Catching Sparks (Cherry Peak Book 2)

Chapter 1

I would rather pluckmy eyes out with rusted nails than listen to Blake Sterling drone on and on about next quarter’s budget for a single moment more. The only budget I care about is the one that ensures my bank account continues to grow nice and fat.

Blake has a way of speaking down his nose at the rest of us, a false king on a stolen throne. I’m self-aware enough to recognize my own habit of doing the same, but I’m no false king, and my throne was crafted just for me.

Unfortunately, my own feelings on the matter have mattered fuck all. While Blake may be nearly as big of a prick as me, he has expertise in finance that is invaluable to my company—the record label that has become my only love. His arrogant ass knows exactly that, and he makes sure I won’t forget it as often as possible.

The boardroom is freezing, the air conditioning puffing heavily regardless of the early spring chill outside. I’ve always grown too hot in these meetings, the weight of multiple beady eyes on me cranking the dial on my internal temperature until I’m fighting a sweat. Nobody in this room will ever know that little tidbit, however. Not ever.

Being CEO of the second biggest record label in North America doesn’t allow me to show weakness. Not to my competitors and certainly not my allies. Every person in this room bows at my every command, and it will stay that way. Have mercy on the person of power who allows his employees to consider him a friend. The lack of respect makes me sick.

I avoid looking at my father, irritation burning beneath my skin.

“I think it would be far more beneficial to start making the change sooner than later. Physical sales are down. That’s a fact. It’s time to start flowing more money into the electronic platforms,” Blake announces, hands clasped on the expensive glass meeting table.

I stay silent, watching the distaste grow in the eyes of far too many board members. Swift Edge Records has outgrown the majority of these men. They’re old, friends of my father’s long before this label came to be, back when he was in the position of our most successful artists.

Yes, their input was appreciated during the early years, but we’re now seven in. The infant company they helped nurture is a successful adult now, ready to shed the helicopter parents.

Arthur Caldwell is a stubborn prick, so it’s not surprising when he chimes in despite the sharp look from the man on his right, my father, Reggie Beckett. “There isn’t enough evidence to make that conclusion yet. Who’s to say this isn’t another so-called fad? Those seem to be quite popular among your generation.”

“A fad is, majority of the time, short and sweet. This, Arthur, is not short nor sweet,” Blake returns dully.

My phone buzzes on the table. I drop my gaze to the screen and bring it back up again as I silence the call. The lack of discussion around the table as I do so pisses me off. Arching one brow, I ask no one in particular, “Is it settled, then, or have you finished gawking?”

A dozen sets of eyes leap from me, finding the table and each other mighty interesting. This issue is not settled, then. Shocking.

Blake clears his throat, frustration making him stiffen as he looks to me. “What is your opinion on what I’m proposing? Yes or no?”

I clasp my hands and rest them on the back of my laptop as I lean forward in my seat. The tie knotted at the base of my throat pulls when I swallow. Arthur narrows his dark eyes on me expectantly. His first mistake today.

My vice-president, Nathan Beaumont, sits silent, but I catch his smirk in the corner of my eye. A tremendous shit disturber, my closest friend, but invaluable nonetheless. I’ve yet to meet someone in this industry with the backbone and intelligence that he has in spades.

Without meeting Blake’s awaiting stare, I say, “CDs are a waste of time. Vinyls sell to loyal listeners. I assume they always will.” Arthur opens his thin lips to interrupt, but I lift a hand, silencing him. “I’m aware we can’t cut CDs out completely. There will always be those in search of one. But we are spending far too much on their production. I don’t like wasting money, Arthur, as I’m sure you don’t enjoy when we do either.”

“And you assume that money is better spent digitally?” he grits out.

“There’s no need to assume when we have the proof of it. The numbers don’t lie, Arthur. Not now and not twenty years ago. It’s time to embrace the change,” Blake says.

Another look around the table exposes those in agreement and those choking down their refusal. These meetings are tiresome. The arguments have become an expectation. It’s almost time to make changes, company-altering ones.

I tense my jaw when my phone buzzes again. Without bothering to look at the number again, I silence it and jump back into the conversation before they lose focus again like children.

“We’ll leave it to a vote, as always. My vote is in favour,” I announce. Again, my phone buzzes, and I don’t bother silencing it this time. Instead, I speak over the annoying noise. “All in favour of increasing the budget for digital releases and decreasing physical media?”

