Chapter 60
"Hunger Strike," Temple of the Dog
Cruz
I tapped my fingers against the clipboard of my Friday morning maintenance tasks, swiveling in my chair while prioritizing whether to replace lightbulbs or clear the sidewalks.
But my attention kept shifting to the paper under the checklist: the record contract.
A year ago, I’d have signed without thinking twice. "Say yes and figure it out," I would’ve told myself, diving headfirst into the adventure. But now? Now I wasn’t so sure.
I spent half the night reading every clause, trying to figure out if this deal would catapult my musical career or bleed me dry.
The half-million dollar advance seemed huge, but how far would it get me after paying back recording costs and promotion?
Not to mention the limited creative control.
The numbers swirled in my head, making my stomach twist.
I hadn’t told my mom yet. She’d be thrilled that my childhood dream was finally in reach, but I wasn’t sure the dream was worth chasing. Horror stories haunted me: artists losing control of their music, fighting for fair payouts, burned out by endless tours.
I considered calling Alex for legal advice, maybe even asking him to represent me for the meeting with the record company …
but his wasn’t the opinion I wanted. And every time I reached for my phone to text Victoria, I froze.
What would I even say? “Hey baby, I know you haven’t responded in a month, but I have a legal question for you … ”
By morning, I was looking into how much it would cost to fund my album, maybe crowdsource it … but without the advance, it was an uphill battle.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my office door. I spun in the swivel chair, expecting a tenant, and my heart sank when I saw who it was.
Arthur Blackstone stood in my office door frame, hands in the suit pockets of his tailored suit, silver eyes impassive. It had been a month since he’d shown up at Victoria’s office, now he was here to start shit with me?
Whatever he was selling, I wasn’t buying.
“Looking for directions? Head south,” I said. “Your daughter is no longer a tenant here.”
He straightened his sleeve, revealing gold cufflinks. “Funny, she’s still paying the taxes.”
“Her decision,” I said, tapping my pencil against my lip. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Can’t fit me into your busy day unclogging toilets?”
“Actually,” I checked my clipboard again, “Seems like my top task today is pest control.”
His lip curled in disgust at the diner’s worn vinyl booths and mirrored ceilings.
When he promised he’d leave after buying me lunch, he probably expected me to pick an overpriced steakhouse that I could never afford on my own.
But as much as I wanted updates on Victoria, him being here without her left me wary.
Plus I still had to record today’s song on my lunch break. Should I allude to this meeting in the video? Did she know he was here?
When the waitress approached to fill our coffee mugs, her gaze darted between us—him in a ten-thousand dollar suit, me in my work polo shirt—before she asked me, “Is Tori coming too?”
Arthur’s scowl deepened in disbelief that his daughter would be caught dead in this dive. I just smiled. “Not today.”
“Too bad, we keep gluten free bread in stock for her,” she said, filling our coffee mugs. “Tell her we’re all rooting for her, ok?”
“I’ll tell her tonight,” I said, reaching for the creamer. Last night was the first night I hadn't sent a bedtime text, leaving an uneasy feeling in my gut. Was that why her dad was here?
But no, she wouldn’t send him to do her dirty work. Would she?
When the waitress left the table, I asked Arthur, “Does she know you’re here?”
The vinyl seat groaned under his weight shifting. He didn’t answer, staring at his manicured hands. His wedding ring clinked against the ceramic coffee mug. My gut clenched tighter but I didn’t want to give away my anxiety. I leaned back as if I didn’t give a shit why he was there.
“My daughter … " His nostrils flared as he glanced around the restaurant, full of hungover college students, truck drivers mainlining coffee, and camo-clad Navy staff coming off the overnight shift. “She made an impulsive mistake this week.” He lifted those gray eyes, like I’d also been an impulsive mistake.
“The blowback will damage her career. And the media will realize your connection to her.”
My pulse quickened. I’d been careful in all my videos to not use her name. What had she done that would connect us?
I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a harsh whisper. “Arthur, is she safe?”
The color drained from his face. “She’s unharmed.”
i fucking hated that answer. The waitress returned with our meals, but I ignored the plate. I hadn’t been hungry in weeks—and I needed answers. “Cut the shit, Arthur. Why are you here?”
“When the reporters call, you need to say you don’t know her.”
A knot formed in my throat, and I swallowed it down with a swig of scalding coffee. “Why would I tell them that I don’t know my own girlfriend?”
“She’s not your girlfriend.”
“Sure, by a strict interpretation,” I said, then threw him a suggestive grin, “but when it comes to your daughter, I like to play things loose.”
He scowled. “You’re just as stubborn as she is.”
“Where do you think I learned it?” I loosened my posture, stretched across the booth. “What' the harm with people knowing that I love her?”
“Right, that’s why you’re doing it. Not to piggyback on her name to make a quick buck.” The accusation was a verbal punch to my sternum. No self-defense training can prepare you for an attack on your integrity.
“Call her now. See if she answers her boyfriend,” he said, pulling a folded document out of his suit pocket. “Or we can come to an agreement, to keep her reputation in tact.”
He’d flattened the paper in the table, and I grimaced at its familiarity: a non-disclosure agreement, because associating with me would ruin her pristine reputation.
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him to fuck right off, but the words died in my throat when he reached into that pocket again. “How much, Eric?”
I blinked as he retrieved a checkbook, then sneered, “My silence isn’t for sale.”
“Everything is for sale, for the right price,” he said, tapping a black and gold pen against the checkbook cover. “A million?”
I hardened my gaze to hide my surprise. “I don’t want your money.”
“Two million. You can tell people you were her personal trainer, but no more of this boyfriend nonsense.”
I opened my mouth to shut him up, but stopped myself. I could do so much with two million dollars—hell, even more if I sold her condo. I could find my own place to escape her lingering memories, or buy a three or four bedroom in Queens for my family so I could always go home.
I could fund my own album, not worry about paying back the record company advance. I could create music on my own terms, pay my sister to manage everything. I could quit my superintendent job to play music that I loved.
Across the booth, I scrutinized Arthur’s custom suit, shiny cufflinks, perfect hair. This money would change my entire life and he wouldn’t notice it was missing.
He tapped his pen on the leather checkbook cover. “And stop making the videos, they’re affecting her performance.”
I tightened my jaw. So Connor’s messages had been true—she was watching.
And it was making an impact … enough for her Dad to notice. Enough for it to bother him. Hope bloomed in my chest.
Yet she didn’t call.
“If you care about my daughter at all, you’ll take this deal. And you won’t contact her again. You’ll let her move on.” His eyes shimmered, confident he had me over the barrel. I drummed my fingernails against the table. His jaw ticked in annoyance at their rhythm.
I’m sorry I can’t be what you need, she’d said when she left me. Is this the best I could expect?
The paper between us was the same one she’d showed me three months ago. I’d been willing to sign it then for her. It started to look less like a gag order …
And more like a fresh start.
This is what she wanted … wasn’t it?
What would she tell me, if she were here negotiating with me?
I met his eyes across the table. So similar to hers, but missing the spark of curiosity that intrigued me. I heard her voice, clear as day: No more friends and family discounts. I can afford to pay you full price, so you’ll take my money.
I lifted my chin, channeling her confidence. “Make it five million.”
Arthur’s mouth lifted into a self-satisfied smile as he handed over a check.
I walked out of that restaurant feeling a whole lot richer.