Chapter 15
One thing Quentin Russo had never been accused of being was a gentleman.
But he would try his damnedest to entertain these motherfuckers before shooing them off his property as soon as possible.
It was bad enough that there was a maelstrom surrounding him now that people were speculating what he was working on…
but it was evident how much this whole thing had triggered Raine, and he’d do his best to protect her from the fallout as much as he could.
Shortly after one o’clock, they arrived in an SUV that didn’t look much different from Raine’s—and he watched from his bedroom window as they filed out one at a time: no fewer than four suits, probably concerned that the dust in his driveway might get on their shoes.
Exiting his bedroom, Quentin paused at the landing between the split levels and called Raine’s name. “They’re here.” Then he walked toward the front door, arriving just as they approached it from the other side. “Come in,” he said, standing back so they could enter.
Originally, he’d thought of taking them to the studio and then thought better of it. That was the last place he wanted them.
It needed to stay safe for both Raine and himself.
He recognized Tristan, the gray-haired man from the label that he’d been dealing with, and Malachi Storm, Raine’s manager—but he now looked upon that fucker with contempt. He now knew all about that guy and they would never be friends.
Had this not been a business meeting, he didn’t know what he would have done to the guy.
“We can meet in the kitchen,” he said, leading them off to the left. There were just enough seats around the table, and if they had paperwork, it would be easy enough to shuffle it around. “I’ve got some coffee made if anyone wants a cup.”
“The last thing I want is coffee,” said Mal. “It’s ungodly hot out there. Do you have something cold?”
“Yeah. Ice water.”
“That’ll do.”
All four suits sat down while he filled four glasses with ice and water at the fridge.
Until Raine entered moments later, he hadn’t noticed that the way the men had sat would have left Quentin and Raine apart—and he was pretty sure that Mal, the last person to actually sit down, had done that on purpose.
So, as Quentin began setting glasses of water on the table, he said to Mal, “Would you mind sitting over there, please?”
Quentin saw in real time how the guy was trying to think up an excuse to stay right where he was—but he gave up and moved.
At least Quentin could say it was one time when his reputation preceding himself had worked in his favor.
Raine gave him a small smile that no one else there could have seen, and they sat down next to each other in the two remaining empty chairs—and Quentin sat next to Malachi at a diagonal so Raine didn’t have to.
Tristan said, “Most of us know one another, but I believe Quentin hasn’t met you two,” he said, nodding at the two men on one side of the table. Quentin and Raine were directly across from them, while Tristan and Mal were at the ends. Tristan said, “Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”
A guy who looked to be about Quentin’s age but with thinning brown hair and sharp green eyes spoke first. “Russell Hanson, but you can call me Russ. I’m head of Marketing and PR for Crushed Velvet—and this is my assistant Hunter.”
Tristan spoke, not having touched the water in front of him, his hands steepled in front of him on the table. “Russ and his team have put together a strategy so we can regain control of this narrative—but it will involve both of your cooperation.”
Quentin didn’t like the sound of that.
“Russ, why don’t you fill them in on your plan?”
Nodding, Russ flipped open a small black leather book that looked like a planner and turned a few pages.
Then he handed it to Hunter, the twenty-something brown-haired assistant, who flipped a couple more pages and slid it back in front of Russ, but Russ was already talking.
“We came at this from several angles because this is, frankly, a tough nut to crack.” Looking first at Raine and then settling on Quentin, he said, “People are talking about you both—a lot—and not in a good way. And while it’s true that even bad publicity can be a good thing, we’d like to spin it in a way that gets people on your side. We’re on your side.”
Why was this guy trying to sell Quentin and Raine so hard on whatever scheme he’d dreamed up?
He was about to find out.
“So here’s the plan. The first thing you need to do is get that leaked track cleaned up and ready to release—and we’re gonna make a splash with it. If people are hearing it anyway, let’s give ‘em what they want. When do you think you could have it done?”
It was already done—so Quentin looked at Raine and she gave a silent nod. As long as she was okay with it, he’d go along with whatever the hell these guys wanted. “I can send it to you tomorrow.”
“Perfect. That’s what I hoped to hear. Now…
that’s not all. That’s just one part of the puzzle.
As I mentioned, people are buzzing about both of you.
They believe Quentin to be volatile and difficult to work with while Raine is viewed as unstable.
Right now, your reputations aren’t so good.
But our plan will change all that. A few smart listeners out there have already figured out it’s Raine’s voice on the demo and everyone knows Quentin’s the producer.
