Chapter 4
four
. . .
Dean Albion. If Harry had known that’s who Nikky was working with on the album that was apparently going to solidify his music career over his acting career, Harry would have warned his new friend to stick with acting.
“Let’s give Charlie’s second song a try,” Albion said, ignoring Harry entirely and turning back to Nikky. “I think this one really matches your voice and intensity.”
Nikky glanced straight to Harry with a look that begged for help. He then pulled himself together and faced Albion, albeit with a certain skittishness that brought out a seriously protective instinct in Harry, and said, “That’s the love song, right?”
“It is,” Albion said with a broad smile. “And it’s right up your alley.”
Nikky froze, his cheeks flushing a soft pink that would have had Harry’s blood pumping under other circumstances. “The pronouns in the song are feminine,” he said.
“Is that a problem?” Albion asked, his smile still in place but his eyes going stoney.
Nikky cleared his throat. “I’m gay. Openly gay. I might not talk about it a lot, but I’ve never tried to hide it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Albion said, brushing a hand through the air as if something like a person’s sexual identity didn’t matter.
“Everyone loves it when celebrities are vague about their sexuality these days anyhow. Keeping things vague is a great strategy for staying at the center of the public’s attention. ”
Nikky sent a forlorn look Harry’s way. A whole heap of things started to make sense in Harry’s mind, chief among them the reasons Nikky had hired Rent-A-Boyfriend instead of trying to tackle the intentional implosion of his career on his own.
Whether he was fully aware of it or not, it was pretty clear to Harry that having someone to help and guide him was more important than the actual tarnishing of his image.
Harry was more than happy to step up and do the job behind the job he’d been hired to do.
“Nikky is out,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m guessing that song is inappropriate for him, but if you want him to sing it, I suggest you let him sing it with male pronouns.”
“That’s not going to work,” Albion said, also crossing his arms and falling into a staring competition with Harry. “Charlie has a clause in his contract saying his songs will be recorded exactly as he’s written them.”
Charlie had to be Charlie Darling. Harry knew the man by reputation. He was a raging homophobe and had once tried to sue the organizers of a drag performance who had used one of his songs.
“I’d really like to play some of my original songs for you,” Nikky stepped in, looking more hopeful and enthusiastic than Harry had yet seen him.
Harry nodded sideways at him. “There you go,” he told Albion.
“You’ve got a world-class musician who composes his own songs who’s standing there telling you he’s got this, he’s got his own music and likely knows his own mind.
Why don’t you listen to him and see what he can do instead of trying to cram him into the box you’ve already decided he belongs in. ”
The air inside the booth crackled. Albion glared at Harry, eyes narrowed. “Is that some sort of accusation?” he asked in a low growl.
“I don’t know,” Harry snapped, his voice as sharp as a knife’s edge. “You tell me.”
The booth went silent as Harry and Albion stared each other down.
Nikky glanced between the two of them with a look of confusion. A look of confusion that suddenly resolved into understanding as he sucked in a quick breath. “You two know each other,” he said.
“We used to,” Albion said.
“Unfortunately,” Harry added.
Albion gave him a look of pure venom. He didn’t say another word, but everything in his expression dared Harry to speak the accusation that was on the tip of his tongue, that Albion was responsible for curtailing his career after Love on the Line.
“Let Nikky play his own music for you,” Harry said like he was drawing a line in the sand.
Albion continued to glare at him for several long seconds, then grunted and turned back to Nikky. “Okay, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Nikky smiled and let out a breath in relief, but Harry knew better than to think Albion had changed his mind in the least. The way he referred to Nikky, a twenty-five-year-old man as “kid” was a dead giveaway that he wasn’t going to budge from the plans he already had to market Nikky like any of his other flashy pop stars.
“Is there a guitar I can borrow?” Nikky asked, energized. “I didn’t bring mine over with me. I wasn’t sure I’d have the baggage allowance for it.”
Harry covered his mouth with one hand to hide his grimace. Traveling with a guitar was simple. Was no one taking care of Nikky at all? Someone of Nikky’s caliber should be traveling with an entire team.
“Yeah, there are a few in the room next to the recording booth,” Albion said. “Pick whichever suits you best.” He gestured toward the door.
