Chapter 39
39
JORDAN
“ W elcome home,” Christian says.
I give him a brief smile before turning back to the windows. Our taxi drifts through New York City, winding through traffic at a snail’s pace while my gut churns at a hundred miles per hour. My nerves shake with each breath, but I’ve kept it together this long.
Just a little further now.
When the Sugar Sound building comes into view, I take a breath and hold it fast. A familiar face stands on the sidewalk outside, her mouth twisting into a sinister grin as she spots our taxi.
Priscilla.
Chrissy’s evil twin and The Electric’s manager.
She steps forward to greet us as our taxi comes to a stop. Her long black hair hangs loosely at her sides, blending in with the black leather jacket she wears over a tight yellow dress that makes her appear like an honorary Shock Girl. Perhaps she is by now.
“Welcome to Sugar Sound,” she greets, her voice sharper than Chrissy’s. She adjusts her handbag over her shoulder, settling it safely at her side. “Mr. Monroe has been expecting you.”
I’m sure he has.
Christian takes my hand, offering another one of his victorious, cocky smiles before tugging me along with him. I’m sure he thinks he’s showing me support of some kind, but all it really makes me want to do is crush his fingers.
But even I’m not petty enough to purposefully damage a guitarist’s strum hand.
The three of us enter the building together. Much like the Midnite Music building in San Francisco, the Sugar Sound lobby is plastered with posters of their biggest acts from Nadia Danes to Thunderstrike.
To The Electrics.
I glance away from Logan Shock’s magnetic stare as we make our way to the elevator. The three of us travel up, up, and up, until finally disembarking on the top floor. Suspended high in the New York City sky, my gaze drifts as we walk through the wide entryway surrounded by windows toward the office at the far end of the corridor.
A secretary glances up as we approach the desk outside of two large office doors. Her eyes bounce curiously from me to Christian, but she nods knowingly at Priscilla before tapping a button on her desk.
A moment later, the office doors swing open.
“Jordan, darling!”
Paul Monroe steps out of the office. He’s dressed in a jet black suit and tie, really coming into the whole Bond villain thing he’s clearly striving for. “I’m so glad you made it,” he says.
I force a smile as I shake his hand. “Mr. Monroe.”
He winces playfully. “You wound me with your formality,” he says. “But I’ll live. I always do.”
“Nice office,” I say, glancing around. “They must really like you around here.”
“Oh, it’s just a loaner,” he says, waving it off. “At least, until the end of the year, when this all becomes mine.”
His laugh echoes through the room.
“Christian,” he says, turning to shake Christian’s hand, too.
“It’s good to see you again, sir,” Christian says, still looking so smug.
“I’m sure it is.” Monroe eyes the two of us together. “I trust you’ve brought our guest up to speed on our arrangement.”
“Yes,” I say, discreetly digging my nails into my palm. “Christian explained the situation to me last night.”
How Monroe approached him.
How Monroe offered him the solo contract of his dreams at Sugar Sound... if he could convince me to leave Criminal Records and join him instead.
All the little details.
Monroe nods. “And here you stand,” he notes. “Am I to assume that you’ve made a decision regarding my offer?”
He already knows that.
He just wants to hear me say it.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
With a smirk and a brief glance at the secretary, Paul Monroe steps to the side and gestures into his office. “After you, sweetheart.”
I swallow hard, all eyes in the room on me. My skin prickles from the unwanted attention, but I force my feet forward.
His office is large and furnished, and... that’s about it. There’s no decor or identifying objects of any kind. Nothing that would tie Paul Monroe to this space, other than the few witnesses from here to the lobby downstairs, but I’m sure they’re all locked down by gold standard NDAs.
We were never here and this meeting never happened.
I look at Priscilla as she perches herself on the edge of Monroe’s desk, her handbag draped across her lap.
His cellphone rings, prompting a groan from Monroe as he rounds the desk. “I’ve been fielding calls all morning,” he says as he silences it. “Knox and the boys made quite the stir in Boston last night, didn’t they?”
