Chapter 35 Tate
TATE
“I haven’t heard from Brandon in a while.”
Ashley snorts. “Perhaps, he’s fallen in a ravine and been eaten by rabid rats.”
I study the counter as I wipe up a drip of coffee, then buff the surface until it shines, the ache in my arm helping to take the edge off the nausea I’ve felt since hearing my song on the radio.
“You can prove you wrote that song. You kept all of Brandon’s text messages begging you to let him pitch it. You have the power to ruin that asshole.”
“I know,” I say, finding a new blemish on the counter to scrub. “And I’m going to go to the record label after my shift today.”
Ashley grins. “Want a wing woman?”
“Please.” I’ve spent the past two days going over what I want to say, and how I intend to get past the front desk and into the CEO’s office. I’ve got my evidence all printed out in a folder, ready to slam at them.
Ashley’s right. I have a good case to put forward. And I’m determined not to leave that office until I get what I deserve.
My song back.
“I know that look on your face. What else is eating you?” Ashley muses.
“It’s Sullivan, he’s been… I don’t know, acting weird since I woke up and Molly was in bed with me.”
“You think he’s worried about her finding you there?”
“No, that’s just it. Molly wasn’t bothered at all. I told her I was feeling sick, and that Sullivan had looked after me, and I’d had to sleep over. She saw me get sick in the car the night before, so it made sense.”
“So what is it, then?” Ashley leans back against the counter.
“I don’t know. He’s been distant. I keep catching him on the phone, but he hangs up when he sees me. Then last night he told me it was a wrong number. But I swear before I walked into the room, he said something.”
“Like what?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It sounded like, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I miss you’.”
Ashley’s brows shoot up. “I’ll grind his balls in the coffee machine if he’s cheating on you.”
I give her a grateful smile. Knowing Brandon cheated has made her extra protective.
“I don’t think he’d have the time, even if I did think he was capable, which I don’t.
He’s always working. And in the evenings we’re together.
” Except the past two nights. He told me he thought it was a good idea if I didn’t stay over for a while, just until he was sure Molly wasn’t going to have any questions about finding me in his bed.
Goosebumps prick up over my arms, and I desperately want to ignore the warning bells making my gut churn. Despite me not staying over, I’ve still spent the evenings with them both. And he’s still wanted me to stay after Molly’s asleep.
Sex has become more intense.
Sullivan’s been intent on fucking me all over his penthouse, like he’s trying to impregnate the memory of us together throughout it. Just last night he lifted me into his arms as I was about to leave and fucked me desperately against the front door.
He tore my skirt in his haste to shove it to my waist and sink inside me, despite us only just having finished fucking in his bed minutes earlier.
“Well, I’d do it without question. Just so you know.” Ashley winks at me and pats the coffee machine.
“I know you would.” I smile. “And that’s why I love you so much.”
“I hate you,” I tell Ashley.
“No, you don’t,” she whispers back as she marches toward the sleek reception desk inside the lobby of Liberty Records with her hand on my lower back, herding me along. “I know you’re nervous, but you’ll thank me later for not letting you wimp out.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’s right. I was ready to turn back around once we made it here. If it weren’t for Ashley’s insistence and strong grip on me, I’d be back home now, instead of fearing I’m about to hyperventilate.
“Did Sullivan give you pointers on what to say? He’s used to dealing with huge businesses and getting what he wants from them, right?”
“He did. He wanted to come with me, but I need to do this myself.”
“And you will. You’ll blow them out of the water.” Ashley smiles, enjoying every minute of this. She’s been role-playing my argument with me on the cab ride over, preparing me.
I straighten my shoulders and approach the young man at the desk.
“Hello. My name’s Tate Miller, and this is my colleague, Ashley.
We’re here to talk about my song that Liberty Records has produced without my permission.
” I drop my folder of evidence on the desk and tap a finger on it.
“All of my evidence is in here and I will be going to the press if this isn’t resolved. ”
My voice is loud enough that we attract curious glances from people moving around the large marble lobby.
The man at the desk looks taken aback and clears his throat. “Just a moment, please.”
