Chapter 70
GEORGINA
“Good night, everyone!” Troy says into his microphone. His blue eyes flicker to me, the same way they’ve been doing for the past hour and a half. “I’m Troy Eklund, and I’m here every Tuesday and Friday night! See you next time.”
There’s a smattering of half-hearted applause, the most energetic of it, coming from me.
Troy notices my enthusiastic clapping and raises his beer bottle to me from the stage.
So, of course, groupie that I am, I raise my beer to him in reply with a bold wink.
And that’s all it takes. After sliding his guitar into its case, Troy heads straight to me at the bar.
“Is this stool taken?” he asks.
“I was hoping you’d ask me that. Sit, please. I was supposed to meet a blind date tonight, and he never showed up. So I’ve been saving that stool for you.”
Troy settles onto the seat next to me. “That guy made the biggest mistake of his life, and he’ll never know it.” He raises his near-empty beer bottle toward the front door of the bar. “Thanks, dipshit! Whoever you are.”
I giggle and bat my eyelashes shamelessly. “I think we’re both feeling grateful to that dipshit for standing me up. Here’s to silver linings.”
We clink.
“What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Georgina. You’re Troy?”
He nods. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Mr. Blind Date picked the place.”
Troy raises his beer bottle toward the front door again. “Thanks again, dipshit! I owe you one!”
“Ha, ha, ha.” I laugh flirtatiously.
“You want another one?” he asks, motioning to my beer.
“No, thanks. I’m driving. But let me buy you another one to thank you for all that incredible music. Seriously, Troy, you’re amazing.” It’s the truth, actually. The guy is indisputably talented.
“Sure. I’ll take another one.”
I flag down the bartender and order his preferred beer and a club soda for me.
And then settle onto my stool as Troy proceeds to talk my ear off.
About himself. And how amazing he is. He tells me about his musical inspirations, not that I asked, and why he wrote such and such song he performed earlier, not that I remember it.
He talks about how he first realized he’s a natural on guitar.
Oh, and did I notice he has perfect pitch?
He tells me story after story about himself, and his talent, and his musical inspirations and philosophies, almost all of it unsolicited.
And never once does he ask me a goddamned thing about myself.
Which is why it takes all of ten minutes for me to realize, with certainty, he’s an arrogant asshole.
And not the good kind. Not like Reed. No, the kind I genuinely want to punch in the face.
When I manage to sneak in any words into Troy’s monologue, it’s obvious he’s only waiting for me to finish talking so he can say whatever he’s got cued up on the tip of his tongue.
When, against all odds, I’m able to sneak in a little joke or snarky comment, which I’ve done about four times, Troy’s chuckle isn’t sincere.
It’s made of tin. Nothing more than a ploy to get himself into my pants.
All of which makes me think about Reed, even more than usual.
I miss him so much, even though I’m bound and determined to hate him for what he did.
But, see, when I talk to Reed, he actually listens.
Mostly, anyway. Yes, occasionally, he sits there, smiling like a Cheshire cat while I’m talking, and it’s obvious he’s thinking I’m silly or amusing or fuckable.
But, at least, even at those times, he’s listening, even if his eyes are blazing with amusement or heat.
But this guy? His brain is an echo chamber, filled with nothing but self-congratulations.
Also, Reed always laughs at my jokes, no matter how stupid they might be.
And Reed’s laughter is always sincere. True, Reed is always thinking about getting into my pants, every bit as much as this guy is.
But it always feels with Reed like he’s as attracted to my brain and personality as my body.
That might not have been the case in the very beginning.
When Reed first saw me in the lecture hall, I know he wanted to bone me, based on nothing but animal attraction.
But I’d say the same thing about myself.
It certainly wasn’t Reed’s heart I wanted to bone in that lecture hall.
But by the end of our amazing week together, there was no doubt Reed wanted to “bone” my soul, along with my body, every bit as much as I wanted to bone his. Or, at least, that’s how it felt to me.
Also, who does this Troy dude think he is?
Reed has built an empire from scratch. He started with nothing and put everything on the line, because he believed in himself and his vision so much.
And then, through sheer force of will and talent and drive, Reed came out the other side a king.
That’s why Reed is an arrogant prick! Because he’s a legit god among men.
But what’s Troy’s excuse? What has he built from scratch?
