“Listen guys. I know it’s a shock for us all, but we’ve got to be smart and strategic about this. We’ve also got to make a decision that we all agree with.” James was ever the diplomatic peacemaker, and I didn’t envy his job refereeing the two of us in normal circumstances, let alone on an issue as touchy as this one.
“No. We need to make a decision that we both agree with.” Rome motioned between the two of us. “You’re not the one getting up on stage every night, we are.” I agreed with him on that point at least.
“Okay, point taken. I stand corrected.” James raised his hands in mock surrender. “We need to get to a point where the two of you are in agreement, and to a situation where whatever decision is made is something you can live with moving forward. The label hasn’t exactly given us much wiggle room to negotiate, but even still, the best option that the lawyers can come up with is that we go back and suggest some time restrictions on the new arrangement. There’s nothing in the current contract that prohibits this, and that would give us a little freedom to move in the short-term, at least.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Rome’s words echoed my thoughts.
“I’m suggesting that we get a clause written in that says the arrangement is for a fixed term—a trial if you like—and then we can re-evaluate on that basis. Though they didn’t behave that way in yesterday’s meeting, I’m fairly certain that the label guys don’t want you to walk away. So, if we give the impression that you just might, we’ll be in a decent position to negotiate.’
“What kind of timeframe are we talking about?”
“That’s up for debate. Realistically, I doubt they’ll agree to anything less than twelve months.”
“One fucking year of our lives wasted on this bullshit?” Rome slammed his hand down on the glass table and I winced, waiting for it to shatter. It didn’t, but his patience did.
Chapter 8
Rome
* * *
King gave me the look. The look he reserved for times when he thought he needed to “handle” me. It was the same way he might approach a small child throwing a tantrum, or someone who wasn’t quite in control of all their faculties.
“Don’t look at me like that, asshole.”
“Like what?” He shrugged.
“And don’t fucking play dumb. You know what I’m talking about. Like you’re going to have to baby me to get what you want. Fuck you.”
“Listen, it’s not about babying you, but as you quite rightly pointed out earlier, I’m the pragmatist of the two of us, so—”
“I didn’t say that. I basically said you’re a fucking pussy who couldn’t make a decision if someone put a gun up your damned ass.”
“Semantics. What you meant was that I’m more inclined toward calm and careful consideration, and you’re more passionate and impulsive, which is why our shit works, and always has.”
“Our shit works because we’re both beast musicians, and you’re one of the few rich wasp assholes whose face I didn’t—and still mostly don’t—want to cave in on sight.”
“Well, there’s that. But anyway, the truth is that I’m the brains of the outfit and you’re the brawn, even if the reality is that you have more brains than my entire damned family put together. So as the thinker, I’m going to say this... I checked out Que Violin online. She’s good. Scratch that. She’s really fucking good at what she does. Those execs are assholes, but the one thing they’ve got right is that she’s no lightweight. She’s like us, but with that body, and that face—”
“So, did you check out her music, or just her tits? I’m not getting into a musical partnership with someone just because we want to fuck them. We can do that without ruining our careers,” I informed him.
“Who said anything about fucking her?” King asked.
“You didn’t need to.” I looked at him pointedly, and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Jesus, Rome, why does everything with you come back to sex?” The more indignant he was, the more I knew that I was on target about his attraction to Quincy Copeland. I could read him like a fucking book, and it was all there in his body language, but for some reason he didn’t want to admit it to me in words.
“So you’re telling me I’m wrong?”
“I’m not. All I’m saying is just because she’s incredibly fuckable, it doesn’t mean she isn’t also highly talented.”
“Everything you say now is null and void, and my point stands. If you want to fuck her, go right ahead, just don’t bring our musical shit into it.” I leaned back, case closed.
“Guys, you can’t just assume that someone will sleep with you, either of you, and even if she will, that’s really not wha—”
“Shut up James!” we snapped at the same time. At least that was something we agreed on.
“Okay, it’s just—”
“Nope. Still not listening.”
James held his hands up in surrender again, but looked at us as though we were discussing banging his grandma.
“I don’t care how fuckable she is—and I should know, I’ve already been there, done that—we’re not doing this collaboration.” I’d been holding off on telling King that the violinist and I had already been intimately acquainted, but suddenly, there was no time like the present to drop the news.
“We are.” I could tell by the set of his jaw that he was ready to do battle over this. As for me, I was born ready.
“Not gonna happen.” I folded my arms.
“Wait. What did you just say? King narrowed his eyes, staring at me suspiciously.
“I said it’s not gonna happen.” I knew I shouldn’t play with him that way, but he made it too easy. It was like taking candy from a baby.
“Jesus Christ, Rome. Do you always have to be such a complete asshole?”
“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question, given that we all know the fucking answer.”
“Okay, you’re an asshole. But you’re not a dumbass, so can you please stop acting like one. What did you just say about fucking Quincy Copeland?”
“Oh that.” I was the picture of nonchalance. “I said I’d beat you to it. By quite a long way, in fact.”
“Bullshit. You’re yanking my chain.” He didn’t sound as convinced of that fact as he wanted to be.
“Nope. I’m serious.”
“You’re telling me that between that meeting and now, you’ve somehow parted her from her underwear? No fucking way. She hates your guts.”
“Didn’t you hear me at the start of that shitshow of a meeting, when I said we’d already met? And I can tell you she didn’t hate any part of me the night of the Sonata Awards.”
“She was the ‘best fuck of the year’?” His face was the picture of incredulity.
I nodded smirking. The truth was, it was better than that, but damned if I was going to tell King.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me who she was before now? You said you couldn’t remember the details of that night, just that it was the best sex you’d had in a long time.”