He picks up his desk phone, his attention bouncing from me to Ashley and back again as he waits for it to connect.
“Mr. Drayton. Apologies, Sir, I know you didn’t want to be disturbed. But there’s a Miss Tate Miller here.” He nods. “Yes, Sir.”
He places the phone down and beckons another staff member over, saying something quietly to her that we can’t hear.
“Hilary will take you to Mr. Drayton’s office.”
The woman smiles brightly at us. “Right this way.”
We follow her into the elevator. This is going smoother than I expected.
I was prepared for more push back before I made it anywhere near the head producer, Kyle Drayton.
Brandon always told me getting a meeting with him was harder than playing “La Campanella” by Liszt with your eyes closed. Although, I bet Sullivan could do it.
We step out into a huge office, filled with people working, making calls, and walking around with steaming cups of coffee.
On the walls are giant posters of musicians and album covers the label is famous for.
We walk past one of a female artist who picked up no fewer than nine Grammys at the last awards ceremony.
“You’re lucky,” the lady says, as she stops in front of a closed door and knocks. “Mr. Drayton was about to leave for a meeting.”
I take another deep breath for courage as the door is opened by a suited man in his forties. His skin lacks brightness, the area beneath each eye dark like he’s had too many late nights. But he forces a welcoming smile onto his face and extends a hand.
“Miss Miller. Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand and stop myself from glancing at Ashley as he greets her with the same professional, albeit unexpected warmth. Not what I was expecting when I came in here slinging around accusations like confetti.
“Please, come in.”
He shows us into the large office, decorated with multiple music awards and framed gold albums on the walls. We take a seat on one side of a large glass desk, and he falls into the seat behind it.
“I believe I know why you’re here.”
“You do?” I stare at him, and his chest deflates like a sad old balloon.
My death grip on my folder loosens a fraction. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, ready for battle. But he looks defeated, and we haven’t even begun.
“Brandon Rutter.” He sighs the name like it’s one he’s heard far too many times.
“He came to us yesterday and confessed to stealing a song you wrote. We opened an investigation immediately and discovered…” He rolls his lips, leaning over his desk and clasping his hands together.
“This might not be the only time he’s done something like this.
Thankfully, yours is the only song that’s actually been released. ”
Nausea coils its way up from my stomach. Brandon’s done this to other people. Other songs. Other dreams. Taken without remorse. How did I date a guy like that and not see it?
Kyle scrubs a hand around his jaw, continuing, “He no longer works for the company. And Mya’s song… your song,” he corrects himself, “has been removed from all stations. It won’t ever be played again.”
Won’t ever be played again? His words crash over me, stinging everything they touch. I wanted my song to be heard. Just not like this. I wanted it done my way, and—
“I’m sorry… Mya?” I ask, the name sparking something.
“The artist. She signed with us six months ago. We’ve been looking for the right song for her,” Kyle confirms, looking at me as I shift in my seat, memories making my skin prickle.
Mya.
The name Brandon was groaning when I caught him balls deep in another woman.
“He gave my song to his mistress,” I tell Ashley while I maintain eye contact with Kyle, who doesn’t react, suggesting he also found out this little nugget of information during his investigation.
“Personal relationships within the company are expressly prohibited. Another reason Mr. Rutter will not be receiving a recommendation from us for his future employment,” Kyle says, confirming my suspicions.
Brandon fucked her. And then he fucked me over.
Ashley snorts, making Kyle’s attention slide to her.
“I can assure you both, Liberty Records is taking this matter very seriously. Frankly, we’re appalled that this happened.”
“It’s a little late for apologies, what are you going to do about it?” Ashley probes.
I’m grateful for her cutting in and focusing her wrath toward Kyle, because all of the phone calls and text messages from Brandon are shuffling their way to the front of my head, making it pound.
I never suspected a thing. And now, not only did Brandon cheat on me and steal my song, but he’s the reason it will never be played again.
“Do you have any more?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I snap my focus back to Kyle.
