Chapter 22 Espresso #2
I giggle.
I check the time. Shit.
“I’ve gotta go. I have to get ready for the marketing meeting with Hollow Reign.”
“Kisses, hugs, try not to combust,” Ava says. “And call me after. I want the rest of the club story.”
I hang up and grab my laptop.
By the time I step into the conference room, my pulse is finally starting to slow. The marketing team’s already there—Luis, who’s been with Left Turn since my dad ran it, and Mina, his intern. She smiles at me nervously.
I set down my folder and laptop, smoothing my palms against my skirt, trying to ground myself.
“Band’s on their way up,” Luis says without looking up.
“Great,” I manage, adjusting the collar of my blazer. My heart’s still beating too fast, Christian’s surprise visit clinging to me like static.
Okay. Focus. You’ve got this.
The door swings open and Hollow Reign stroll in, all swagger and bedhead and half-hearted grins. They bring with them the unmistakable mix of late nights and cheap cologne, like the residue of every backstage room they’ve ever crashed.
“Where’s Liam?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, professional.
Phoenix collapses into a chair, legs sprawled out like this is his living room. “He fucking quit.”
“What?”
“Said the band’s going in a direction he’s not down for. That’s it. That’s all he said.”
Casey throws his hands in the air. “A direction that leads to us finally getting a record deal? What an idiot. I don’t get the vibes that dude was putting off. Everything was fine up until that night at the club.”
Phoenix glances at me, jaw tight. “This gonna screw our deal?”
Not if I can help it.
I fold my hands on the table. “I wanted Hollow Reign because of the chemistry between all four of you. It’s the dynamic that makes you special. Without Liam—can you recreate the magic that got you here in the first place?”
Casey shakes his head. “He fucked us.”
“Is there any way you can talk to him?”
Phoenix shrugs, his fingers drumming restlessly on the table. “He seemed pretty set.”
I take a deep breath, mind racing. This is a serious problem. Without Liam, the showcase is in jeopardy, and if it falls apart, so does the distribution deal. I can’t let that happen. “Where can I find him?”
Phoenix rips a piece of Mina’s paper off. “Here’s his number.” He pushes it toward me. “He works at Soundwave Music on Sunset.”
I tuck the information away, already planning my approach.
“So, are we still on the lineup?” Phoenix asks, doubt creeping into his voice.
“I’m going to talk to Liam. I’ll convince him to come back.”
Casey snorts. “And if you can’t?”
“Then we’ll figure it out. But for now, we proceed as planned.” I meet each of their eyes. “I’m not giving up on this band, and you shouldn’t either.”
Phoenix exchanges glances with the others, then nods slowly. “Alright, boss. If you say so.”
“I do say so. Now let’s go over the details,” I say, turning to Luis. “Walk us through the timeline.”
Luis goes over the times, the load-ins, the marketing assets we’re finalizing.
Mina takes notes, jotting things quickly. “I’ll follow up on radio spots, confirm the social media teaser schedule, and check on poster placements later this afternoon,” she says, eager to be helpful.
“Good,” I say, impressed.
Finally, I bring up the Cirque Noire file. “Last item on the agenda is the designs for the showcase,” I say eagerly because this is my favorite part.
Phoenix leans forward, eyes lighting up as the screen fills with dark, high-drama graphics—black leather vests with metallic threadwork veins of silver, shredded tee overlays, a coat looking like something a fallen angel would wear.
“Fuck, that’s sick,” he says, grinning.
But the others… not so much.
“No way I’m wearing that,” Casey mutters, wrinkling his nose.
I smile, unbothered. “You’re not.”
I flip to the individual boards—I’d stayed up half the night matching these to their personalities. A military-inspired jacket for Casey—clean lines, no fuss. For Theo, a tailored black shirt with leather accents, sharp and understated.
The room goes quiet for a beat.
“Holy shit,” Casey says, genuinely impressed. “You nailed it.”