Christian lowers into one of the two chairs waiting for us in front of the desk while I remain standing.
“Yes,” I say with a hard sigh. “They did.”
For a split second, Monroe appears sympathetic. He continues around his desk, stopping at a drink cart by the window. “Well, neither of us will have to deal with that for very much longer, hm?” He pours a splash of an amber-colored liquor into two old-fashioned glasses. With a drink in each hand, Monroe walks up to me and offers one. “To our new partnership,” he says. “And to leaving all that bullshit behind us once and for all.”
I accept the glass, but I don’t drink as he does. “I have questions first.”
Monroe nods. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” he says, amused. He rounds the desk again and sits down, placing his drink on a coaster next to his phone. “What would you like to know?”
“The truth,” I answer, still standing. “You had that bug planted on our bus. Why?”
Monroe opens his mouth to answer, then hesitates.
“I left my life behind to stand here today,” I say. “I left my family. If we’re really in this together, Mr. Monroe, then I have a right to know why.”
He tilts forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “The truth is, my contract with Sugar Sound came with a few strings attached.”
I look once at Priscilla, who offers a sly wink. “What strings?” I ask.
“There’s a lot of money to be made in this industry, but it’s as fleeting and temporary as fame itself.” He glances at Christian briefly. “Less competition means more. More fame. More money.”
I nod, understanding. “Less Criminal Records means more Electrics.”
“Oh. It’s more than that,” he says. “Less Criminal Records means less Midnite Music. You remove Criminal Records and—” He pinches air and yanks his hand back, pulling a phantom block from a tower. “It all comes down. Sure, they might stay afloat for a while with some barely legal pop princess or an aging old rockstar trying to reclaim his former glory, but they won’t recover. And if they do, well...” He smirks. “Under my leadership, under our leadership, Sugar Sound will have already overtaken them. But for that to happen, I had to first find out how to bring Criminal Records crumbling down.” He yanks another block. “It didn’t take long for me to figure out that’s you.”
I take a breath. It’s the same bullshit I’ve heard before.
It’s about time everyone else heard it, too.
Monroe exhales with another one of his heavy, oh-so-sympathetic sighs. “None of this is personal. It’s just business. Always has been. But if you want personal, then let me say this: I meant everything I told you in back in Chicago. You are a bright and talented young woman, and you deserve better than them.”
“And only you can provide that,” I finish for him.
“With Christian Myers signing on with you by his side, we’ll make Sugar Sound bigger than Midnite Music ever was.” He chuckles as he leans back in his fancy chair. “All’s fair in love, war, and music. I’m truly proud of you for finally seeing it that way.”
I turn my wrist slightly, allowing for the liquid to roll around in my glass as my thoughts do the same in my head.
Love. War. Music.
It doesn’t surprise me when Bronson pops into my head with each word.
Perhaps it should, but...
Filled with a strange yet sudden calmness, I set the glass down on his desk. “No, Paul,” I say, dropping the formality. “I’m not sure I do.”
Mr. Monroe frowns.
“I’m sorry,” I say as Priscilla pushes off the desk and joins me. “I’m afraid I have to decline your generous offer, but if it’s any comfort, it’s not business. I really just don’t like you.”
We spin on our heels together and walk toward the door.
“Jordan?” Monroe stands up, his voice rising as we ignore him. “Jordan!”
“I’ll talk to her, Mr. Monroe,” Christian says behind us. “I’m sure it’s all just a big mis?—”
“Go get her, you idiot!”
Priscilla and I take quick strides toward the elevator. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, making it difficult to walk in a straight line, but we make it to the elevator. While we wait for it to ascend the tower, my heart pounds in my chest, each beat another tense moment between us and freedom.
“Jordan!” Christian catches up as the elevator doors slide open. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry, Christian,” I say as I step on with Priscilla. “I don’t think it’s going to work out between us.”
“Why not?”
“Because you lied to me. And I could never manage talent I can’t trust. Also, your new sound?” I shrug. “It’s been done.”
