have with how I’ve chosen to run things, along with the fact that I’ve got nearly two decades worth of experience in this industry under my belt, I’m going to offer up a little advice,” she says confidently. “If you expect to get anywhere in this business, you may want to unscrew whatever’s up your ass.”
“Excuse me?” Vicki snarls.
“Sweetie,” Chase mutters, clicking her tongue dismissively. “There’s no excuse for you.”
“You’re what they call a deal breaker.” Cam grins, nodding her head in agreement with Chase. “A hard limit.”
I lose the battle with my laugh, Aiden and nearly everyone standing in our group doing the same. Vicki’s eyes shoot to me, flashing with anger before moving back to the women in front of her. Her brows pinch together, jaw rigid and nostrils flaring. Unafraid, neither woman backs down. “Talent like theirs has no place being forced in the shadows by some pretentious bitch.” Vicki jerks, the dose of harsh reality Cam threw out like a slap in the face. “Tomorrow, you’ll see how a real manager shows off who she represents.” Stepping back, Cam turns to face us, her features softening slightly. “So will they.”
Vicki doesn’t say a word in the elevator. No one does. I have no idea whether that’s because we’re all still shell-shocked by the night, or if we’re all trying to gauge the level of pissed off currently brewing behind the stone expression currently reflecting in the mirrored elevator doors. The moment we all step into the suite, and the door clicks closed, that all changes.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Vicki grounds calmly.
“Not sure how to answer that,” Bristol deadpans, shoving her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Can that question be multiple choice? It’s been a long night.”
“Pretty sure it’s a true or false kinda thing,” Quinn snorts, lips twitching when she glances over at B. “Or is it one of those one to ten scale customer satisfaction things?”
“Always with the jokes,” Vicki says, her patience clearly fading fast. “Is that what this is to you? Because I assure you, no one is laughing.”
“Nope,” I agree. “You’re guaranteed to suck the fun out of every situation.”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed making me look bad tonight.” Hands behind her back, she laces her fingers and begins pacing the length of the large living room. “You sure as hell won’t get the chance again.” Robotically, Craig and Nigel stand on either side of the now closed door, hands at their sides, heads bowed. Completely silent and unmoving.
Fucking weird.
“Won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy it,” Greer mutters, grabbing two beers from the bar. Tossing me one, lifts his own, toasting her with a grin. “Sadly, I can’t take the credit either, sweetheart. That was all you.”
“He’s right, Vicki,” Quinn agrees, shifting from foot to foot to toe off her hot pink wedges. “This is a huge opportunity and you’re throwin’ them shit at every turn. It’s like you’re setting us up for failure.”
“And who the hell refuses a meet and greet?” Bristol asks, shaking her head in disbelief. “No one in their right mind throws away a chance like tha
t with all those fans. We’d have to be fuckin’ stupid!”
“It’s my job to know what is best for this group and the label. My name and reputation are at stake every time you mess up. I refuse to apologize for making tough decisions.” Vicki’s tone is bold, cocky. “Especially when you so carelessly jump at the opportunity to make a fool of Mr. Boyer, or myself, any chance you get.”
“Errr!” Bristol sounds like a buzzer on a damn game show. “Wrong. Between you and me, Vick, we don’t usually take what you personally think into account when makin’ those pros and cons lists,” she snorts, rolling her eyes.
“Which is exactly why we have come to where we are,” Vicki challenges. “Your behavior forces me to treat you like children and you could care less about the situation that puts me in professionally. My many successes during the time I have been with Frayed Edge Records are overlooked due to the stench of your continuous attempts to shit on all my hard work.”
“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” Her eyes snap to mine the moment I start to speak, along with everyone else’s. “You’re determined to be the wall between us and the rest of the world. No fuckin’ clue why. What I do know is it’s about a lot more than you’re tellin’ us.”
Greer nods. “And it started way before the goddamn Happy Shack shit.”
“At this point, my reasons are as irrelevant as this damned conversation.” Her stare hardens. Dropping her hands to her sides, she balls them into fists. Taking in a deep breath, she releases it slowly, her fingers uncurling as she does. “The agreement we have states none of you are to question or contradict my decisions or actions.”