Nikky moved with purpose into the other room, slipping out of Harry’s sight. As soon as he was confident Nikky wouldn’t hear anything, he took a step closer to Albion.
“I’m not going to let you ruin that man’s life and career by shoving him into whatever self-serving box you have lined up for him,” he growled.
“Fuck you,” Albion fired back with just as much venom. “Just because you were never good enough to make it in this industry doesn’t mean you have a right to interfere with that kid’s opportunity.”
“That kid is a fully grown, gay adult with ideas of his own about how he wants his life and career to go,” Harry insisted. “He doesn’t want to be tomorrow’s teen idol.”
“Then why did he sign with me?” Albion asked, so smug Harry couldn’t breathe. “And how do you know what he wants?”
Harry bit back his reply. All he really knew was that Nikky was unhappy enough to entertain desperate measures to get out of the celebrity cyclone he’d found himself in. He didn’t know why Nikky had signed with Albion. He didn’t know a lot of things.
“Where is Nikky’s manager in all this?” Harry asked. “He should have someone advocating for him. He shouldn’t be here on his own.”
“His manager is currently in L.A.,” Albion said, grinning like he’d won a point. “I was on the phone with her first thing this morning. She agrees with the direction I want to take things.”
That wasn’t right by any stretch of the imagination. Someone of Nikky’s star caliber should have had a hell of a lot more support on the ground wherever he went. The fact that his manager wasn’t in London but had consulted with Albion without Nikky’s input raised a dozen red flags.
Unless Albion was lying.
Even more of Nikky’s situation fell together in Harry’s mind.
Nikky was being taken advantage of by an industry that ate young talent like him for breakfast. He didn’t know the whys and hows of it, but if Albion wasn’t lying, then Nikky had ended up with a team that was more likely to exploit him than support him.
No wonder the man wanted to destroy his career before it could really go anywhere.
There was only one thing Harry could do about it.
“I tell you what,” he told Albion, leaning threateningly close to him as Nikky walked back into the recording booth, an old acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. “Until this manager of Nikky’s shows up in London, consider me his management team.”
Albion huffed a humorless laugh. “You’re not qualified. I still don’t know who you are to him.”
“I’m the friend he needs right now,” Harry said, gripping the back of Albion’s chair. It was a thousand times truer than he could have imagined when he first sat down with Nikky in Javier and Desmond’s office. “That’s all you need to know.”
Albion looked like he had some sort of retort, but before he could do more than open his mouth, Nikky’s voice sounded through the PA system. “Should I just start playing? Are you ready?”
Albion gave Harry one last seething look, then moved to sit at the mixing board. He donned a pair of headphones, then spoke into a microphone, saying, “Sure, Nikky. Go right ahead.”
Harry had heard Nikky’s music before. Anyone who had watched Cooked was familiar with what the brilliant young man could do. He’d written the soundtrack for the show, and his character, a musician, had played a few songs in one or two episodes.
That didn’t in any way prepare Harry for the innovative and haunting sounds that swelled up like magic from the strings of the old guitar.
It wasn’t the popular, palatable sort of music Harry was expecting either, and when Nikky began to sing with a stronger, grittier tone to his voice than anything he’d performed for Cooked, Harry felt chills.
How could anyone think that Nikky should be singing cutesy pop songs?
The dark, rich tune that filled the entire recording studio was about being lost and displaced.
The intricate melody reflected the soul of someone who had been through a lot but understood the pain.
Harry instantly pictured Nikky dressed all in black as he sang the song on the stage of some intimate, indie venue, eyes emphasized with black eyeliner, lips full and red and begging to be kissed.
Talent like Nikky’s should have spurred fiery jealousy in Harry’s gut, but as amazing as Nikky was, his vulnerability made Harry want to scoop him up into his arms and hold him forever.
The man needed protecting at all costs.
Along with that thought came another, sinking one. There was no way Harry could allow Nikky to torpedo his career entirely. He was too good, had too much promise, to be relegated to the dusty shelf of people who’d had their fifteen minutes of fame before the world moved on.
Nikky couldn’t end up in the same bin as him.
“He’s never going to make it with drivel like that,” Albion grumbled, seemingly to himself, though Harry knew better than to think the comment was offhand. He also knew better than to think Albion actually believed the song was rubbish.