Seven of the fourteen hands lift, marking the total as eight to seven, including my vote. It’s a win, but to Blake, it was too close. His disgruntled expression says more than words could.

“It’s settled, then. What’s next? Jayla, anything you wish to discuss?” I switch attention to our head of licensing, desperate for a change in discussion.

The outgoing blonde doesn’t hesitate to jump in with another numbing topic, but it’s better than listening to Blake and Arthur get into it.

I’ve just leaned back in my chair when my phone goes off again. I swallow a curse and snatch it from the table, excusing myself with a nod at Nathan. He’ll keep everyone in check in my absence while I take care of this nuisance.

Once I’ve closed the boardroom door behind me, I step into an empty room nearby and answer the insistent caller.

“What?” I snap at Bruno, one of our three heads of security.

Music and screaming voices attack my eardrums, making me flinch. My scowl deepens to the point of discomfort.

“Hello? You’re wasting my time,” I add tightly.

“Shit, sorry, boss. We have a bit of a problem here. The crowd is out of control, and the venue doesn’t have any extra hands to lend us,” he explains, each word a panted breath.

Frustration wells up inside of me. All of it due to the security team we pay way too fucking much for and their lack of ability to control a concert crowd.

“You assured me you didn’t need a second team when we sat down only three days ago.”

“We didn’t expect this number of fans—” A crash interrupts him, followed by a symphony of frantic orders and a squeal. “It’s insane here. Jocelyn is about to head onstage, but there’s only so much we can do if they try and jump the barriers.”

“You’re telling me you can’t take care of this problem right now?”

A pause. “I’m asking for you to send out a second team to ensure we can keep Jocelyn safe.”

There’s a knock on the door of the empty room I’ve snuck off to, and I look toward the sound to find Nathan waiting with brows raised and hands deep in the pockets of his black slacks.

“They’re antsy. Pissed about losing that vote,” he says softly, carefully.

I nod once at him, and he lingers even after I turn away from him.

“I don’t have a second team to send you. I took you at your word and apparent abilities, while misplaced, it seems, to do your job and sent the remaining two out with other artists, both of which are not even close to your location. You’ll have to figure something out.”

“You’re kidding me,” he huffs.

“Do I sound like I’m kidding? I don’t have the time for this.”

Footsteps sound behind me, and then Nathan is there, far too concerned and downright snoopy.

“You can’t be serious, Garrison. This isn’t a joke. This is a serious safety concern,” Bruno warns.

“Am I laughing?”

“You might as well be.”

“Don’t push me right now, Bruno. This is on you, not me. We could have planned accordingly, but instead, you assured me everything was good to go. You have to figure it out. Like I’ve said already, I don’t have the time for this.”

“Then find someone who does!”

I pull the phone from my ear and inhale through my nose. Nathan’s cautious gaze is too much.

“Are you alright, Garrison?”

I ignore him, unable to focus on anything but the lack of responsibility shown from my security team and the brave back chat that has got to be taking place in the meeting while I’m out here dealing with it. It pisses me off, turns the logical, problem-solving part of my brain off with the flick of a switch.

I’m the boss. Everyone relies on me. There are always far too many judgmental stares and muttered words the moment I make a bad call. I’ve become stressed beyond belief the past few months—years, if I’m being honest. Likely to the point I should consider seeing someone, a therapist, maybe. But I have no doubt they’d quit after our first session. I know it sounds incredibly “woe is me,” so at least I’m not failing in the self-awareness department.

Yet, despite how boohoo it all appears, I still can’t help myself from growing frazzled at the multiple shouted voices in my ear and the muttered words of warning from my VP. It’s all too much. That’s my only excuse for the way I hang up on Bruno, pocket my phone, and storm past Nathan on my way back to the meeting.

It isn’t my first bad call this week, but it’s the worst. By a fucking long shot.

“Repeat that,”I demand.

My hold on my whiskey glass turns ironclad as I leave my back to my father and stare out the windows of my office. The Toronto Skyline at night is the one beautiful part of this overpopulated city. Tonight, it does nothing to soothe me the way it sometimes does.

“Open your emails. Check your phone. Hell, look in the empty halls. Hear how silent they are. I don’t need to repeat myself for you to know what’s going on.”

“I’m aware how silent my halls are. I feel that silence. Feel the judgment. I do not need you to remind me of it,” I hiss, knocking back the rest of my drink.

