A Very Merry Bromance (Bromance Book Club #5) (8)

“Good to see you,” Saul said, shaking Colton’s hand with a finger-crushing squeeze. “Glad you could make it in to get this thing figured out.”

Nervous sweat pooled under Colton’s arms. Get this thing figured out? What the hell did that mean? Before he could ask, though, Saul directed everyone to sit with a stern, “Let’s get started.”

Buck gave Colton a reassuring pat on the back as they walked to the table, but it had the opposite effect. As soon as they sat down, Colton held out his palm. “Give me some of those.”

Buck dumped a half-dozen chalky tablets into Colton’s hand.

Saul cleared his throat. Everyone else sat. Executives opened their notebooks. Archie projected something onto the screen behind Saul. And not a single one of them met Colton’s eyes.

“Just so we’re on the same page as we get started, let’s review where we stand,” Saul said.

The twinge of alarm became a knot in his stomach. That wasn’t the kind of language someone used when they were about to congratulate an artist for their future chart-topper.

“Archie, take us through Colton’s latest contract and where we’re at.”

What? Why the hell were they reviewing his contract? Colton’s eyes narrowed as the screen displayed a bullet point of the major terms of his last deal. “I’m sorry, but what the hell is happening here?”

“I’m sorry?” Saul asked.

“I’m well aware of the particulars of my contract, and so is everyone else in this room. What are you leading up to?”

Archie cleared his throat. Saul leaned back in his chair and smoothed his tie. “Colton, we are all invested in your success.”

Invested in your success. A phrase that somehow conveyed the opposite. “Stop dancing around the damn point. Did you like the new stuff or not?”

“No.”

The word was like a broken string in the middle of a song. A sour note followed by the sting of the thin wire against your arm. Next to him, Buck shot him a practiced look of Don’t freak out.

Too late. How the fuck was he supposed to not freak out over that? Colton’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he wished he’d taken them up on their repeated offers of water. “Would you mind telling me what you don’t like?”

Buck tried to interject. “Can I have a minute to talk to Colton—”

“It’s boring,” Saul said.

“Boring?” Indignation wrenched the word from Colton’s mouth like a pair of pliers.

“Colton,” Buck said, setting his hand on Colton’s arm. “Let me do the talking.”

“No,” Colton said. “I want to know what boring means.”

“Colton, you’ve always stood out as a distinctive talent in a sea of long-haired wannabes. But this—” Saul shook his head. “What you gave us sounds like you plugged some angsty keywords into songwriting software and added a few riffs for fun.”

The air whooshed from his lungs as if Saul had literally punched him in the stomach. He must have made a noise because Buck gave him a look that said, Shut up before you blow up your entire career.

Colton wheeled his cushy leather chair away from the table and stood. “I’ve given you everything. For twelve years, I’ve produced hit record after hit record. I’ve brought in untold millions of dollars to this label, sacrificed everything—”

“But what have you done for us today?” Saul interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“Your success is our success,” Saul continued. “But that means your failure is also our failure. And we cannot afford for you to put out something that is going to lose money. And to put it bluntly, there is not a single hit on this demo.”

Colton pinned Archie with a glare. “Did you know about this?”

“I did.”

Betrayal stole what was left of his oxygen.

“Saul is right,” Archie said. “I’m sorry, Colton. It pains me more than you know to say this to you. But what you’ve given us isn’t going to work. And I think you know that.”

“Airtime matters,” Saul said, as if Colton didn’t already know that. “There’s nothing on this demo that is going to get the airtime necessary to break into the top five.”

“Okay, let’s dial this down a notch,” Buck said. “Colton, sit down and let’s talk this out.”

He crossed his arms. “What’s there to talk about?”

“We’re not saying that these are not salvageable,” Archie said in a placating tone.

Colton rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“What are you suggesting?” Buck asked. “Because Colton is very passionate about his songs, and if you’re going to start dictating what an artist can and can’t say in his music, then we’ve got a bigger problem.”

“It’s not what you’re saying,” Archie said. “It’s how you’re saying it.”

“How do you want me to say it?” Colton’s voice rasped against his dry throat. Because he already knew the answer. They wanted easy. Meaningless. They wanted the barefoot, beer-guzzling beach bum. They wanted the country bro, the one thing Colton couldn’t be anymore.

“Let’s talk about solutions,” Archie offered.