Chapter 19
THE MAGIC PENIS
Addie
For the first time in a long time, the phones’ constant ringing and the flood of incoming social media notifications didn’t give Addie a headache, and that was saying something, since for the last three days, anything louder than a whisper seemed to bring one to the forefront.
But no headache. Lots of calls. And Addie couldn’t help thinking things had finally turned a corner—and for once, without a head-on collision.
The media pounced on the Jones Beach incident, most outlets dubbing Phoenix “the Nix in Shining Armor” for saving a damsel in distress, and while the entire blowup would normally send her sarcasm meter soaring to astronomical levels, it was exactly what they’d needed for this fauxmance to take off.
Love made people do the unexpected—according to the article title she’d read on her commute into the office, the article that finally—and blatantly—linked the Stone Talons’s bad-boy drummer to the Anti-Aphrodite.
Those very same people who’d chomped at the bit to kick her out of Nix’s bed now loudly questioned how anyone couldn’t believe them madly in love.
But the best news yet?
Crickets from Evelyn Sinclair.
Not a post. Nary a comment.
Intrusive photos aside, Addie finally didn’t feel like hiding beneath her desk in the fetal position, and focused everything she had on the last-minute, magic-making plans for East and Naiomi’s vow exchange.
The fairy lights she planned on hanging in the barn and around the kissing tree had arrived earlier that morning, and thanks to Emilio’s friend a few farms down, they’d secured more than enough wildflowers to not only create a gorgeous bridal bouquet, but bring a little of the outdoors into the barn.
Life was good.
“This day couldn’t get any worse.” Maxi burst into her office and dropped face-first onto the corner couch. “Fire me. Because at this point, you’d be better off having one of the Fury cousins take my place because I’m obviously not meant for it.”
Addie sent her sister a supportive smile. “It can’t be that b—”
“Bad?” Max’s head swiveled to her and Addie fought not to wince.
Her sister’s typically flawless, creamy complexion was splotchy and red, covered in what looked to be stress hives.
Maxi sat up with a huff. “You’re right. It’s not bad. It’s appalling. Horrendous. Epically atrocious. Give me a thesaurus and I’ll come up with more words for really, really bad.”
“So the brunch cocktail hour isn’t going well?” Addie guessed warily.
She’d thought it was a good idea, inviting a few current clients to a HEF-sponsored brunch and letting them mingle. Low stress. No fuss. And by having everyone in one space, it would hopefully be easier to read the room and link any possible matches.
“Well, they say it’s not a party unless the cops are called, so in that case it would be deemed a success,” Max said dryly.
Addie’s eyes popped. “Uh, excuse me?!”
Her sister waved her off. “It’s fine now, but evidently client two-five-seven is a known felon with multiple aliases who’s been scamming people out of their money for years and has somehow eluded authorities—until about fifteen minutes ago.”
“At least they were caught?”
“Sure. And now the remaining clients—the ones who didn’t leave—are trauma-bonding over the experience.”
“At least that’s … wait.” Addie glanced at the open door. “If you’re here, who’s overseeing the brunch?”
Her sister avoided eye contact. “I may have told Bailey I had a DEFCON-1 bathroom situation.”
“Was that the smartest idea, leaving them alone with clients, unsupervised? There’s a reason why Bails is the person behind the socials.”
“Fine.” Max sighed. “But come with me and tell me that this brunch isn’t a complete lost cause.”
She wasn’t sure how she’d do that, but in sister solidarity, she slipped her arm through Max’s and they headed toward the small event space down the hall.
It was basically a meeting room, but they’d pushed the long tables to the side and created a makeshift buffet station.
There was coffee and juice, and a mini-mimosa fountain for those who needed a little extra kick to be social.
Addie realized what her sister meant by atrocious the second they stepped into the room.
It was quiet.
Like hear-a-pin-drop silent, so much so that Bailey’s clunky platform boots sounded like thunder as they sauntered over. “Four more people left since you pretended to empty your bladder. Is it a bad sign when food and alcohol can’t get people to stick around?”
