Love Song Page 8

  It was Sunday night. Rafe and Dion were at a band meeting with Vince, sans Nik. With Vince and Mom’s divorce, any contact between us and Vince was a tinderbox near an open flame. Nikki couldn’t avoid him completely, but she tried to limit her contact.

  I swiped at the sweat beading up on my water glass. “I don’t know, Nik. It was weird. Not at all what I expected. I thought he’d ask me to write a few songs for his artists maybe. But sing?” I shuddered. “That’s not me. That’s Presley.”

  “Spread those wings, girl,” Nik said, glancing toward the entryway as a whoosh of air came through the open door. Her back straightened when a guy in a suit walked in.

  The suit guy grinned at Nikki.

  “Oh, look,” she said, plastering on an extreme smile. “It’s Mike.”

  “Who’s Mike?” I asked.

  “Mike,” she said, and I followed her eyes. “See, he’s coming over this way.”

  “Who the hell is Mike?”

  “The guy, that guy,” she said.

  “Nikki,” he said, stretching his arms out, before she could explain.

  Nik’s smile widened. “Mike!”

  Mike slid into the horseshoe-shaped booth across from Nikki. I picked up my soda—I’d partaken a lot more than usual since the mom debacle, so today I was teetotaling—and chewed on the straw to keep myself from laughing.

  “You’re Jett, right?” he asked.

  I glanced over at Nikki, who was beaming, and said the first thing that popped into my head. “Um.”

  “I’m Mike,” he said, and his eyebrows slipped up his forehead like I was supposed to recognize him. “Mike Delano?”

  Nik slapped her forehead and mouthed “Delano” at me.

  I ignored her. “Sorry. Do we know each other?”

  “I was a staff lawyer at Grimm Records,” he said. “We met just before you went out on tour with Rogue.”

  “Right,” I said. Honestly, I had no idea who he was. He looked like any other industry dude in LA. The day the tour bus pulled out of the Grimm Records parking lot, about fifty of these look-alikes had converged around Vince and Gary.

  Nikki picked up the conversation from there. She shared how they were trying to arrange a small listening party to preview some tracks from the in-progress Rogue Nation album. I tuned them out, my mind wandering to night before last, after I’d come back with the big news about my meeting with Bobby Gee. Rafe and I had had takeout again, killed too much wine, and ended up working on another song. For the second time, I crashed in his bed again. This time, his arm had held me tight against his body, and I hadn’t bothered fighting it. It was the wine. Definitely.

  Nikki’s voice brought me back to her conversation. “A few weeks ago, Mike hung out his own shingle. Left Grimm. He’s a free agent.”

  My ears pricked up. “Really? You’re a lawyer, and you left Grimm?”

  Nikki kicked me under the table. “Yeah, he’s a lawyer. In private practice.”

  She widened her eyes like she was letting me in on some big secret.

  “Funnily enough, I could use one of you,” I said.

  Before I could elaborate, Nik clapped her hands together and launched in. “Bobby Gee—yes, the Bobby Gee, as in Gary Grimm’s nemesis—offered her a solo contract. She needs a lawyer who isn’t tied up with Grimm Records, given our complete family history and shit.”

  My elation turned to disappointment. “But you’re tied up with Grimm.”

  “Was tied up. Not anymore,” he said. “And I can’t say I exited on the best of terms.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked. Nik kicked my shin under the table. I shot a look at her, but she shook her head no.

  Mike looked between the two of us and grinned. “Sorry, Nik’s right. I can’t talk about it. NDA. But yes, I’d be happy to negotiate with En Fuego on your behalf.”

  “I have no money to pay you,” I blurted out. “I mean, it depends on the contract. Right now, I’m flat broke.”

  Mike smiled. He was cute in a buttoned-up lawyer sort of way. Short sandy hair, gray eyes with slight laugh lines drawn around them. He looked kind for a lawyer. “I can wait until you get your payout. I’m just starting out too. I get it.”

  Maybe a kind lawyer wasn’t what I wanted.

  “Are you this nice when you negotiate?” I asked.

