I glanced down at my dick, then back up at my manager. “Brenda, you know you missed us.” I opened my arms to hug her, and she just gave a vexed sigh as she hugged me back. “I thought you were still on leave.”
“I am,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes as she leaned back against my counter. “Go put some pants on so I don’t have to talk to your trouser snake, babe. Go on, shoo. I’m helping myself to your liquor.”
I grinned but went to do as she asked. Brenda was only two years older than me but always treated all of us in Bellerose like her children. I’d missed her bossy ass on this last tour.
When I returned to the kitchen with pants, I found her sipping a small glass of Scotch with a blissed-out look on her face.
“Should you be drinking that?” I asked, arching a brow.
Her answering expression was scathing. “Fuck off, Grayson. You try parenting a tiny demon who never fucking sleeps, and then let’s see how you react when someone questions your choices. Hmm? Wanna trade places? Because my spawn hasn’t slept more than two hours in a row since the night he entered this world. Let’s swap? I’ll happily take on Rhett’s detox, Flo’s crappy choices, and Jace’s soul-crushing denial for a full night's sleep.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “When you put it like that…”
“Sit down,” she ordered me, nodding to a vacant chair at my table. “Talk to me.”
I sat but didn’t feel particularly forthcoming with information.
After a long silence, Brenda sighed. “Gray… remember when I first met you?”
I grunted. “Like it was yesterday.” She’d picked me up in a Starbucks. I’d been searching the job ads in the local newspaper, circling shit I thought maybe I could get hired for without even a GED. One of my favorite rock songs had come on the radio, and I’d drummed along with two pens on the tabletop, not thinking anything of it as I felt the music in my bones. That was how I’d started out as a kid, then I’d been infinitely lucky when I caught the attention of an old retired rocker from the eighties who’d taken me under his wing. Much to my family’s irritation.
Brenda had been getting coffee before heading to open auditions at Big Noise Records and coerced me into going with her. The auditions had been for Bellerose, and the rest was history.
“You’d had this… deeply haunted look in your eyes back then,” she told me gently, her gaze far too intense and knowing. “You were so lost in your own skin, searching for a reason.”
I knew exactly what she meant. I’d just cut ties with my uncle’s crime syndicate and turned my back on the only profession I’d ever been good at. I had so much blood on my hands that the idea of taking a job as a dishwasher or janitor felt so fucking docile. So normal. Then Brenda strutted into my life with her sharp power suit and bright ideas for negotiating some diamond crusted pay deals for her musicians. She already had Jace, but he needed a band.
“I thought it was such a joke that day,” I murmured, smiling at the memory, “like an elaborate set up.”
Brenda’s answering smile was warm. “And now look where you are. Grayson Taylor, international rock star.” She paused, her lips pursed. “But those shadows are back all of a sudden. Is that why you refused to go to the Big Noise content house? Your old life caught up with you again?”
I scrubbed a hand over my beard, making a mental note to trim it tomorrow. “Something like that,” I muttered.
Brenda watched me for a long moment, like she was mentally peeling back my layers and looking inside. Then she tilted her head to the side. “And what about this girl that Rhett and Jace seem to be in a disagreement over? Did you have anything to do with her and what happened between them?”
This girl. She made Billie sound like an anonymous groupie.
I laughed bitterly. “This girl,” I repeated, shaking my head. “You mean Billie Bellerose?”
There was no physical reaction from our manager, which told me she had already been well aware and was no doubt testing me to see what I’d reveal.
“She’s been inspiring the band for almost a decade,” she finally said with a shrug. “Hopefully, we get another hit album out of this.”
I had to laugh. “Always thinking like a manager. But did you know that she was on the run from the Ricci family, who wanted her dead? And we were the ones standing between her and death… at least up until Flo and Tom sold her out.” This was the sort of shit a manager should know, and it was on all of us for not keeping her updated.
“Jesus,” Brenda muttered, reaching for the whiskey. I cocked a brow, and she snarled my way. “Shut your mouth, Taylor. I’ll pump and dump when we’re done here. Alright, shit. Billie Bellerose and the Riccis again. Fuck me. Angelo should have taken up my offer years ago to get out.”
“Wait, you knew Angelo Ricci?”
She smirked. “Oh, I surprised you, hmm? Yes, I offered Angel a contract, same as Jace. He couldn’t take it because of his family, but…” She shrugged. “Kid had more talent in his big toe than most musicians I get into my office ever achieve.”
I blew out a long breath. “Don’t ever let Rhett hear you say that. Especially now.”
Brenda nodded her agreement. “So. Billie Bellerose and Rhett Silver… I have to say, I didn’t see that pairing before it happened.” I couldn’t help myself—I winced. Brenda scoffed. “Oh, now I see. Shit, this girl must be something spectacular to get you lot all bent out of shape. Where is she now?”
Pouring myself a shot of Scotch, I gritted my teeth. Then huffed a frustrated sound. “Back with Angelo. The Riccis were hunting her pretty hard; Jace thinks she stole something from them. She seemed to be terrified of them catching up with her and then… poof… changed her mind and went skipping back into his arms.” I kept my tone as even as possible, trying not to betray my own thoughts on that sequence of events, but it was impossible not to.
“You don’t think that’s what happened,” my manager commented, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well… as interesting as your love lives are, none of this is helping you fulfill your contracts with Big Noise. And that…”
“Is why you’re here?” I guessed with a dry voice. “Great.”
“Listen, Gray. I know you’re savvy with your money. You could afford to pay back all the advances and fork out for legal fees, but do you really want to dump that on Flo’s plate right now? Or Rhett’s?”
“You don’t have to guilt me, Brenda. I’m fully prepared to make the new album and satisfy our contract, I just can’t move into the fucking content house.” It wasn’t just a house for Big Noise artists to hole up and work on music, it was also wired up with dozens of hidden cameras to gather “behind the scenes” content for the label to use in promotional shit later while marketing the album. I couldn’t think of anything worse right now.
“Because of the cameras? Or because of your past catching up with you?” She was too perceptive for her own good.
I shrugged. Both. I hated the thought of being watched constantly, but more than that, I couldn’t risk putting my bandmates in danger if the big bad wolf came knocking. Big Noise content house was famous, too. Hardly hidden away.