Sure, Troy’s got a soulful voice and he plays guitar well.
And he’s definitely got that “I know you want to fuck me” smolder down pat.
But big whoop. Guys like him are a dime a dozen in this town.
For all Troy’s bragging, you’d think he’d cured cancer with his songs.
But Reed has literally been trying to cure cancer by donating huge amounts of money to cancer charities.
And yet, Reed never brags the way this guy keeps doing.
I only learned about most of Reed’s biggest accomplishments and awards and milestones from snooping through his memorabilia and reading up on him online.
Frankly, the more I sit here listening to Troy, the happier I am that Reed eviscerated him.
Reed plucked Troy, and his band, out of obscurity and helped them write and record a top-quality album.
Reed moved them to LA and opened his personal home to this little twat for months.
And this was a small house, too, so it’s not like Troy and his bandmates had their own wing of the house.
I’m sure they practically lived on top of each other.
Not to mention, Reed invested a ton of time and money in Troy’s band.
Probably, his whole heart, too, assuming those interactions I witnessed between Reed and 2Real in the studio were indicative of Reed’s usual contributions to his artists.
And Troy thanked Reed for all that by betraying him?
By fucking an “unnamed woman” Reed had been involved with?
I can’t imagine, after living with Reed for months, Troy didn’t know the “unnamed woman” had been involved with Reed.
There’s no way Troy didn’t know he was stabbing Reed in the back. But, obviously, he didn’t care.
I suddenly realize Troy is staring at me, like he’s expecting me to say something.
“Wow, you’re so amazing,” I say, figuring that’s a pretty safe thing to reply, no matter what he just finished saying. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re so amazing, I can’t believe you don’t have a deal with a record label. If you ask me, you should be headlining a world tour.”
“I had a record deal once, actually. A big one.”
Here we go. “That’s so cool! What happened?”
“Oh, you know. The music business is crazy.”
I wait, but that’s all he says. “Actually, no, I don’t know anything about the music industry.”
Troy shrugs. “The label holds all the power. No matter how talented you might be, the label can decide to shelve your debut album. And that’s that. You’re done.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. That’s terrible.”
“Yep. They have full control.”
“So, they shelved your album?”
He nods.
“But why would they do that for someone as talented as you? Don’t they want to make money, every bit as much as you do?”
“Not if the owner of the label decides he doesn’t like you for personal reasons and wants to fuck with you out of spite.
When that happens, when the owner of the label is a fucking dick, then you’re done, no matter how good the album is.
Because the contract says the label owns and controls the album, and has the absolute right not to release it, ever, if that’s what they decide to do. ”
“Holy hell. That sucks. What label was it?”
“River Records.”
I look at him blankly.
“It’s a good one. You’ve heard of their bands, I promise you.”
“Let’s see.” I pull out my phone and google it. “Oh, wow! Red Card Riot, 2Real, Laila Fitzgerald, Danger Doctor Jones, 22 Goats! Holy crap, Troy!”
“Yep. They didn’t have all those bands when I signed. The guy who owns the label was planning to build his entire label on my band, Red Card Riot, 2Real, and Danger Doctor Jones.”
I point to a photo of Reed on my phone, my heart aching at how excruciatingly handsome he is in the shot. “Is this the guy who screwed you over?”
“Yup. That’s him. Reed Rivers. Fucking dick.”
Despite everything, hearing Reed’s name sends butterflies racing into my belly. “Yeah, that guy looks like he’d be a fucking dick.”
Troy chuckles. “He’s more than a dick, actually. He’s a fucking psychopath.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “A psychopath? In what way?”
Troy pauses. “I’m actually not allowed to talk about this in any detail. I sued that guy’s ass after he shelved my album, and we reached a confidential settlement. If I say too much, and it gets back to him, I’ll owe him a shit-ton of money.”
“Whoa. You sued him? You’re such a baller.”
Troy looks enamored with himself. “Yep. I brought that bastard to his knees.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m dying to hear this story. Something tells me it’s super-hot.” I bite my lower lip suggestively. “Hey, aren’t lawsuits public record?”
“Yeah...?”
“So, you’re allowed to tell me stuff that’s already in the public record. You can’t get in trouble for doing that, if it’s right there for anyone to find it.”
Troy considers that logic for a beat. “Good point.”