by Kate Stewart
I can’t bring myself to smile at her lighthearted comment. She’s offering me crumbs when I want the whole loaf. I want so much more than she’s willing to give me. If I’m honest, I want more than I deserve. Doesn’t make me want it any less. We only had a week together, but the conversation, the connection—I never had it with anyone else before or since. It is real, and real is so rare, you can’t ignore it when you find it. You don’t give up on it.
The kitchen door swings open, and Rhyson rushes in, his face alight with excitement, his phone pressed to his chest.
“It’s them,” he whispers to Bristol. “It’s the label about the deal.”
“Oh my God!” Bristol waves him over to the kitchen table and he lays his phone down on the table, putting it on speaker.
“Hey, I’m back.” Rhyson glances at his sister, their identical eyes locked. “You’re on speaker with my manager Bristol.”
I half listen as they start preliminary talks for what will be the foundation of Rhyson’s first record deal. I know later on I’ll be thrilled for him. Right now, though, as I glance at the cheap rubber watch on my wrist and remember that night at the carnival, the kiss when our hearts wheeled with the stars, I’m sad. And I can’t help but think the watch is a perfect symbol.
Because I’ll be biding my time.
Chapter One
Bristol
Present day
THERE ARE DAYS you want to just start over because it feels like every hour takes you into a deeper level of hell.
And there are days you wake up already scraping the very bottom of the pit, unable to claw your way up the fiery walls.
This week has pretty much alternated between the latter and the former. Today, I’m trapped in some purgatory between the two.
No matter how I look at it, this week’s been hell.
“Sarah.” I barely raise my voice, but I know my assistant hears through the open door connecting our offices.
At first, I managed everything for Rhyson’s music career by myself. He translated his fame as a classical piano prodigy into a modern rock sound that made him one of the biggest stars in the music world. Now, in addition to managing Rhyson and helping with Prodigy, the record label he recently launched, I also manage the other acts on our fledgling label and our friend Jimmi, who isn’t actually signed to Prodigy. Rhyson and I recognized once I took on those additional responsibilities, I would need help. We’ve made astounding progress in just a few years.
The things you can do when you have no personal life.
“Yeah, boss.” Sarah appears at the door. “You need me?”
I thought I was in hell. Sarah looks like hell trampled her face. She isn’t so much standing as allowing the door frame to prop her up.
“Sarah, I hope we’ve reached that point in our relationship where I can tell you when you look like shit.”
Sarah nods weakly.
“Good.” I grimace and gesture for her to sit down in the chair across from my desk. “Because you look like shit.”
“I probably look worse than I feel.” Sarah settles carefully into the cream-colored leather chair.
“Let’s hope so.” I glance back down at the multiplying mound of papers on my desk. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I’ll make this quick so you can go home, but are you well enough to tell me what the hell is going on in Denver?”
“Denver?” Sarah blinks slowly back at me. I cling to my patience. I really do, and I remind myself she isn’t feeling well.
“Yeah. Denver. They have snow and mountains and the Broncos.”
“Did something go wrong for the guys?” She frowns with pain-dulled eyes. “Everything was set up at the venue.”
“Yeah, well I just got off the phone with Danny from the band, and he says everything’s screwed up. There are several items from the equipment list missing.”
“I sent their rider two months ago.” Sarah shakes her head, confusion drawing her brows together. “I spoke to Elle, our contact at the club, last week, and she confirmed everything.”
“Have you talked to Morris?” I ask of the road manager who’s supposed to be handling things. I tap my nails on the edge of my desk, but stop immediately. My mother does that. There are enough naturally occurring similarities between my mother and me. I don’t need to cultivate more.
“No, but I’ll call him right now.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and dials, looking at me while she waits. “It’s ringing.”
“That’s usually how it works. When things go really well, he actually picks up. Something he hasn’t done for the last hour I’ve been calling him.”
I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but Rhyson hand-picked Kilimanjaro, and they’re an incredible band. They could have signed with any number of huge labels, but they chose us. They don’t have a studio album out yet and are still considered “underground.” This tour is building a grass roots fan base for their first release.
Prodigy may be small and just starting, but my brother’s reputation is on the line. So is mine.
“Hey, Morris,” Sarah says, forcing a smile he isn’t here to appreciate. “How’re things going?”
How’re things going?
I just told her they’re going to shit. I need to get to the bottom of it, not find out if he’s enjoying his day.
“Give me the phone,” I whisper-shout, extending my hand.
“I’ve got it,” she mouths, nodding as if that’s supposed to reassure me. “Uh huh. That’s great, Morris. Look, the band called and said things weren’t quite what we’d asked for.”
She listens for a second, finally biting her lip and clenching her eyes closed.
“I see.” Her sigh sounds a little too resigned to me. “Well, I guess it is what it is. Not sure what can be done about that since we’re not there and the show is tonight.”
The hell.
“Give me that phone, Sarah.” This time I look at her sternly enough so she knows it isn’t optional. She reluctantly passes it to me.
“Morris, it’s Bristol.”
“Hey, Bristol.” Nervousness creeps into his voice.
