Chapter Seventy-Six
Cooper
Since cutting Liam loose, it hasn’t stopped. Lyrics spill onto the page, my notebook jam-packed with enough material for an entire album and half of another. And every time I strum, it’s like the first time all over again.
It’s exhilarating.
Liberating.
So this is what it feels like to be happy again.
My gaze drifts up like it always does, drawn straight to him. Declan moves behind the bar, towel slung over his shoulder, pouring drinks, laughing at something Jerry says. The corners of my mouth curl up, my chest feeling too full, too tight.
I love him.
Shaking my head, I tug my hood higher, hiding my smile. He already knows how I feel, but when this album hits, there won’t be any hiding. The world will know who it’s about. Who it’s always been about.
The front door opens, and cool, crisp air slips inside. Glancing up, I pause, watching a vaguely familiar petite woman—not much taller than five-four without the black patent heels—striding inside with a kind of presence that would make men twice her size cower.
Sharp pantsuit, sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail, round-rimmed glasses framing eyes that could cut glass. She scans the room like she’s already annoyed before she’s marching toward the booth. Except it’s not me she’s glaring at as she stops at the one next to mine.
“Is there a reason you’re keeping my client from me, Lachlan?”
Lachlan.
Not Lockie.
Interesting.
Shifting to peek over the booth, Lockie sits there, coffee in hand, looking like the picture of calm, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his lips.
“I didn’t know I was,” he says, voice low, slightly amused.
She lets out a sharp laugh.
“How am I supposed to do my job when you won’t let me speak to him?” She gestures vaguely toward me, and I quickly look away as Lockie’s gaze flickers in my direction. “You’re not the middleman in our negotiations. That’s not how this works.”
Lockie sighs, then stands, inching out of his seat. He towers over her, but she doesn’t so much as flinch. Not even a blink.
“I wasn’t keeping him from you,” he says. “I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“For him to be ready.”
“That is not your call,” she snaps.
“It’s not yours either.”
Well, damn.
I watch, eyes practically ping-ponging between them as she steps closer, the tips of her heels almost touching his boots. Lockie barely reacts, expression carved from stone, but his eyes betray him for half a second—an ache, a pull I’ve never seen in him before. “Nice to see you, Mo Chridhe.”
Her lips flatten while mine grow into a grin. “You and your secret codes.”
The tension between them is suffocating, and I swear I’ve forgotten how to breathe. This isn’t just business. This is years of something unresolved simmering just beneath the surface.
“Why do you never speak Gaelic to me?” I mock pout, unable to hide my grin. “I bet that means something really dirty.”
“It means you wee shite,” he quips, eyes still on Thea.
“You always did like making my job harder than it needed to be,” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“And yet you keep showing up,” he murmurs, so low I guess it was only meant for her.
“Oh my god,” I blurt out, laughing. “Are you two flirting?”
Thea’s head snaps toward me so fast, I’m honestly surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Mr. Riddick,” she says, instantly professional. “Finally. It’s good to officially meet you.”
“Likewise.” I lean over and shake her hand, gaze snapping to Lockie. “But seriously, whatever this is between you two? I’m into it.”
“Shut up, Cooper,” Lockie mutters, crossing his arms.
Thea ignores him. “Your bodyguard seems to think he’s your manager. Which, frankly, would’ve been less concerning than the setup you had before.”
“I was just keeping you out of the bullshit until he was ready,” he counters.
“Well, thanks to you, I don’t have as long as I would have liked to sort everything out.” Rounding the booth, she slides in opposite me, Lockie taking up the end of the table as she opens a sleek planner, laying it beside a tablet.
“What do you mean, the setup I had before?” I ask, frowning.
“Managers don’t get handpicked by labels, Cooper,” she states, lacing her fingers together and setting them in front of her. “The moment I saw Liam’s name on your paperwork, I knew something wasn’t right.”
“He was the first guy I met; he was the one who set everything up,” I say, glancing at Lockie. “I didn’t know that wasn’t normal.”
“It’s not. It’s predatory. The whole operation between Liam and the label is shady.
Managers are meant to act as intermediaries, working for you, not the label.
But I think it’s clear that he was getting kickbacks from them.
So let’s get something straight: I’m not like that.
I’m here to do what’s best for you. I don’t tolerate bullshit or timewasting.
And never undermine me. You don’t have to like my decisions, but you’ll respect them. ”
“I texted Maddox Knox the second Lockie mentioned your name, and he told me if I didn’t hire you, I was a fucking dumbass,” I say, sitting back. “Think he might be right.”
“Glad to see he’s still dramatic.”
“Hey, Sip Station is one of the best bands I’ve heard in a long time. If you’re the one calling the shots, sign me up.”
“Good. Because I don’t care about the ‘Reign Cooper’ brand. If I say something is a bad move, it’s because I know this industry. And I won’t let it break you again.”
She turns the tablet to face me, watching silently as I scroll through the contract.
“Liam took forty-five percent of everything. This is more than fine.”
“And that’s another red flag. No reputable manager would’ve made you sign that deal.
He wasn’t acting in your best interests; he was acting on Raider’s.
I’ve seen this before, especially with them.
Young artists, no representation, the label funnels them toward someone who’s basically on their payroll.
” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she pauses for a second, voice softening the next time she speaks.
“You didn’t burn out on accident, Cooper. You were set up to.”
My finger hovers, ready to sign on the dotted line, when she covers my hand with hers.
“Don’t say yes unless you’re sure.”
“I’ve done my research, Thea. I want this, want you.” I look her dead in the eye, smiling. “Besides, you had me the second you emasculated Lockie.”
Her lips twitch as I flourish my signature across the screen, before handing it back. Then she delivers the final blow.
“We need to get back to LA.”
Every good feeling drains from me at once. “Wait. What?”
“The label’s scrambling, the press is sniffing, and if we don’t control the narrative, they’ll create one.”
“But it was only three days ago.”
“Exactly.” She taps the tablet again, pulling up an article.
“Reign Cooper Fires Longtime Manager After VMA Snub.”
“Sources Claim Reign Cooper Hasn't Recorded in Years—Is the Star Done?”
“Reign Cooper: Burned Out or Washed Out?”
I groan, pressing my fingers into my temples, resisting the urge to throw the tablet across the bar.
“It’s nothing we can’t fix.” Her tone is even, but there’s steel behind it. “But we need to move now before it spirals. The second the media senses weakness, they’ll pounce.”
My gaze drifts to Declan without thought, watching as he smiles at a customer. The warm glow of the bar light catches in his eyes, the rich shade of brown bright, the way it is right when he wakes up.
Fuck.
“You don’t want to go, do you?” she asks, glancing around, sight landing on Declan.
I hesitate, then shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Cooper, this isn’t—”
“Give me the weekend,” I say, throat tight. “Then I’ll go.”
Lockie shifts beside me, arms crossing over his chest as she flips through her planner. “Let him have the weekend, Thea.”
She exhales, nodding once. “Until Sunday. That’s it. And when we get back to LA, we’re looking at your contract. All of it. I bet there’re things in there that shouldn’t be.”
Relief hits me, but it’s fleeting. Because no matter what happens in the next few days…I’m still leaving.