He rubs his hands together, leaning further over his desk. The remorse on his face has vanished and been replaced with a weird mix of eagerness and desperation.
“More songs,” he says, eyes pinned on me.
“You want to know if I’ve written any other songs?” I ask, needing to clarify what I think I heard for a third time, because it makes no sense.
“Yes. And then I have a proposition for you.”
Ashley and I ride the elevator back to the lobby twenty minutes later. Her fingernails dig into my forearm and she bounces on her toes.
“They want you!” she squeals.
“I know,” I murmur.
“They want all your songs!” she squeaks.
“I know.”
“And they want you to perform them on stage!”
My tongue thickens and sourness creeps over it.
“Why do you look like you’re about to hurl? This is amazing!”
I force a smile. “It is,” I agree. “Amazing.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip. It’s my dream… kind of. Having my songs played on the radio, seeing them made into an album, feeling the excitement in a crowd as they wait to watch them performed live.
I wanted to believe that this day would come. And now that it has, all I feel is… confused.
Kyle wants me to record an album with Liberty Records after going straight out on tour as a support act for a band they represent. He said it’ll be an explosive way to introduce my songs to the world and drum up fan excitement.
It means spending months away from New York.
Away from Dad and Ashley.
Away from Sullivan and Molly.
The elevator doors slide open, revealing the same marble lobby I walked into. Only now, I’m seeing it with fresh eyes. As a potential artist who could be signed here. I told Kyle I needed to think about it and have his contract looked over. But at a glance it all looks legitimate.
It’s a dream.
It doesn’t seem real.
A familiar jean and rock band T-shirt clad form stands at the reception desk with his back to us, arguing with the guy there.
“Come on, man. I had personal stuff on my laptop. Can I just get it off? Then I’ll leave?”
“Sorry. It’s company property. Mr. Drayton said everything that belongs to you is in there.” He tips his head to a cardboard box sitting on top of the desk.
The guy curses and whacks the box, causing it to topple off and land on the floor.
“Fuck’s sake!” he spits, bending to throw pens and notebooks back inside. He clutches his side with a hiss like it hurts.
“Brandon?” I breathe, stalling and staring down at him.
Ashley stops beside me, folding her arms. He turns around, and I let out a gasp at the state of him. His face is bruised, and he has a fresh black eye.
The eye that isn’t swollen shut slides up and down me slowly, making my skin crawl by the suggestive way he licks his lips before he speaks.
“Tate. What are you doing here?”
“I came to get my song back.” I study the bruises on his face with a flicker of empathy. “What happened to your face?”
His expression shuts down and his top lip curls into a sneer. “I fell into a fucking door shaped like some asshole’s fist, what do you think?”
He takes a step toward me.
“Good luck, yeah? I’m sure the fans will love you.” He throws another leery eye crawl over my body.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shouldn’t have asked. The glint in his eye as he sniggers makes my stomach drop to my feet.
“You can sing your little heart out and ask yourself whether it’s your voice or your tits the guys come for.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard.” He sneers.
I slap him across the face before I realize what I’m doing.
“And while you beg for someone to give you another job, which will never be in music, by the way, you can ask yourself whether all of this was worth it. Whether being an asshole was the only thing you’ll ever be good at in your measly existence.”
“Ouch. Slay,” Ashley sings beside me as Brandon throws me a parting glare and storms away.
He gets as far as the sidewalk outside before his box collapses, sending all of his stuff scattering across the concrete. His yelled ‘Fuck!’ reverberates through the glass doors as he bends to retrieve everything. But then he turns to the side and looks at something.
The next moment he takes off at a sprint.
“What do you think made him shit his pants?” Ashley asks as we step outside, weaving through the objects on the floor.
I look up and my eyes connect with brilliant blue, like two stormy seas, as Sullivan climbs out of his town car a little way up the street.
“I think it just arrived.”
Ashley follows my gaze to where Sullivan is striding toward us purposefully. “Do you think he did that to Brandon? If he did, then I like him even more now. You have my permission to marry him and pop out his cute dark-haired babies.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he stares back with a blistering intensity.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”