“What’s this about things not being what they should be for the band out there? Their rider is very clear, and Elle signed off on everything.”
“Yeah, I think there were a few things they wanted equipment-wise that we were told would be available that aren’t.”
“Then Elle needs to fix that.”
“I’ve tried to talk to her but haven’t gotten any movement yet.” His shaky laugh from the other end irritates me. “She’s one tough cookie, that one.”
“Hmmmm. Okay, well I’ll call her right now, and if that cookie doesn’t want to get crumbled, she better give my guys every damn thing in the rider.”
There’s a short pause after my statement.
“Good luck,” Morris finally replies.
“By the way, Morris.” I pause until I’m sure I have his full attention. “If I have to do your job and mine, one of us is redundant. The next time I send you out as road manager, I expect you to manage. If you can’t, I’ll find someone who isn’t intimidated by a small-town club owner.”
I don’t wait for a response. What can he say to that? I hate incompetence. I haven’t had trouble out of Morris before, but this is strike one. I use Sarah’s phone to call Elle so she won’t see me coming.
“Sarah, hey,” Elle answers after the third ring, sounding bored and distracted. “If you’re calling about that outrageous rider, I’ll tell you what I told Morris. Take what you get. The show is tonight, and we don’t have time to get all the equipment they’re asking for. They’ll be fine with what we have.”
“Not Sarah, Elle. It’s Bristol.”
“Bristol, hey.” I can practically hear her sit up and take notice. “Well, you heard what I was just saying then.”
“Oh, I heard you. Now you hear me.”
I lean forward, planting my fist on my desk to support my weight.
“There’s a
contract between you and me, lady. One you signed. Not fulfilling those terms places you in breach.” I pause before resuming. “Is that clear?”
“I can’t possibly find those mics they want in a day, Bristol.”
“I didn’t expect you to, which is why you’ve had the rider for months. You assured us that was more than ample time to secure the guys’ equipment preferences.”
“Well, I was wrong.”
“Did you even try?”
I know she won’t admit that she didn’t try, but she needs to know that I don’t believe she did.
“Elle, I don’t give excuses, and I don’t accept them. Make it happen or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
“This is ridiculous!” she screeches from the other end.
“What’s ridiculous is that this conversation even needs to happen.” I smack my lips together in disbelief. “You actually think I’ll fall for that? Waiting until the last minute and then shrugging all c’est la vie when you don’t have time to fulfill the terms?”
“No, I—”
“You will find that equipment,” I cut in. “I don’t care if you find it up your ass. Just clean it before you give it to my band.”
I end the call before I threaten to come out there myself. Then I’d have to actually follow through, and after being in hell all week, the last place I want to be is Denver. I got enough snow living in New York most of my life.
“Thanks.” I hand Sarah’s phone back to her.
“You’re so badass,” she whispers with her hand pressed to her stomach.
“Only when I have to be.”
She barely lifts a knowing brow.
“Okay, yeah. Kind of all the time, but you know people make me, right?”
Sarah lets out a low groan and squeezes her eyelids closed.
“What is it?” I walk around the desk and press the back of my hand to her forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“No, I have a period,” she responds listlessly.
“Ohhhhhh.” I sit on the edge of the desk, studying her pretty face, which is twisting with discomfort. “Bad month?”
“Do the words ‘red wedding’ mean anything to you?”
I grin at her Game of Thrones reference, and she slits one eye open and offers an anemic smile.
“Go home.” I gesture at the daunting pile of papers that seem to be metastasizing on the desk behind me. “Believe me. I can attest to the fact that the work isn’t going anywhere. I’ve been trying to get rid of it all week with no luck.”
“Really?” She sits up from her slumped position, one hand open on her forehead, the other at her belly. “You sure you’ll be okay without me?”
“Yeah. I’ll probably just follow up with the band and make sure Elle came through.”
I don’t mention the dozen other things I need to do that have made this week hell because she might feel bad.
“Okay.” She stands gingerly and is making her way toward the door. “I’ll just close out this one last email and be out.”
“Sounds good.”
My cell rings, and I glance down to see who it is. Will Silas. A fellow manager.
“Will, hi. What’s up?”
“Bristol, hey. Nothing much. I wanted to talk about tomorrow night.”
“What about it?” I walk back to my desk and sift through a few contracts I printed and started marking up. “The venue is all set. I spoke with them earlier. Sound check is at seven. Everything else is in the email I sent.”
“Yeah, the email you sent at two o’clock this morning.” He chuckles, a note of admiration in his voice. “When do you sleep, girl?”
“When all the work is done.” I give a little laugh and check my impatience. I really need to look at these contracts. “So if we’re all set for tomorrow’s performance, what can I do for you?”
There’s a pause on the other end screaming Will’s reluctance.
“Uh, Qwest has a special request,” he says after a few seconds more of screaming quiet.
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“I know you have that reporter Meryl scheduled to talk with Qwest and Grip after the show.”
