In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(97)
“That was my fault…all of it,” I say.
I should have protected her, made John give her time to think the deal through. Noah’s only response to me is a knowing chuckle. John’s ruthless, and I thought that was just his pathway to success, and it would be fine to travel on it. I never wanted it to derail Murphy though. Or maybe I just didn’t care at first, too blinded by what signing her would mean for me.
“If I had a nickel for every artist he’s screwed over that has come my way,” Noah says.
“Yeah, well…I hear he’s trying to put out a few rap artists, so be ready for those calls soon,” I joke, not completely.
The laughter on the other end comes hard and fast. My guess is Noah’s opinion is the same as mine—John Maxwell should stay in his lane, the one that made him famous. R&B is going to burn him, and if what Murphy told me about the butchered mashup they tried with her song is any indication, he’s not going to survive the fire.
“There’s only one artist that’s fallen through his fingers that I’m interested in, but I don’t deal with people who aren’t serious, Casey. I work hard, and I need my partners to be one hundred percent committed. And I don’t beg. I’ve got too many people waiting in line. If your girl isn’t ready, I don’t want to waste my time. If I don’t hear from her in the next week or so, I’m going to have to pass,” Noah says, the laughter dead. He’s serious about Murphy, and I can’t let her mess this chance up. It could make everything right.
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” I say, and my eyes scan the quiet lawn, my mother and I the only two left here as the sun begins to fall.
“You do that, and maybe we sit down and talk about you again sometime, huh?” he adds. I’m sure it’s only to sweeten the pot, and for a brief moment, the hook is enticing. I’m flattered, and there’s that familiar pull—that selfish one that thinks this could be a ticket. Then I catch my mother’s gaze, her gentle smile sending me a sign she doesn’t realize.
“Thanks for the offer, Noah. It means a lot, but like you said…you don’t want to waste your time, and I think my next move is going to be completely on my own,” I say, and for once, I think I mean it—and the leap? It doesn’t scare me at all. Nothing can be as hard as everything I’ve survived.
* * *
My seed money isn’t much, and I need every penny I can get. That’s the only reason I’m sticking around for three more weeks of making John Maxwell’s club look like the shit. This is all I am to him now—the link to his club’s long-term success. I’ve made it the buzz. I’ve created the ambience. I’ve given him enough hype. I’m done working for him. Leather booths and city lights out the windows are all well and good, but I’m the one who has been making people feel good when they were here.
I haven’t been in to the main studios for a week because of my family, and I know at this point, turning in my badge is really just a formality. They don’t care if I’m there. When Murphy didn’t work out, they wrote me off too, because she was my pet project—an indicator of what I could bring to the table.
John sums her up as trouble, and that’s what he thinks I’m good for.
Fine by me.
I love trouble. Maybe I should have made more of it. I amuse myself with thoughts of causing a little mayhem at his club tonight, but I also know that the amount he’s on tap to pay me for the rest of my gigs is money I can’t laugh away, so I’ll play nice. Besides, when he moves on to someone else hosting his big Friday evenings at the end of the summer, people aren’t going to be talking about this place as much as they’re going to be looking for the next one to find me at. I’m going to make sure of that. For the next three weeks, I’m going to make the people in that club feel like they’ve had orgasms just by standing on my dance floor. I will be the brand they remember. And when I’m no longer there, they’re going to miss me. I sell heroine for the ears of the twenty-something masses. They will all be addicted if they aren’t already.
I need more gigs of this caliber, and that’s just a simple fact. If I want to move my goals from things on paper stored in a box—to reality—it’s going to take a lot of money. I’m a bit of a jumbled mess, and there are a lot of stars that need to align, but I’m beginning to believe in them. Time is a constant, and I’m willing to wait through it.
Murphy’s career, on the other hand, needs to begin now. I feel it in my gut. I owe her. I can’t let the bad experience she had derail something so perfect. The world would resent me for it if they ever knew what they missed hearing. But I know that means I’m going to have to let her go. And while I may talk a big game in my head, I’m not so sure I can do it when faced with losing the one thing that has felt like future and home.
When she walks in to Max’s, she stands tall, ready to support me and hold me up after what was easily the worst week of my life. One look at her grays, and I vow to do whatever it takes to be fine on my own. I catch glimpses of her smile as she approaches, and my feet itch to go to her and pick her up in my arms. If I do, though, I won’t let go, and I won’t tell her to take this chance. I’ll be selfish.
“Why didn’t you call Noah?” I ask, stopping her mid-step on her way into my booth. Her mouth is hard set and her eyes are on the floor. I had to ask first, before her lips said hello and before I got lost in that feeling I get when she’s near. I had to broach the subject, because Noah has a deadline.