His face hardens. “Bitch,” he spits. “Whatever. Come on, Prissy. Monroe wants to talk to you.”
She screws up her nose. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
As Christian glares with confusion, I look at her and smile.
“Shirley Temple?” I say to her.
“Yup.” In the blink of an eye, the sharp edges of her expression soften and my friend Chrissy emerges. “It’s me.”
“Good to have you back.”
“You’re telling me.” She turns to Christian, whose face has sunken completely as he looks at his former manager. “I was rooting for you, Chris,” she says disappointedly. “I truly was.”
Christian looks down as the elevator closes.
Chrissy’s arm loops around my shoulders. “Now, that was fun,” she says with a grin.
“Not out of the woods yet,” I say, my eyes on the slowly descending floor numbers.
“Oh, come on.” She squeezes me. “Admit it. Aren’t you even just a little bit horny right now?”
To that, I have to smile, but my stomach continues turning all the way down.
The moment the elevator opens, we bolt across the lobby, keeping our eyes and ears open for security as we escape to the entrance.
Outside, we walk eagerly down the busy street. Two blocks down, we take a right turn into the nearest park, navigating toward our meeting place.
We spot the black car waiting for us by the curb at the end of the next street. Slowing our stride, we approach the tinted windows.
One of them slides open, revealing Logan Shock sitting inside. He tilts his face downward, peeking over the stark black sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose.
“So, how’d it go?” he asks.
Chrissy steps forward, happy to pass off the cursed handbag — the same handbag Priscilla used to spy on Harmony back in Seattle.
He takes it from her and hands it off to someone else in the car. “I guess that means it went well,” he quips.
I nod. “Should be more than enough to prove Monroe is dirty,” I say.
“We shall see.” He bows his head. “You ladies have a good day in the city now.”
“Shock.” I lean closer to the window. “You knew Christian was working with Monroe. Why didn’t you tell us?”
His smile never dips. “Never interrupt your enemy while they’re making a mistake,” he says. “Besides, I knew you’d figure it out. You seem to have your head on a little straighter than others in your camp.”
I arch a brow at the obvious dig at my family. “And if you were mistaken?” I ask.
“Well…” He smirks. “Two birds, one stone.”
Chrissy snorts. “You’re just full of clichés today, aren’t you?”
Logan chuckles in response.
“That recording was just uploaded to the cloud,” I say. “If you don’t do your part, Logan, then we will.”
“We’re on the same side here,” he says, his smile wide and mirthful. “Save your threats.”
A second window slides open. This time, Priscilla — the real one — pokes her head out and grins.
“Nice look, sister,” she says, looking Chrissy up and down, admiring their shared long hair and near identical outfits. “It suits you.”
Chrissy sneers.
Priscilla laughs as she sits back and starts rolling up the window. “See you in Vegas,” she says as it closes.
We step back from the curb as the car drives off.
For a moment, I stand still, frozen in place as one of the busiest cities in the world rushes by. Strangely, it’s quiet. Almost peaceful.
I breathe it in, knowing that soon... my inbox is going to explode and I’ll be right back in the shit.
But, you know what?
I kinda like it that way.
“I’m sorry about Christian,” I say to Chrissy.
“Yeah. So am I,” she replies. “But he made his choices. Been telling myself so for years.”
I hug her, ending it with a tight, friendly squeeze.
“All right,” I say. “Time to head back.”
“You wanna grab a slice first?” she asks.
My stomach growls. “Yes. I’m starving!”
“Me, too.” She rubs her belly. “Espionage makes me hungry.”
“Horny and hungry,” I joke. “Big day.”
“Big day,” she repeats.
“August must be freaking out by now.”
Chrissy waves a hand. “Our boy knows what he’s doing. And a little push into the deep end is good for him.”
“Still...” I smile as I think of my trusty to-do list. “It’s show night.”
“That it is.” Chrissy smiles, too, loving every moment of this. “One slice, and then home.”
Home.
Home to Criminal Records. To Bronson.
My band. My family.
Where I’ve always, and will always, belong.
“Then home,” I repeat.