“What about them?” Max nudged her chin toward a dark-haired duo off to the left. They both reached for a muffin and chuckled awkwardly … and started talking. “That looks promising. They look cute together.”
Addie was already shaking her head. It didn’t feel … right.
She scanned the clients. Most stood alone in the far corners of the room. One guy, leaning stiffly against the wall with his arms crossed, exuded grumpy pheromones and checked his phone approximately every five seconds.
Addie opened her mouth to suggest they shut things down and try another day with another group, when her eyes watered.
“No. No, no, no.” She whipped off her glasses and pressed her palms to her eyes, already knowing it wouldn’t help.
“Are you okay?” Maxi asked worriedly.
“No, I am definitely not okay.” With a heavy sigh, she mentally prepared for what she already knew would be there, and looked over the room again.
And yep.
A glimmering gold toga cord encircled Mr. Grumpy Phone Watcher and stretched across the room, winding past two others before playfully wrapping around the ankle of the quiet dark-haired woman standing in front of the mimosa fountain.
Mr. Grumpy watched her for a few heart-pounding seconds before dipping his nose right back into his phone.
“Those two,” Addie reluctantly admitted. “They’d be a good match.”
“The muffin couple?” Maxi smiled. “I thought so!”
“No. Sir Grump-A-Lot and the Mimosa Lady.”
“What about them?”
“See if they’ll be interested in a one-on-one meeting.”
Max’s face twisted into a look of pure horror. “Why in the loving hell would I do that? They haven’t so much as taken one look at each other, much less exchanged pleasantries. That’s not exactly the actions of a soul tether.”
“I don’t know, Max.” Addie sighed, mentally and physically drained. “I don’t know what to tell you except that I think you should give it a try. What do we have to lose?”
“Not much.” Max glanced from Grumpy to the Mimosa Lady. “I’ll see what I can do and hope for the best.”
“It’ll be fine, sis.” Addie pulled her sister into a side-hug and fought to get back her earlier positivity. “Good things are on the horizon.”
“What good things?”
Addie shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
Both Max’s and Bailey’s questioning gazes fell on her simultaneously.
“It must be the magic penis,” Bailey said first. “I’m not sure what else would have had you doing a personality one-eighty.”
Phoenix
When Phoenix woke up with a text from Marcus telling him about the meeting with Roger Kinkaid, he delayed the inevitable for as long as he could. Hell, he even contemplated claiming he’d lost his phone and not showing up at all, but reality settled in and he walked into the offices of NAS Records.
Albeit thirty minutes later than summoned.
“About damn time.” Marcus strode across the lobby, his usual mask of frustration and annoyance firmly in place. “I told you I’d send a car to pick you up. That way you wouldn’t have to worry about finding parking for the bike.”
“I didn’t have a problem finding a spot.”
“Then why the fuck are you a half hour late?”
“Don’t you and Roger want me to start acting more like Naughty Nix?
Time doesn’t seem like something he’d be worried about.
” Phoenix shrugged, acting like an ass and not really caring.
He glanced around the room, noting it was just him and Marcus, no other members of the Stone Talons present.
“If this meeting is about what I think it is then it’s pointless.
I have better things to do than rehash the same old shit, Marcus. ”
“At this very moment, the label owns your ass, Phoenix. Your ass, your hands, and they have a firm grip on your balls, too. Regardless of how many times they want to rehash the same old shit, you’ll do it. Without them, all those dreams of yours and the band go up in smoke.”
Jaw clenched, Phoenix nodded noncommittally and followed his manager to the receptionist’s desk. He verified their appointment and took them down a familiar hall. Usually, they met in one of the many meeting rooms, but they bypassed them all and were ushered through the last door.
Loud and imposing as the man himself, Roger Kinkaid’s office screamed arrogance and wealth. Framed records and awards littered every inch of the bloodred walls, and what wasn’t an award was a framed photo of him standing next to famous musicians.
Roger sat behind a massive black lacquer desk and glanced pointedly at the massive gold watch around his wrist. “Considering the lateness of your arrival, I’ll get right down to it.”
