Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(79)

“Wait.” I’m already under contract with them on that album and have been for nearly three years. “I don’t understand.”

“I did a little renegotiating.” She smiles evilly. “I said we might not sue if they improve your terms and then launch the sucker. You’re getting a little better royalty rate and a guaranteed release within five weeks. They are suddenly very eager to launch the record.”

“But…why?” They didn’t care before.

“Your old contract has something called a fiduciary duty clause. It means that the record label is supposed to do everything they can to increase your income. Even with them sitting on your album it was going to be—”

“—too hard to prove they mishandled me. I remember.”

“But when the head of your label is arrested for poisoning your fucking drink, it’s suddenly really easy to prove that they’re not looking after your best interests. If Brett is convicted, we’ll win our suit with no problem. But it will still take a year or more in court.”

Becky squeals. “That’s why they’re in a hurry to launch. This is good, right?”

“Exactly,” Charla says. “Unless Delilah wants to sue the fuckers. It’s really her call.”

I consider my options for about a second and a half. “Let’s launch the album and cash their checks,” I say. “The music matters more than my anger. They can’t have album number three, though.”

Charla waves a dismissive hand. “No shit, Sherlock. The suitors are lining up already. I would never let you sign a contract that obligated you like that.”

“Thank God for Charla,” Becky whispers.

Indeed.

I look out at the ocean again, and marvel at the twisty path that’s led me here. “I want to sign the renegotiation with MetroPlex,” I say. “Let’s just end this.”

“Smart girl. And I didn’t even have to drug you.” She pulls a folder out of her bag. “Too soon for that joke?”

“Too soon,” Becky agrees quickly.





Silas





“What’s with the long face?” Danny asks as he hands my takeout order over the counter. “Your girl is recovering, right? And now the whole world knows what we’ve always known.”

“That Oakland is an under-appreciated baseball team?”

Danny smirks. “That Brett Ferris is a weasel, a cheat, and a psychopath.”

“Yeah, but he’s already out on bail. She needs an order of protection against him. And I’m supposed to get on a plane tomorrow morning.” Leaving Delilah again? I don’t know if I can do that right now.

“Ah. No wonder you look so unhappy.” He hands me my credit card slip. “Hang in there. You exposed that fucker this time. The whole town is talking about him. He can’t show his face in town soon.”

I sign my name and hand back the receipt. Everything Danny says is true, but it doesn’t make me rest any easier. “See you around?”

“A guy can hope. You playing the Sharks anytime soon? I’ll hit up StubHub.”

“I’ll find you some tickets, I promise. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, man. Take it easy.”

As if I knew how.

I’m brooding as I carry our dinner to the hotel. The nighttime air is California-sweet with a salty taste, but I can’t enjoy it. Halfway there, I stop and pull out my phone to text Bess, my agent. What happens if I don’t get on that plane tomorrow?

Her response is a phone call about thirty seconds later. “Silas, you have to get on that plane. The organization will fine you.”

“Money doesn’t matter to me right now.”

She makes an impatient noise. “You know it’s not right to do that to your team. It’s bad for morale. Buddy, if someone died, they’d give you a little time…”

“Bess! Jesus.” My stomach rolls.

“She didn’t,” Bess says softly. “Everything is going to be fine. And that’s why your butt needs to be on that flight tomorrow. Don’t even push your flight back, okay? Not even a few hours. She’s not the only one who’s depending on you. It’s too early in your career to be a diva.”

I know she’s right. And I don’t want to let anybody down. But after we hang up, I don’t feel any better. When I reach the hotel, I ride the elevator to the penthouse floor. In the hallway outside Delilah’s suite, there’s a new beefy bodyguard on duty. I don’t recognize him.

“ID, please,” he says.

I hand it over, happy to know they’re being cagey about who gets in to see her.

“Ah. Hello, Silas. This is for you.” He returns my ID along with a hotel keycard. “She may be napping. You’re supposed to wake her up.”

“Okay. Thanks, man.”

He actually salutes me. I hope he’s ex-military. I hope he’s a goddamn Navy SEAL. “You know what Brett Ferris looks like, right?”

“Like this?” He pulls something out of his back pocket, which proves to be a deck of photos, all of them of Brett in different settings, wearing different clothes.

“Yeah. I guess you got that covered. Later.”

He salutes again.