The empty weight of the glass in my hand isn’t enough. I turn to the decanter on my desk and pour far too many knuckles’ worth before taking another gulp. My father’s eyes are a brand on my skin as I continue to avoid looking at him.

“Our halls, Garrison. These are our halls, regardless of how many times you want to convince yourself that I don’t own just as much of Swift Edge as you do,” he corrects me, the exasperation in his tone setting me off.

“Don’t take that tone, Reggie. I’m aware of how much of this company I own.”

It was him that created Swift Edge, but I grew it into what it is today. Me. I did the hard work while he played with recording equipment all day. While he still plays with recording equipment all day.

A long, frustrated inhale. “Jocelyn is threatening to leave.”

I stiffen. “She can’t.”

“According to legal, she could, depending on the case they put together. The label is responsible for her protection while performing. It’s in the contract.”

A whirlwind. That’s what the last three hours have been. Starting with that damned call from Bruno. I made the wrong decision when I refused to provide more security. That was made known worldwide the moment a crazed fan hopped over the barricades, past their pathetic assembly of security, and up onstage while Jocelyn, one of our biggest and most successful pop artists, was performing. The marks the fan left on her face and arms when security finally got there and separated them went viral. The full video of the event followed soon after.

My phone blew up with outraged clients threatening to leave, board members spitting their disappointment, and tabloids frothing at the mouth for an inside scoop. I’ve long since turned it off. It worked just fine until my father didn’t accept my silence and waltzed right into my office despite not being wanted.

“Our legal team is incredible. Far superior to whomever she employs,” I snip before taking another long drink of whiskey.

“It’s not a risk we’re prepared to take” is all my father says. But it’s enough to have alarm bells ringing in my mind.

I turn to him for the first time since he appeared in my office. A few inches shorter than me and dressed in casual, colourful clothes I’d never be caught dead in, he stares at me with an all-too-open expression. Guilt and disappointment glitter in his green-brown eyes, the shade so similar to mine. It’s the guilt that I focus on.

“Who is ‘we’?” I ask calmly. Too calmly.

He lifts his chin, confident in the words he speaks next. “The company needs to catch its breath and recoup. Figure things out without you involved. I’ve already discussed it with the board. It’s the only way I could convince Jocelyn and her team?—”

“You called a meeting with the board and met with Jocelyn without me?” I snarl, slamming my glass on the table.

He doesn’t so much as flinch. “You were unreachable. I did what was necessary for the good of the company. That’s my job. As it’s yours every other time but now. This is not the first time you’ve made a bad call that’s affected Swift Edge. We’re bigger now than we were. More eyes are on us.”

“You had no right to do that.”

“As your business partner, I had every right.”

“And as my father?” I toss back, brows lifted.

He exhales, adjusting the fedora on his head. “You can not only consider me your father in times like these. When you want to hurt me and make a point.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” It is. It’s a waste of time denying it. There’s no warmth between us. Not on my side. There hasn’t been for years now.

“As your father, I wish I hadn’t done it. Betraying your trust is not something I enjoy. But you have to understand why I’ve done it. You cannot lose this company any more than I can.”

“I don’t plan on losing it.”

“Neither do I.”

I set both my palms on the solid wood desk before me and grind my jaw, a million angry words scraping up my throat, desperate to be spoken.

Instead, I ask, “What did you do?”

“Jocelyn is willing to stay under one condition.”

“Which is?”

I’m unprepared for the words he speaks next. They’re a blow to my gut.

“You’re to take an extended leave from the company. Figure yourself out while we clean up this mess. Somewhere you won’t be bothered. Somewhere you can recoup,” he says gently.

“I don’t need to recoup. This isn’t about me. It’s about the company. About Jocelyn and the other artists,” I ramble, growing too hot, my tie too tight.

“It was her request. The only alternative to leaving. In exchange, they’ll keep quiet and get back to work. I’ve already agreed. You’re not to reach out to her about this either, Garrison. I mean it. She and her team blame you for this, and they have a right to.”

“This is ridiculous.” My laugh is cruel, ruthless. “I’m only half-responsible for what happened to her.”

“It was your call. Your call on behalf of Swift Edge. I don’t know why you made it, but this is how we’ll fix it,” my father says, attempting to placate me.

“I don’t agree.”

“You don’t have to. It’s already done. You’re officially on leave as of this moment. You leave tomorrow.”

My tone dips in temperature, sharp as ice. “Leave where?”

“Cherry Peak. Your flight leaves in two days.”