Grip's upcoming album is Prodigy's first release. Even though Grip will be his first solo project, his popularity has grown through features on other artists' singles, all of which went platinum. He built a sterling reputation as a writer and producer over the years, along with hugely popular underground mix tapes. Now an artist in his own right, there’s nothing like him out there. He has it, and brings it to everything he does. His current single “Queen” featuring Qwest, currently sits at number one, and the album hasn’t even dropped.
“Yeah. Legit is doing that in-depth piece on Grip,” I tell Will. “And I agreed to a chat with the two of them before she flies back to New York the next day.”
“Yeah, she has, um, some other things she’d like to do after the show.”
This time the pause is mine. The reluctance is mine. Qwest doesn’t have some things she’d like to do after the show. She has someone she’d like to do after the show.
Grip.
“Oh, yeah?” I drop the contract and run my hand over the back of my neck where the tension always seems to gather. “Like what?”
“She was thinking she and Grip could hang out after the show. They haven’t seen each other since they wrapped on the “Queen” video a month ago. So . . .”
Pairing Grip with Qwest, the hottest female rapper on the scene right now, was sheer brilliance. I wish I could take credit for it, but Qwest approached us about working with him.
“So . . .” I pick up where Will left off, waiting for him to voice the request.
“Could we cancel the chat with the reporter so Qwest and Grip can go out after the show?”
I swallow the big no that lodges in my throat. It’s true that Meryl will be irritated if we cancel. She’ll be shadowing Grip for the next few weeks leading up to the album release writing this piece. I don’t want to start our working relationship not delivering the one-two punch of Qwest and Grip together. But, if I’m honest, that isn’t the only reason I want to refuse Qwest’s request to spend time with Grip.
I clear my throat before responding.
“Um, let me see what I can do, Will. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try. I don’t want to alienate this reporter. This piece she’s doing is great exposure for Grip’s album.”
“I get that, but you know how Qwest is.” Will laughs, probably to keep from crying, because Qwest is a handful. “If we make her do the interview, she’ll probably say some outrageous shit and ruin it anyway.”
Irritation prickles under my skin. Qwest is undeniably talented. And undeniably hot for Grip. I’ve seen it for myself. She practically engraved an invitation for Grip to screw her at the “Queen” video shoot. For her to put her libido above a commitment is highly unprofessional, but then, it is Grip. She wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve seen lose all sense of decency where he’s concerned.
“If I can’t get them out of the interview without potentially damaging this piece,” I say, stiffening my words just enough. “Then I’ll expect your artist to be where I need her to be when I need her to be and to conduct herself professionally. If you can’t control Qwest, don’t make me do it.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Will’s tone stiffens a little, too. “It shouldn’t be that big a deal. Promise the reporter something else. Something bigger.”
“Like what?”
“Like what if she goes with us next month? She’d get Qwest and Grip performing in Dubai. The optics alone will be a great add to her story.”
Damn. Wish I’d thought of that, too. Grip and Qwest are giving a sweet sixteen concert for the daughter of one of Dubai's ruling families.
“That’s a great idea.” My tone still makes no promises. “I’ll pitch it to Meryl and get back to you.”
“Sounds good. See you at sound check.”
With a million things clamoring for my attent
ion, demanding action, I stand still at my desk for a full minute, staring unseeingly at the work waiting for me.
Qwest and Grip.
They’re perfect for each other. Not only that, but it would be good for business. Their fans would eat up a romance between them. They’d be the king and queen of hip-hop. All the ideas spin through my head of how to maximize on a relationship between my artist and Will’s. I could spin a street fairy tale of it. It’s what Qwest wants. It’s what everyone would want.
But I’m the one thing I know without a shadow of a doubt Grip wants. Over the years, we’ve managed to become friends. Really good friends actually, and I was thrilled when he finally agreed to let me manage his career. But that’s all. Grip has made it clear he wants more, but that’s all I can give, and that’s all we’ll be.
So if you won’t have him, Qwest can.
That little voice of conscience and reason whispers to me every once in a while. Depending on the circumstance, sometimes I listen. Sometimes I ignore. I know this time I should listen.
Sarah’s groan from the outer office pulls me from minutes of contemplation I can’t afford. Despite all the work I’ve already done, I still have so much to do.
“You’re still here?” I call out, walking to the door.
I fight back an ill-timed smile when I see a Hershey’s bar, a Costco-sized bottle of Midol, and a legion of tampons spilled on the floor from Sarah’s purse. It’s like a Menstrual Survival Kit.
“Yes.” Sarah sighs, pressing two fingers to her temple. “I forgot about an errand I’m supposed to run. Ugh. I just wanna crawl between the sheets and die for a little while.”
“Let me handle it.” Another thing I can’t afford. Doing other people’s jobs, but it feels like I’ve been doing that all day. All week.
“You sure?” Doubt pinches Sarah’s pained expression even more. “I know you have a ton to do.”
“As you can see by the state of my desk,” I say, pointing a thumb over my shoulder toward my office. “Work isn’t going anywhere. Anything I don’t finish today, will still be there tomorrow.”
“Oh, good.” She blows out a relieved breath. “Let me get Grip’s bag.”