  He burst out laughing. “No, trust me. When it comes to my clients getting the money they deserve, I’m an asshole.” His face went dead serious. “Remember, I was corporate council for a few years. I know what these labels pull in from album sales, tours, merch. I know how they undercut the artists every single time. I know how labels write the contracts so they own your soul. Hell, I was the one writing those contracts.”

  “So you know what to look out for,” I said.

  “And I also know where to find the loopholes and where to write our own in,” he said. “I wish I could represent Rogue, but that noncompete is ironclad. But representing you? That’s as good as having Rogue, probably even better.”

  “Better?” I asked.

  “One, you’re new. Everyone loves new. And two, you’re talented. Satan’s Sisters was the most interesting part of the tour. More interesting than Rogue. No offense, Nik.” She waved her hand at him in a no-offense-taken gesture. “And that’s because of your songwriting. So, given all this, I think we’ll be spending a lot of time together.” Nikki giggled, and Mike’s ears turned pink. “Negotiating deals, I mean.”

  “That’s really kind of you to say,” I said, feeling my own ears go hot. “I’d appreciate it if you would look over the contract.”

  “Look over? No. I’m negotiating.”

  I didn’t think there was much to negotiate. I needed Bobby Gee more than he needed me. But I wasn’t the lawyer here, that was Mike. I’d have to trust him.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “My office and cell numbers are on there. Have Gee’s people send the paperwork over to me. Call me tomorrow, and we’ll go over the details. Maybe we can grab dinner sometime?”

  I took the card from his outstretched hand. “I’m not sure what time I’m done with Bobby tomorrow. But I’ll call.”

  “Great,” he said, standing up, his eyes holding mine long enough that his ears went from pink to red. “Talk tomorrow, then.”

  “I swear, for all your book smarts, you sure are thick,” Nikki said, her eyes following Mike as he dodged busy servers on his way to the bar. “The guy was asking you out. And you just blew him off!”

  I wrinkled my nose. “He was not. He was talking about negotiating my contract.”

  Nikki sighed. “You don’t negotiate over a candlelit dinner.”

  “He said nothing about candles. Besides, he’ll probably expense that dinner back to me,” I said. Nikki’s eyes shot toward the ceiling. “And anyway, I’m too busy to date. I have songs to write and… oh God,” I moaned, slumping low in the booth. “I have to sing them too.”

  “You want to order that drink now?” Nikki asked, looking around for the waiter.

  “No,” I said, going over tomorrow’s schedule in my head. I didn’t have to be at En Fuego until later in the afternoon, but I wanted to look for my own place. I hoped Mike could negotiate a fast advance. Guess we’d cover that at dinner. A dinner that I was definitely making him expense back to me.

  “Well, I think you should consider Mike a contender,” Nikki said.

  “Mike who is a contender for what?” Dion’s voice surprised us both.

  He dropped into the booth beside Nikki and deep throated her. I squirmed and averted my eyes—their PDA made me feel so awkward.

  My gaze turned to the outline of Rafe’s cut midsection, his vintage Mickey Mouse T-shirt stretched tight against his abs. I forced my eyes to look up when I noticed he’d paired the T-shirt with skintight red leather pants. I knew those pants, and they were snug in all the right places.

  Shit.

  On Saturday morning, Rafe had flashed me the peace sign and then split with an overn
ight bag again. By this morning, a picture of him and Reesie arguing on Broome Street in New York City’s SoHo was a trending topic on social media.

  “Remember Mike from legal?” Nikki asked when she finally came up for air. “He’s got his own law practice now.”

  Dion’s right eyebrow went up. “Mike from legal? I could see that.”

  “Mike from legal is a contender for what?” Rafe asked. He gave me a little nudge with his leather-encased pelvis. “Shove over.”

  He sat down before I could scooch over completely, and his left leg pressed into my right. So I scooched a little more. His body followed. Since I’d be in Nikki’s lap if I moved any farther, I tucked my elbows into my body and tried to make myself small.

  “He asked Jett to dinner,” Nikki said, her eyebrows wiggling.

  “It’s not like—” I started.

  “You should go,” Dion interrupted. “Mike’s a good guy. Smart college guy. Like you. You’d probably hit it off.”

