Chapter 6
SIX
Fisher
I’m scanning my emails to see if anything else has come in about Gerry.
If he’s sniffing around Vivian, there must be other artists of mine he’s approached.
I just don’t know if any of them would tell me.
I don’t even know if Vivian would have told me about his call if I hadn’t been there when it came through.
My assistant, Frankie, messages me. It’s late in New York. She’s sent through a link. I click, and it’s a gossip site’s coverage of a celebrity party.
Why did she send me this?
I scan the text, then scroll down to see the pictures. It’s loads of people from the music industry in attendance. Then I scroll back up to see what I’m looking at.
The stars were out in force for music industry powerhouse player Gerry Banks’ welcome to Re Records party. He’s taken the position of CEO of the third-largest record label…
I don’t need to read any more. But I want to see who’s there. I scroll down again, this time making sure I clock people in the background as well as the talent who the camera is focused on.
I scroll farther and farther down. He got a lot of big names to attend. It looks like no expense was spared. He certainly spent PR money on the party. Why else would a private party get so much media coverage—even if it did have some of the biggest music industry stars of the moment attending?
As I get closer to the bottom, I notice country artist Alison Banks is there. I screenshot it. She’s in the middle of a three-album deal with me. What the hell is she doing at a Re Records event?
And just before I hit the bottom of the page, another Right Records artist is pictured—Jax Cinq. He’s a pain in my ass. I’d happily hand him over to Gerry. It would take a load off my plate.
I’m pissed about Alison, though. I examine her picture more closely. Maybe she accompanied someone who has ties to Re Records. I can’t remember who she’s dating.
I type out a quick text to Frankie. She responds right away to say she’s already gone through possible scenarios, but Alison is secretly dating her manager, so it’s not because she was someone’s plus-one. I ask her to set up a call with Alison and shove my phone into my pocket.
I’m due over at Byron and Rosey’s cabin, and I don’t want to be late.
I’ve been eating there most nights, so it’s not like it’s a big deal, but still.
I expected to be having dinner with Vivian more often.
I thought I’d even have taken her down to Grizzly’s by now.
But she’s very low-key and incredibly low-maintenance.
When she’s not in the studio, she just wants to hang out with her husband and kid.
It’s great. But I feel a bit like a spare part.
Especially with all this stuff with Gerry going on.
I’ve got more time to ruminate on it, and I wish I could be back in New York, where I’d be able to do more.
In my experience, meeting in person is the only way to understand properly if someone’s telling the whole truth.
But I promised her manager I wouldn’t leave. Plus, keeping Vivian happy is more important than ever if Gerry is going to steal Alison from me—and presumably, he has other artists of mine in his crosshairs.
I head over to the cabin right next to mine.
The security here is great. I don’t even lock my door.
It’s like being transported back to the 1950s.
Vivian has said a few times how safe she feels here.
That’s what I wanted for her. As a mom, I’m sure safety for her family is at the forefront of her mind.
I got that right. I just wish I hadn’t committed to Vivian’s manager that I’d be here all the time.
She really doesn’t need me. But I only have myself to blame.
I was the one who agreed to be here. I’m not going to go back on my word.
Rosey throws open the door with her typical enthusiasm. “Hey!” she says. “Juniper’s joined us for dinner.”
I look over Rosey’s shoulder to see Juniper talking to Byron.
She turns, and it’s like the world shifts into slow motion.
I swear I can hear rivers gurgling and birds tweeting as our eyes meet, almost like she’s putting some kind of calming spell on me.
I raise my hand and give her a half wave, and she lets out a small smile that’s completely beguiling.
“Can I get you a beer?” Rosey asks.
“Sure, thanks.”
When I reach Byron and Juniper, I bend and drop a kiss on her cheek. She smells sweet and floral—that jasmine scent again. I breathe her in, and my heart rate drops, and my shoulders lower.
“So good to see you again.”
“And you. I didn’t realize it would be the four of us.” She glances over at Rosey.
I grin. Rosey’s playing matchmaker.
“I’m glad it is,” I say. Juniper’s good company, and she’s made me feel better already tonight.
A slight blush crosses her face, and she presses her lips together, her smile stretching to her eyes.
“We have some gorgeous chateaubriand tonight,” Rosey says, handing me a bottle of beer. “Byron’s favorite. Oh, Juniper, do you like beef? I can get something else—”
“Beef works for me,” Juniper says. “Fancy beef works too.”
I chuckle and clink my beer bottle against hers. I like that she calls it as she sees it.
“Did you know that the painting in your bedroom is one of Juniper’s?” Rosey asks.
“I did,” I reply.
The fact is, since I found that out, I think of her every time I see it. The pale colors and abstract shapes pull me in and are incredibly calming.
“I like it a lot. I’ve actually put in a few calls to contacts I have in the art world back in New York. Do you have anything I can send to them?”
Juniper looks surprised. “You did? That’s really kind. You really didn’t have to. I’m not sure I fit into the New York art scene.”
“You should give him your QR code thing that you have,” Rosey says.
“Oh, sure,” Juniper says and pulls out her phone. “I can do that.” She brings up a screen with a QR code, and I scan it. “That’s my number and my website. A lot of the stuff on there is sold, thanks to Byron. But it gives them an indication of what I do.”