“We know what the contracts say, Vicki,” Quinn fires back, hands on her hips. “We also haven’t signed them yet. Remember?”
“Believe me,” she bites out, frigid as hell. “That is not by choice.”
“What do you really want from us, Vicki?” Bristol asks, arching a brow. “Attention? A round of applause? I mean, seriously, curious minds wanna know. We can’t stroke your ego if you don’t unzip your pants and whip it out for us.”
“What I want is you and Quinn in this suite, with Nigel and myself,” she explains, calming down fractionally. “Tanner and Greer will be across the hall with Craig.”
“Nope. Not a chance,” I ground out, refusing to sleep without Quinn in my bed. “Don’t care what room or bed you put me in, but Quinn’s ass is in it with me.”
Her momentary calm is gone instantly. “This is not up for discussion.” Her jaw ticks, entire face turning red. Looks like I just lit the live wire on this hateful bitch.
“Oh, Vicki,” Quinn sighs, clicking her tongue. “You should really worry less about who’s in my bed. Focus some of that energy on gettin’ someone in yours.”
“I’ve had about enough of you,” Vicki bites out, fists balling at her sides again.
“That’s mutual,” Quinn challenges, not backing down. “Trust that shit.”
“Eyes over here, Vick,” I toss, hoping to save us all from Quinn mauling her like a protective momma bear when the next spurt of patronizing bullshit flies out of her mouth. “We both know you won’t win if you fight me on this. Save your breath and choose your battles wisely. Quinn sleeping in my bed doesn’t have a fuckin’ thing to do with you doing your goddamn job.” Walking over, I snake an arm around Quinn, tucking her into my side. Her rigid body relaxes slightly with my touch. I can’t see ever getting used to how good it makes me feel knowing I can do that for her. That I can give her the same feeling of peace and calm she gives me.
Jerking my chin in Bristol and Greer’s direction, I’m relieved when I see that even though they are silent, they seem equally impressed with our collaborative exchange with Vicki. Turning my back to the raging blonde, I tug Quinn toward the hallway. “It’s been a long fuckin’ night. Got a longer day tomorrow. I’ll be takin’ my girl to bed. You have a problem with that, Ice Queen, call 1-800-KISS-MY-ASS.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pregasaurus
Quinn
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my life,” Bristol breathes, shaking her hands out in front of her while we ride down in the elevator with Nigel to catch the car Camaron is sending to take us to the venue. Craig escorted Vicki down a few minutes ahead of us, along with Greer and Tanner. Barely managing to get the words out during her rush for the door, Vicki rambled off about needing to address a matter downstairs before we left. I figure it’s her excuse to separate us for a quick minute while also giving her the chance to run ahead to lay out some demands for the driver without having Bristol or myself there pissing her off.
Especially given how close I came to ripping her a new ass last night.
Being a bitch is one thing. Embarrassing us in front of a restaurant full of people, along with people we idolize, who happen to be controlling this entire event we were asked to perform at. There’s no reason to justify any of the shit she’s pulled, but the stunt last night took the damn cake.
“I’m not nervous,” I tell B, nearly bouncing on the heels of my gorgeous black suede boots. The plush fabric is accented with dozens of small silver studs, wrapping tightly around my calf, and hitting just below the knee. They go perfect with the new mint green skinny jeans I bought to fit my growing belly. Not very excited about having to give in and buy maternity wear, I took a cheese grater to the damn things the second I got them out of the package, distressing them into some badass threads. Wanting to stay cool, I paired them with a white lace camisole and the gray tank Bristol surprised me with this morning that says ‘pregasaurus’ in black letters above an angry velociraptor wearing a pink bow. I kept my makeup simple, figuring I’ll more than likely sweat it off since the event is outdoors, and pulled my hair into a high ponytail before curling my long blonde strands into loose spirals. “I’m excited.”
