CHAPTER TWO
NATHAN
THE CONFERENCE ROOM buzzed with a low hum of tension as my exec team filed in, their faces tight with unease.
The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on the long glass table, reflecting the reality we were here to fix.
The rumors had spiraled faster than I’d anticipated.
Social media and entertainment blogs were ablaze with the narrative that Dauntless Records had “poached” one of our artists, Bryce Decker
Poached.
One of the many reasons I terminated his contract was because his last album tanked. But truth didn’t matter in the music industry.
Perception did.
I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table, fingers steepled, watching staff settle into their seats. Elise sat to my right, laptop in front of her and hands hovered over the keyboard, ready to capture every word that spilled out of this room.
My assistant was stunning. She wasn’t tall, but she carried herself like she never needed to be.
Confident in a way that didn’t ask for attention but always seemed to get it anyway.
Her skin was a deep, rich brown that caught the light when she moved, warm against the cool tones of the room.
Her eyes were a dark shade of brown framed by black, wistful lashes.
Her long hair was pulled back today, black and smooth, though a few strands had already come loose near her face.
They shifted slightly every time she turned her head.
The dress she wore today was orange. It was long enough to be deemed appropriate for the office but revealed enough toned legs and calves to drive me insane.
She always looked like she belonged somewhere brighter than this cutthroat industry. But that didn’t stop me from using her sharp mind to my advantage.
“Alright,” I began, my voice slicing through the murmur like a blade. “Someone explain to me how we let this narrative get legs.”
The team shifted uncomfortably. Of course, no one wanted to speak first. Cowards. My eyes landed on Kingsley, head of PR, whose sweat-beaded forehead was as good as an admission of guilt.
“It’s the timing,” Kingsley stammered. “Rossi’s team must’ve planted the story the moment they saw Bryce was dropped. It makes them look like saviors, like they’re stealing talent because we can’t keep it.”
“Try again.” I leaned forward, my tone clipped. “I don’t care how it makes them look. I care how it makes us look. And it makes us look weak. Like we can’t hold on to our roster. Edge Records doesn’t lose artists. We don’t give anyone the satisfaction of thinking we’re vulnerable. Fix it.”
He swallowed hard. “We’ve already issued a statement.”
“Statements don’t go viral, Kingsley. Controversy does. What I need from you is something that drowns out this narrative so completely that Rossi won’t even have time to enjoy his victory.”
“Sir—”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me.” My gaze bored into him until he dropped his eyes to the table. “This isn’t a frat house. So don’t dress up incompetence with politeness. This is war. And if you can’t fight, I’ll find someone who can.”
Silence followed, thick and suffocating. I let it linger just long enough for everyone to feel its weight.
Fear was an excellent motivator.
Silence settled over the room, thick and immediate.
I was aware of how I sounded. I always was.
To them, I was the hardass CEO who didn’t let things slide, who didn’t sugarcoat failure or soften the blow when something wasn’t good enough.
They weren’t wrong.
I hadn’t built Edge Records from the ground up. That had been my father. But I was the one keeping it alive. The one pushing it forward. The one making the calls that kept it competitive in an industry that didn’t forgive weakness.
And I hadn’t done that by being liked.
“Elise,” I said without looking at her, knowing she was standing at attention, ready to deliver. “Pull up the files on Bryce Decker’s exit. What dirt do we have on him?”
Her gold heels clicked softly as she crossed to the screen at the far end of the room.
She connected her laptop and within seconds, Bryce’s contract termination and every attached detail flashed onto the screen.
I leaned back again, watching her work. She was methodical and efficient, always a step ahead.
“Bryce’s contract was terminated for breach of agreement,” Elise began, her tone steady and professional. “Missed deadlines, failure to meet performance obligations, and public intoxication incidents that damaged the label’s reputation.”
I smirked. “Good. So we paint him as a liability. Frame this as Dauntless Records picking up our scraps. Spin it into a story about how they’re desperate enough to take on our rejects.”
“That could backfire,” Elise spoke up.
For a moment, the room froze. It wasn’t often anyone challenged me in these meetings, least of all her.
I raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue. I didn’t normally encourage pushback, but Elise didn’t speak unless she had a reason, and I learned over the years to pay attention when she did.
“If we push too hard on the negative, we risk looking bitter or insecure. People love an underdog story. Painting Bryce as a liability could make Dauntless look like they’re giving him a second chance, which might earn them public sympathy.”
Her insight was sharp, as always. Annoyingly so. But I didn’t let her see that. Instead, I stood, walking to the screen and tapping the image of Bryce’s mugshot from his most recent arrest.
“Then we make the story about Bryce. Not us, not Dauntless. Him.” My voice dropped, cold and calculating.
“Leak the mugshot and arrest details to the press. Quietly. Attach it to an ‘anonymous source’ and let the headlines write themselves. We don’t need to say a word.
The public will make their own conclusions. ”
Kingsley looked uneasy. “That could blow back on us. What if it gets traced?”
“It won’t,” I said, my tone final. “If it does, I’ll handle it.” I turned to Elise. “Draft the memo. Make sure it’s ironclad. And Elise?”
She looked up at me, her dark eyes unreadable. “Yes, Mr. Edge?”
“Add a note to contact my lawyer. I want him prepped in case Bryce decides to get litigious.”
She nodded, jotting it down without a word.
She was good at hiding her emotions, but I didn’t miss the tension in her shoulders or the slight clench of her jaw.
She hated this part of the job. Hated the way I played dirty.
But she’d never say it out loud. That was the difference between us. I wielded power, and she executed it.
The meeting wrapped with a flurry of assigned tasks and hasty exits, but Elise stayed behind, gathering her laptop and organizing the aftermath. I watched her from the corner of my eye, her movements precise and practiced.
“Do you have something to say?” I drawled finally, breaking the silence.
She hesitated, closing her laptop. “Actually, yes,” she said, her voice lower than usual. “I was wondering if I could take off for lunch a little earlier today. I have an appointment I need to get to. It's important.”
I raised an eyebrow. “An appointment?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone uncertain. “I know it’s last minute, but I won’t be gone long, I just need an extension on my lunch break and—”
“No,” I cut her off, not even looking at her as I scrolled through my most recent emails in front of me. “You can go if you get your work done on time. But there’s no way you’re taking a longer break today. Not with everything we’ve got on our plate.”
Her face fell but she didn’t argue. Instead, she nodded, biting her lip. “You’re right. Forget I even asked.”
I didn’t acknowledge the disappointment in her voice. “Good. We have enough on our hands without adding your personal plans into the mix. Focus.”
Elise nodded again and turned toward the door, though she hesitated for a split second as if debating whether to say something else. But she said nothing, and before I could acknowledge her presence any longer, she was gone.
I let out a sigh of frustration, rubbing my temples, fighting down the flicker of regret that I couldn’t afford to show.
It wasn’t personal. It was business. And that’s how it would always stay.