  “You’ve got it wrong,” I said, glancing at Rafe. He was scanning the restaurant. I noticed his eyes lingered on a woman with giant boobs, just like the diner waitress he screwed. I crossed my arms over my own A-cups and angled my body away from him. “He’s just helping me out with something.”

  Rafe leaned across me and grabbed my drink. He plucked out my chewed-flat straw and helped himself to a sip. Then his perfect face twisted in a grimace. “Damn, this is just soda.”

  He wasn’t even phased that Mike had maybe asked me out. And why should he be, right? He had Reesie.

  “What did you think it was?” I snapped.

  Okay, maybe it did upset me.

  The three of them looked at me.

  “What’s crawled up your ass?” Rafe asked. “You said the meeting with Bobby went well. He did too.”

  My lip twisted up. “Did he now? And why would he discuss it with you?”

  “Because I made the introduction,” Rafe said.

  “Bobby?” Dion asked, looking between the two of us.

  “Bobby Gee,” Rafe said.

  “Jett was meeting with Bobby Gee for what exactly?” Dion asked.

  “A songwriting gig,” Rafe said, his matter-of-fact tone daring Dion to challenge him.

  “Why didn’t she meet with Grimm?”

  “Because Grimm’s an idiot,” Rafe said. “He thinks his roster can get by on sex appeal rather than talent.”

  I slumped lower down into the booth at his backhanded compliment. Rafe thought I was talented with zero sex appeal. Got it. Great.

  “You realize we are on that roster, right?” Dion’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “So, Rogue has sex appeal but no talent? And Anthem too?”

  “Anthem’s a bit long in the tooth for the sex appeal,” Nik pointed out.

  “You know what I mean,” Rafe said, crossing his arms. “How many women has Grimm signed who have actual talent?”

  “Presley?” I squeaked out.

  “She can sing, but she needs someone to write her songs. That’s not exactly career longevity.”

  “Okay, then what about Reesie?” Dion asked.

  My body shrank deeper into the pleather booth.

  “Reesie’s not signing with Grimm,” Rafe said.

  “Is that why you keep going to New York?” Dion asked.

  Rafe’s mouth tightened. “Leave Reesie out of this, okay?”

  “Right. No talent or sex appeal,” Dion said under his breath. “Maybe we better stop talking about this, because it’s seriously pissing me off.”

  “Look, all I’m saying is Bobby knows what to do with someone like Jett,” Rafe said. “Grimm has no fucking idea.”

  Someone like Jett? As in someone with no talent or sex appeal?

  “Actually,” I said, sitting up straighter, “my meeting with Bobby went quite well. That’s why I’m having dinner with Mike. He’s going to negotiate the contract.”

  “Told you,” Rafe said. “Did Bobby say what artist he was pairing you with?”

  “He’s not pairing me with any artist,” I said, angling my chin up. “He wants me to sing.”

  Rafe’s mouth dropped open. “He wants you to what?”

  “Sing,” Nikki said. “Like, he wants her to record her own songs.”

  “But that wasn’t the deal,” Rafe said.

  “What do you mean, the deal?” I demanded, raising my voice over the surrounding chatter. The late-night rush was picking up.

  Dion massaged his scalp with his hand and looked between me and Rafe. “You should’ve known. Dude.”

  “Known what?” I asked.

  Dion was staring at Rafe. “Dude…”

  “What?” Rafe asked testily.

  “You pairing Jett with Bobby?” Dion asked. Rafe scowled at him. “You know his reputation.”

  I glanced around for the waiter, feeling the sudden need for something stiffer than a cola. “What reputation?”

  “No, you know, rep-u-ta-tion,” Dion said. I shook my head at him, and he released a frustrated sigh. “Like the reputation I had, before Nik and me…” He leaned into her and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

  “He’s a player,” Rafe agreed. “I just didn’t think he’d want to play in your sandbox.”

  A flush of anger washed over me, and my face went hot. “And what’s wrong with my sandbox?” I asked while I flagged down our waiter. I handed him my half-empty glass of soda. “Gin and tonic, please.”

  Rafe puffed out a breath. “There is nothing wrong with your sandbox. You’re just not his type, that’s all I meant.”