“Yeah,” Phoenix adds, nodding, eyes still on his jacket like he’s imagining the lights hitting it. “How’d they even come up with this?”
I shrug, heat rising in my cheeks, but it feels good.
Something electric pulses through me as I look at the designs—the same rush I used to get in my fashion days.
For a moment, I forget about Christian, about the showcase complications, about everything except the pure joy of creating something that resonates.
“I used to be in fashion,” I explain. “Styling and being a music exec aren’t so different. You just have to know how to read people.”
That earns me a few more nods and genuine smiles.
“Alright, unless there are any more questions, that’s a wrap,” I say, grabbing my materials. “I’ll see you guys at the fittings on Friday.”
Phoenix hangs back as the others start gathering their things. “You’ll let us know what happens with Liam, right? Like, right away?”
“You’ll be the first call I make,” I promise.
They file out of the conference room, still talking excitedly about the showcase, but there’s a new undercurrent of anxiety. Without Liam, everything we’ve planned is at risk.
I stay seated for a moment, staring at my laptop.
The designs are still on screen, but all I can think about is the empty space where Liam should have been sitting.
And Dylan’s bizarre reaction when he saw him at the club, and again when he barged into my meeting with Hollow Reign.
Whatever happened between them sent Liam running.
And now I have to fix it before everything falls apart.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pushing through the door of the music store, the bell jingling overhead. The shop is quieter than I expected for a weekday afternoon—a couple of teenage boys testing out guitars in the corner and a middle-aged man browsing sheet music.
And behind the counter, looking surprised to see me, is Liam.
He’s different than when I saw him on stage—quieter, more contained. His dark hair falls across his forehead, and he looks younger somehow, more vulnerable.
“Morgan,” he says, straightening. “What are you doing here?”
I approach the counter, cutting straight to the point. “Phoenix told me you quit the band.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah.”
“Why? And don’t tell me it’s about ‘musical direction’ because we both know that’s bullshit.”
He busies himself organizing guitar picks in a display case. “It’s just not working out.”
“You guys were on fire at your last gig,” I say, my voice softer but no less intense. “I was there. The crowd moved with you—every beat, every pause. It was electric. That kind of chemistry doesn’t just happen.”
He glances up, then away. “Things change.”
“Because of Dylan? Because of what happened at the club?” I ask directly, watching his reaction.
His hands freeze over the display case. Bingo.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but something clearly happened. And now you’re quitting the band, right when things are taking off?”
Liam sighs, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “I understand I put you and the band in a bad spot, but it’s complicated.”
I interrupt. “The band isn’t the same without you, and we all know it.”
He looks genuinely surprised by the directness of the compliment. “It’s not easy to walk away. I didn’t make the decision lightly.”
I lean against the counter. “This showcase is make-or-break for Left Turn, Liam. I’ve got distribution deals riding on it. But more importantly, this is make-or-break for your career too. You’re too talented to walk away over industry politics.”
He hesitates, then looks down at his hands. “I get that but right now it’s better if I step back.”
“Better for who? Not for the band. Not for you. And certainly not for whatever’s going on with you and Dylan. Running away doesn’t solve anything.”
He looks at me with a flash of something—respect or surprise that I’m pushing so hard.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m some asshole who flakes on his band, takes this opportunity for granted.
I get it. This was the shot we were all hoping for but I don’t want to get there by taking advantage of connections.
That’s what the band didn’t understand.”
“What connections?” I ask, confused.
Liam sighs.
“I signed the band because of the talent I saw, nothing more.”
“Doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Will you at least think about it?” I ask. “The showcase is coming up. It’s a huge opportunity for the band. For all of you.” I pull out a business card and write my cell number on the back. “Here’s my personal number. Call me anytime, day or night, if you change your mind.”
He takes the card, tucking it into his pocket, and I can see the regret lingering on his face. “I can’t promise anything, but I appreciate you coming here.”
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either. I’ll take it.