“Please do,” Phoenix said, getting a stern look from his manager.
Kinkaid tossed a handful of article printouts and pictures onto his desk, a few of the larger headlines catching his attention. Phoenix had already seen most of them that morning, noting that most—if not all—in some way mentioned the altercation at Bands on the Beach.
“Headlines like these—if they continue—will undoubtedly affect promo for the upcoming album.” Kinkaid leaned back in his seat, his gaze drilled on Phoenix.
“Aren’t these the types of headlines that publicists salivate over? Punches were thrown.”
“And a concert cut short because the drummer—and then the entire damn band—jumped into the fucking audience because some chick couldn’t stand someone getting a little too close to her at a damn rock concert!”
Phoenix was ready to retort, but got jabbed in the ribs by Marcus.
“We know it wasn’t an ideal situation,” Marcus interjected, “but it was most definitely a onetime thing.”
“Is it though?” Kinkaid questioned. “Because there’s been an influx of reports coming in to the label, and they all revolve around Nix and one additional person. Adalyn Whitlock. There’s actually quite an impressive amount of them.”
Phoenix’s spine stiffened as his asshole alert blared. “Did you mean for that to sound so stalkerish?”
Kinkaid flashed a forced smile. “NAS Records throws a lot into our investments, and whether or not you choose to believe that, that includes you, Phoenix, and your bandmates. I’d hate to see you squander all the opportunities for a piece of ass.”
Jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached, Phoenix crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man behind the desk.
“Do not fuck this up, Nix,” Marcus hissed under his breath.
Phoenix ignored him, matching Roger Kinkaid glare for glare. “You may have made an investment, but the last time I read through our contract—and yes, I do actually read them—there’s no mention about the label—or you—having a say in who any of us date.”
Next to him, Marcus muttered a string of curses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Kinkaid raised his eyebrows. “Dating. The last update I received from Marcus on the situation indicated that what you shared with Ms. Whitlock was a Muse and Musician agreement. Is that no longer the case?”
Phoenix cursed under his breath … because yes, that’s exactly what he’d told himself, too—and the label. But now? Now it felt like so much more.
It felt like … everything?
With no time to fully process his emotions—much less try to feel out Addie’s—he was basically flying by the seat of his leather pants.
“Using her as your Muse, dating her, or fucking her. I don’t give a shit.
” Kinkaid came around the desk, red-faced and fuming.
“It’s in your best interest to end it. As far as I’m concerned, she’s not fulfilling her end of the agreement.
Cut all ties now and the label will think about fronting the money to get someone straight from Muse Academy. Someone legitimate.”
“Not interested.”
“Phoenix,” Marcus hissed.
“Not interested in what, exactly?” Kinkaid demanded.
“Ending it. Cutting ties. Muse Academy.” Phoenix looked the exec dead in the eye. “Is that all? Because I have somewhere else I’d rather be.”
Roger Kinkaid looked ten seconds away from blowing his top. “Contract or not, Phoenix, you should remember that the label won’t hesitate to do what’s necessary to protect its interests.”
Phoenix didn’t hang around to listen to more. He stalked from the office and went straight for the elevator, Marcus catching up to him right when the doors opened.
“What the fuck—” Marcus started.
Phoenix snapped.
Fisting his manager’s shirt, he pushed him hard against the wall, making sure he had his attention. “If you ever—and I mean ever—touch my shit without express permission, I will make you swallow your own fucking teeth. Do you get me?”
“You weren’t exactly being forthcoming about the new music,” Marcus blustered. “I had to—”
“Never. Again.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Phoenix released Marcus and his feet dropped back to the ground. “Fucking hell. Hope you know that Kinkaid was serious back there. He and his people will do anything to protect their investments—and like it or not, that includes you.”
The second the elevator door opened, Phoenix stepped inside and counted down the floors until he could get the hell out of there.
Kinkaid could kiss his backside.
He may have invested in the Stone Talons and Naughty Nix, but he sure as hell had no rights to Phoenix Cross.
That bastard wasn’t giving up Adalyn Whitlock without one hell of a fucking fight.