When I look over at my best friend, her dark hair blocking most of her profile while she tries to get a handle on the jitters she isn’t used to having before performing. It isn’t the crowd getting to her. Thousands of people screaming and singing along with our songs doesn’t make her anxious. It fuels her. The unease I’m getting from her is about something else. It’s about more than just performing today. She shifts uneasily from foot to foot, then bounces on the heels of her worn out gray high-top converses. Her jeans are dark wash boyfriend cut, shredded at the knees and right upper thigh, making her look like she got in a fight with a buzz saw.
“I’m also a little jealous your shirt still fits,” I mutter, nudging her with my elbow.
“Yeah.” Lips quirking up into a satisfied smile, she looks down at her black halter top, Shaft Approved written across her chest in pink letters. “Best twenty bucks I’ve ever spent.”
She looks to me, eyes bright, anxiety beginning to roll off her. “You know we’re gonna kill this set, right?” I ask, bumping her this time with my hip.
She breathes deep, eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck yeah.” Shaking out her hands once more, she exhales before opening them again. “I’m more worried about what happens after we walk off that stage and head back to Michigan.”
“Vicki,” I sigh, knowing it always goes back to that bitch. Bristol nods. “Have you thought about what would happen if we decided to say fuck it and walk from Frayed Edge?” I ask, knowing it has been weighing heavily on my mind since last night. “I mean, before E quit I thought that was the obvious choice.”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, sounding conflicted. “I keep waiting for a sign or something. Tage always says shit happens for a reason. Well...” She shrugs, turning to face the doors again. “I guess I’m waitin’ for the goddamn reason. Or at least a nudge in the right direction.”
“Maybe a kick in the ass?” I huff out on a frustrated laugh.
“Yeah.” Her lips twitch, a smile breaking through at the same times the elevator dings and the doors start to open. “That’ll work too.”
Stepping out into the lobby of the insanely lavish hotel that Camaron and
the rest of the Shaft crew arranged for us, Bristol and I head for the front doors, with Nigel hot on our heels. “Quinnie,” Bristol whispers. Her hand shoots out, fingers wrapping tightly around my forearm, yanking me to a halt. “I need you to tell me I’m not hallucinating right now.” Staring straight ahead, she blinks, her eyes widening. “I might cry if this is a dream.”
Following her line of sight, I almost don’t believe it myself. Standing beside Tanner and Greer is Tage and Evan. The four of them deep in what looks like an intense conversation. “Feel this?” I ask, pinching the inside of her forearm.
“Ow!” she yelps, jerking away from me. “Yes, I felt that, asshole.”
Tanner’s eyes shoot up, finding me immediately. His brown eyes warm, lips tugging into that smile reserved only for me. Keeping his gaze locked with mine, he clears his throat and nudges Tage with his elbow. “Good,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on my guy. “Can we walk now?”
“You!” Bristol squeals. Releasing me and dropping her bag to the ground, she hauls ass across the lobby.
“Me,” Tage grunts, catching her when she leaps into his arms and wraps around him like a damn spider monkey.
“Is there a reason this can’t be done in private?” Vicki hisses, shoving Craig out of the way. “This is a business trip. Not a damn lover’s retreat.”
“Save your breath, Vick,” Greer laughs, scrubbing a hand over the top of his head. “They aren’t hearin’ it.”
“Obviously not,” she bites out, her jaw tight and rigid.
Scooping up her bag, I make my way over, smiling like a lunatic while my best friend mauls her boyfriend’s face as if he’s just come home from war. Coming to stand beside Tanner, I lean into his side when his arm comes around me. “Hey,” E says, jerking his chin my way.
“Couldn’t stay away, could ya?” I tease him. “You miss your cuddle sessions with Tanner that much?”
“Fuck,” he huffs, winking at me. “I was propped in front of the big screen. Had the damn remote all to myself, enough wings, beer, and baked goods to do me for days. Motherfuckin’ heaven on Earth, Foxy. Then,” he grumbles, glancing toward Tage and Bristol. “Denim Dan came stalkin’ in the back door last night. The prick spent two hours drownin’ his sorrows in the last of my fuckin’ whiskey before he manned the hell up and booked two first class tickets on a goddamn plane to be here for this.”