  Indignation built like a ball of fire in my chest. “And what exactly is his type?”

  Rafe shot Dion a pleading look. “Help a brother out, man.”

  Nikki’s laugh was close to a bark. “Yeah, help him out, Dion. I want to hear this one.” She relaxed against the banquette, sipping her margarita and looking smug.

  Dion gave Rafe a sour look. “Well, for starters, he usually likes blondes.”

  Nikki raised her eyebrows. “And?”

  “She’s a ginger,” he stalled.

  “What else?” I pressed.

  Dion glanced between me and my sister. “He likes ’em stacked.”

  “Like that one over there,” Rafe added, nodding toward the busty woman at the other end of the dining room.

  “Those aren’t even real,” I snapped.

  “Some guys don’t like natural,” Dion said with a shrug.

  “Do you like natural?” Nikki challenged him.

  “Babe, I love you,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at his non-answer. “And I think your tits are perfect.” He kissed her hard for good measure.

  “Oh God, we’re in public,” I said through gritted teeth. I averted my eyes by looking around for the waiter. Where the hell was my drink?

  “This is so embarrassing,” I groused as the waiter placed a gin and tonic in front of me.

  The waiter cleared his throat to get Dion’s attention. “Will the gentlemen be ordering anything this evening?”

  Dion came up for air. “Burger? Rare?”

  “Same,” Rafe said, handing over their unread menus. The guys hung out here enough that they didn’t need them. “And two beers. Coronas with lime.”

  “Very good,” the waiter said, taking the menus.

  “I don’t even know why we are having this conversation,” I said when the waiter was out of earshot. “He didn’t come on to me at all. Not even a little. He was a perfect gentleman.”

  “He was,” Nikki said, leaning into the table. “Obviously, the guy recognizes talent.”

  “Which is why I sent you to him in the first place,” Rafe said. “But this…”

  I bristled. “What this? Would it be so weird if he saw something special in me?”

  “No, of course not—”

  “Then why do you assume he’s just doing this just to screw me?” I said, my voice going up. A few heads turned in our direction.

  “I’m not,” Rafe said. “I want
you to be careful, that’s all. Go in with your eyes open.”

  “My eyes are wide open,” I said. I took a large gulp of my drink, and the gin burned the back of my throat. It was a heavy pour. “And all I see is that you think I am a flat-chested, hideous, no talent hack.”

  “I never said that,” Rafe said, his voice raised. “You are the most talented songwriter I know.”

  “Yeah, with no tits,” I snapped. The gin was going to my head a bit.

  “Tits have nothing to do with talent,” Nikki said.

  “According to these two, they do,” I argued.

  Dion slapped his hands down on the table and leaned toward me. “Do not put words in my mouth. I never said that.” He took a breath before continuing, his voice softer. “Look, Jett, we care about you. You’ve been dealing with some serious shit lately. Pamela upended your whole life.”

  “Uh, yeah, and so did Vince,” I pointed out. He wasn’t off the hook.

  Dion leaned back. “We just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” I said with a scowl.

  Rafe’s eyes softened. “Jett, Bobby said nothing to me about this scheme. We just talked about your songwriting. It just took me by surprise. I want to make sure he’s not messing with you.”

  “What kind of brothers would we be if we didn’t ask questions?” Dion asked.

  “Yeah, what kind of brothers?” Rafe echoed.

  I pushed the ice around in my glass with the swizzle stick, ignoring the feeling of disappointment that sat in the pit of my stomach. What if they were right? It wasn’t like you had to be beautiful to get played. “It’s not like he yelled ‘Hubba hubba’ at me. He was actually polite.”

  Rafe made a face. “Bobby? Polite?”

  “Yeah, he’s, like, a Zen master surfer dude. Not at all what I expected,” I admitted.

  Rafe raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, well, Zen master surfer dude is cutthroat, don’t forget that.”

  “That’s why I have Mike.”

  Rafe’s expression went dour. “Maybe you should get a more seasoned lawyer.”

  “I’m sticking with Mike,” I said. My knowledge of lawyers rivaled my knowledge of quantum physics. Pretty much zero. “He worked for Grimm, actively screwing artists out of money. He knows exactly what to look for.”