“Is it all landscapes?” I ask. “They’re beautiful. Peaceful.”
“Mainly. There’s plenty of inspiration around here. But I dabble in other things too. Portraits. Some abstract stuff. In fact, my landscapes become more and more abstract.”
“I meant to tell you that we’ve had members take your details,” Byron says. “Have you had anyone reach out?”
Juniper shakes her head. “You’ve done so much for me, Byron. I don’t have any expectations that—”
“Good things are happening for you, Juniper,” Rosey says. “Let’s eat.”
I pull out Juniper’s chair for her, and she blushes again as she sits.
Is it bad that I think the fact that I can elicit blushes from her is kinda hot?
It gives me a feeling of power that I enjoy more than I should.
As I let go of her chair, I run my fingers over her back. She shivers, and my dick twitches.
Fuck.
Juniper’s sexy.
She clears her throat like she’s trying to refocus. “So, how long are you in Colorado for, Fisher?”
“Around six weeks.”
“That’s how long it takes to record an album?” she asks.
“Every artist’s different, but that’s how long my artist has allocated in their schedule.”
She narrows her eyes. “So, are they writing the songs here, or do they have them written, and then they just record them here?”
“I think she has a few ideas about the direction of this album, and from what I understand, she has one song that’s pretty much written and a hook for another one, but the rest she’ll write while she’s here.”
“Wow. So, she writes on a schedule? I’ve never given much thought to it, but I assumed songwriters wrote when the muse struck them.”
“Is that how you paint?”
She glances up at the ceiling, like she’s really thinking about my question.
“No. Not at all. I get really limited time in my studio, and when I’m in there, I just let the canvas take me where I’m going.
Occasionally, I’ll have an idea of a technique or a feeling I want to evoke in the painting, but usually I just do whatever I feel at the time. ”
“I think songwriting is the same,” I say.
“Have you ever written any songs?”
I pull in a breath. “I have. I’ve cowritten quite a bit as well.
It’s fun, writing with other people. Collaborating.
You know, I haven’t done it in a while. I used to produce as well.
” It’s been a while since I’ve done any writing.
The business side of having a record label is more and more demanding.
“I didn’t know that,” Rosey chimes in, and it’s like she’s broken through some kind of private bubble Juniper and I had been in. It feels sharper and less welcome than it should.
I don’t take my eyes from Juniper. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to see.
“I’d love to hear your songs sometime,” she says, and then as if she suggested something entirely intimate, she jolts slightly and shakes her head. “I mean, if you were comfortable sharing them, and obviously, I don’t expect you to—”
I place my hand on her arm. “It’s fine. I’d love to share with you. But it’s not like how I imagine painting would be. The songwriting I’ve done was very collaborative. So, it’s hard to necessarily tell what I did and what a particular artist did or another producer or cowriter.”
“Yeah, painting is quite solitary, but then again, it’s really not.
At least it never feels lonely. Quite the opposite, actually.
I can lose myself in my studio because I’m so completely in the work, if that makes sense?
” She talks passionately, and she comes to life when she’s describing the process.
“Yeah, it makes complete sense,” I say.
“Do you wish it could be full-time?” Byron asks. “I remember you at school, and art seemed to be who you were.”
Juniper takes a big breath. “Honestly, I’m not sure.
I’m not a kid anymore. Life can’t be one thing.
And I might fall out of love with it if I had to make a living from painting.
Would I feel pressure to create, you know?
Maybe if I were some trust-fund kid who didn’t have to worry about the water bill, it would be different. ”
“I get that,” I say. “I love parts of my industry. The creativity. The passion. The life that it creates in people. It’s the show-business side that I hate. The pretense. The image. The packaging. Sometimes, it takes the shine off of things.”
Juniper laughs, and I can’t help but smile. “You’re a music industry executive. Surely, the image and the packaging are what sells records. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?”
“I’d probably be more financially successful if that’s what I loved. It’s not about the money for me. Not anymore.”
Juniper doesn’t say anything. She just nods.
“Maybe that’s why music works for you, Fisher, and why art works for you, Juniper,” Byron says. “Money isn’t the primary consideration for either of you.”
Is it me, or is Byron trying to matchmake now by pointing out things we have in common?
“Still going to introduce you to some people if I can,” I say.
Juniper smiles awkwardly, like she doesn’t want to expect anything of me.
She’s so humble. I’m used to seeing the humble act.
The public likes nothing more than a successful, super talented artist to act like they’re working a day job at Duane Reade.
Often, it’s the ones who come across as humble on the chat-show circuit who are the biggest monsters.
But with Juniper, there’s nothing fake about her modesty. None of it is for show. Maybe it’s because she’s never made it big. It makes me want to know more. I want to know everything about her.
The four of us fall into easy conversation.
I’m used to the dynamic when it’s Byron, Rosey, and me, but with Juniper, it doesn’t feel off-balance.
It’s the opposite. Somehow, she fits in like it’s always been the four of us.
She teases Byron, just like any of us would.
She laughs at Rosey’s take on the world. There’s no pretense. No guards up.
And when I have her attention, everything falls away, and it’s like nothing else matters.