Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,23
will be pretending to be there to celebrate a vodka brand no one’s ever heard of, but the real purpose is to schmooze. You don’t have to do much. Just smile, mingle, and act suitably impressed by their latest Instagram posts, their flawless skin, and their ability to consume subpar cocktail concoctions. I’ll be looking for a reliable distributor. A couple of industry agents who interface with the teams at Apple and at satellite radio stations will be there. It’s a big deal. It’s in a couple of weeks and—”
“Back up a sec. Who is this blogger, and what are we supposed to say?”
“Her name is Petra Palovich. She’s actually a freelance writer for a few influential review sites. You don’t have to do anything. Just show a united front. She likes your music, and that story is old news. As long as you don’t give her any new ammunition, you’re golden. We need people like her to promote you. So, please…try to get along, okay? I have to go.” Charlie paused to kiss Ky on his way to the door. “Go do all the musical things, boys. Later!”
The room was eerily quiet for a long moment; then a few conversations broke out simultaneously in an almost feverish attempt to cover up the awkward. Bobby J continued his embellished baseball tales with Johnny, Ky and Gill discussed the surf this morning…while Justin and I stared at each other warily. I sipped my coffee and let the friendlier voices in the room take over, hopefully drowning out the accusing vibe between Justin and me.
Bobby J jostled my cup as he stood and stretched his arms above his head. “See you in the studio, chief.”
I nodded absently but kept my gaze on Justin. He gave a friendly fist bump or two as everyone filed out of the room before pulling out his cell and lowering his head. Justin was a tricky bastard. As much as I would have loved to join my guys in the studio so I could smooth over any awkward questions and get to work, it looked like I had some unfinished business here.
Justin looked up when we were alone. He set his phone on the table, steepled his fingers, and fixed me with a pointed look.
“Why did he agree to play with you? Seems fishy.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I countered.
“I did. He’s keeping his reasons to himself. So I guess I’ll have to go along with the majority on this one. I’m not interested in doing you favors, but it’s probably good for business. I’d hate to give you the impression that I trust you or that I personally give a shit about you. I don’t and I never will.”
“You made that perfectly clear.”
“I didn’t tell any secrets. That was Charlie and like he said, you can google that shit now. When we’re famous, that old scandal isn’t going to be on a defunct blog site. It’ll be on Wikipedia. I wonder if we’ll all laugh about it then,” he taunted.
“Right. Well, it looks like we’re off to a good start,” I snarked, flashing a phony smile before heading for the door. Fuck this. I needed music. Not a crappy walk down memory lane. “We need a few hours of Tegan’s time today and—”
“He can’t do it today.” Justin stood and slipped his cell into his pocket.
I furrowed my brow and gestured toward the table. “We all just agreed that we were going to get this over with. Where is he anyway?”
“On his way.” Justin rounded the table and set his hand on the doorjamb, effectively making himself a human obstacle. “He texted me a minute ago. He’s running late. I told him to take his time. But when he gets here, he’s ours for the day. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Fucking fantastic. The guy gets here early every damn day, but he decides to pull the rock-star card today. Of course.”
“It’s not like that at all. He’s dealing with some personal stuff and—”
“Like what? Did he run out of his favorite body gel or something?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “That might throw him off, but no…it was a little more important than that.”
“Right. Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure we all agreed that getting our bands and this label up and running is all that matters. Everything is time sensitive.”
“I know, but—”
“Then what’s more important than this?”
“Cancer, asshole,” he growled, stepping into my space.