Chapter 29 #2
“Surprise, I do. JC told me everything.” He and JC have similar piercing eyes, but the true-blue coldness in his gaze lands on my skin like early frost. “The legends in our industry know what it takes, Gia. Discipline, drive, professionalism. They aren’t unpredictable wild cards who use a public stage to air petty vendettas.
For all the industry expertise you claim to possess, that stunt you pulled proved you have the emotional intelligence of a teenager.
We might, might, scramble out of the black pit you pushed us into by the seat of our pants. ”
I blow out a stuttering breath. “How’s JC?”
“Gutted. Miserable. Blindsided.” He pauses, as if thinking on a fourth adjective.
“How do you think he feels? No one knew about Amber or why he killed the band. That was his own personal shame, now broadcast around the world. And to play his song without his approval?” He flicks his thumbnail against his index finger, repeatedly. “That is the ultimate betrayal.”
The lashing, I’d expected. An audience, not so much. Two stuffy-looking businessmen with combovers drinking espresso in tiny cups next to the fireplace take in the unexpected entertainment.
“I know.” I force myself to hold his gaze. He looks one step away from strangling me.
“Do you? I mean, do you truly understand the spectacle you’ve created?
” A red patch on his neck, no doubt a Gia-induced rash, creeps above his collar.
“You need to think long and hard about your career and where you want to end up. It’s a fine line between the Boulevard of Broken Dreams and the Hall of Fame.
You’re one of the purest singers I’ve ever heard, but you can pave a highway to the moon with all the talented fuckups that never made it. ”
Sawyer’s eyes flick to his phone again. Every few seconds, it beeps with new messages, and guaranteed every one of them is due to me. But one momentary pause from the speech of the century unclenches my jaw enough to stop my teeth from aching.
“You asked for JC, and I delivered him,” Sawyer reminds me, back on track. “Do you understand how rare it is to be blessed with that kind of rocket fuel? Thousands of musicians would trade both their legs to play in the Royal Albert Hall. Give your head a goddamned shake!”
My insides curl into a tight ball. Being talked down to is one thing. A lecture from the patriarchy that embodies everything this industry needs to change?
“Dude, no need to get on your high horse. Give me some credit. I know how this business works. I know what to do to get what I want.”
Sawyer breathes in and out slowly like he’s calibrating his reaction. All the Trenton men have identical straight, narrow noses. Perfect for staring down at impulsive, impetuous women. “You're fucking twenty, Gia. You have no idea about the things you want.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I know I don’t want to end up like you.”
“You mean successful?” His goading tone shifts to patronizing in a heartbeat. “Watch your mouth. You are this close to losing everything.”
My head spins from the truth of that. When I FaceTimed Audrie late last night to blubber and repent, she tried hard to boost my spirits. Sawyer is a picture of negative compassion. He pulls on his French cuffs in that irritated way of someone tasked with a bawling toddler.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he starts. “This tour finishes without another drop of drama. When I say jump, you ask how high. Zero tolerance for insubordination. If you can manage that, our working relationship continues. One more misstep and we are done. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” I say it quietly, for JC. He seemed so defeated last night. Before our return to the stage, it looked like he was trying not to cry.
“Then get upstairs and apologize. Room 304.” Sawyer tosses an electronic key card on the table.
He looks more fatigued than anything. “Never imagined you two together in my wildest nightmares, and do not break my brother’s heart any more than you have,” he warns.
“I tolerate diva behavior to a point, because that’s part of my job description.
But you do not EVER fuck with my family. ”
As I palm the card, the espresso businessmen clear their throats and find someplace else to enjoy breakfast. I feel like a pile of concrete rubble.
Heavy and broken. I can’t bear the thought of not being around JC, not feeling his support, not seeing his smile.
And if Sawyer thinks I'm going to cry and rock and wail and not own this, he can stuff it.
I push out of my chair and stand, throwing my shoulders back for the full five-foot effect.
“I know it’s on me to fix this. And I’ll obey every one of your rules because I’m grateful for what you’ve done.
But I’m not some stupid kid. Rhys told me you offered up JC to me because you were desperate to sign us.
You didn’t care about his baggage. And since you were willing to fuck over your own family member, spare me the hollow speech. ”
Sawyer watches my face for a long time, daggers in his eyes. But he knows it's the truth.
“JC is kind, decent, and smart. He understands me. He listens. He makes me feel worthy in an industry that values money over artistry. I can’t ask for a better person in my life. And he agreed to work with me because I inspired him. Not for some shitty deal you concocted.”
Sawyer laughs, like that’s an absurd idea. “All that, and you still pull the shit you did last night? That’s not how you treat someone special, Little Miss Sunshine.”
Seriously? Sawyer, of the multiple divorces and moral high ground, accusing me of missing a sensitivity chip? Yes, I made a mistake, a very public one. But before he takes this any further, I reclaim custody of the raging wildfire in my heart.
“Even though it's not the reality you want to hear, I love JC. And I won’t stop loving him because you, or anyone else, says I can’t. I’m going to fix this, so you'd better get used to me hanging around.”
Sawyer’s face is wary and tired, waiting for the twist. After a long beat, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks pained. “God help us all.”