Although part of that first song has been heard by the world, we need to protect the rest of them until we intentionally release them—and, in the meantime, we want people rooting for both of you and excited about what you’re working on. ”
Quentin surveyed the room, trying to get a feel for what was coming…
because something told him they weren’t going to like it.
Tristan was nodding his head; Hunter was taking notes; and Mal’s lips were pursed, his eyes narrowed in skepticism.
Maybe he already knew what was coming and doubted it could work.
Russ said, “Here’s how we’ll do it. The two of you will play a couple, and the world will be cheering you on.”
“What?”
Raine remained silent.
“Yeah. We tell the world you’re dating—that you fell for each other while working on this album—and give them a good redemption story. For both of you. If that doesn’t sell a lot of pancakes, I don’t know what will.”
Quentin caught Malachi squirming in his seat, but Tristan was the one who spoke next.
“You will pretend to be dating at least until the album comes out. Of course, you’ll only have to do it when you’re in public.
Then we’ll find a good time where you can have a break up and go on with your lives.
But both your careers will be better for it and, Raine, this album will perform well because of it. ”
“How could that even work? Age-wise, I mean. Will people even buy it?” Malachi asked.
Quentin growled. “I’m not much older than you, pal.”
Russ said, “We’ve done this before with more artists than you could ever imagine.
And, if you think about it, you’ll be able to figure some of those relationships out.
I’m telling you this works. You stage a fake relationship; write a song about how it broke your heart; your album goes double platinum. Easy as pie.”
Quentin could barely stay seated. “This is bullshit. You guys are paid the big bucks, and this is all you could come up with?”
Tristan sat up straighter. “As Russ said, we’ve done it several times. We do it because it works.”
“I can’t speak for Raine, but I don’t want to play any fucking games. This is stupid—and you’re admitting that you think music lovers are gullible and stupid too.” Glancing at Raine, he tried to see her face—and, when he did, he saw that it mirrored the fury inside him.
“It might seem stupid, but it’s our best shot at getting out ahead of the noise.”
“I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna be part of a lie.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Tristan said and he lowered his voice as he leaned forward.
“We’re trying to rehabilitate Raine’s career, and now that everyone’s talking about you, if we don’t get a handle on the narrative fast, your tarnished reputation will damage hers even further.
So here’s the bottom line: you do this, or we start from scratch and find someone else to produce her album. ”
Quentin tightened his jaw, fucking hating how they were backing him into a corner—and Raine too. As much as he felt trapped…she seemed to have even less of a say than he did.
The silence descended like the cold blanket that fell over everything in Joshua Tree after sunset, stiffening his muscles, emphasizing just how alone he’d been out here—but, since her arrival, Raine had breathed a little life into the place…
and he knew they had already created a couple of songs that would blow her star out of the stratosphere.
If someone else took over and they had to start from scratch…
he didn’t know if Raine could find it in herself to trust them.
Or was that his ego talking again?
No. Telling them to go fuck themselves would leave Quentin exactly where he’d been before all this had started, but Raine…they’d just let her fade into oblivion.
Then Tristan hammered the final nail in the coffin. “That, of course, is assuming we could even find someone else willing to work with Raine. She’s burned a few bridges, as you know. We might have to just shelve this whole project.”
Jesus Christ. She was sitting right next to him, and this fucking suit was talking about her like she was halfway across the world, nowhere near that table.
But Quentin could see the writing on the wall—if he didn’t agree to this dumb ass bullshit…they were going to bury her. They would let her fade away into nothingness without a second thought. If he said no, it would be all over for Raine.
When he glanced at her, she looked at him but said nothing, her mouth screwed up as if she were holding back—and he realized that this was a reflection of her relationship with the label.
They were always the ones calling the shots, and her shitty, sleazy manager never stood up for her, never advocated for her or fought for her.
But for once, just once, somebody needed to do something for Raine, rather than just trying to get what they could from her.
He let out a long sigh to try to steady his breath. “All right. I’ll do it—but only if Raine is willing to. If she’s not, I’m not.”
Mal spoke up. “Raine needs to do it, because this is her only chance.” Of course, the manager talked when he thought he saw his cash cow disappearing. To Raine, he said, “You have to do this, darling. I don’t see this working out any other way.”
Raine rolled her eyes and folded her arms in front of her chest. For a few seconds, the way her chin jutted out made Quinn believe she was going to tell them she wasn’t interested.
Until she spat out one word: “Fine.”
“Great,” Russ said. “So this is what we have planned…”
As the marketing guy droned on about what the next few days would look like, Quentin told himself again that he was doing this for Raine.
But he also knew that that was a lie.