blankly.
“It’s a good one. You’ve heard of their bands, I promise you.”
“Let’s see.” I pull out my phone and google it. “Oh, wow! Red Card Riot, 2Real, Laila Fitzgerald, Danger Doctor Jones, 22 Goats! Holy crap, Troy!”
“Yep. They didn’t have all those bands when I signed. The guy who owns the label was planning to build his entire label on my band, Red Card Riot, 2Real, and Danger Doctor Jones.”
I point to a photo of Reed on my phone, my heart aching at how excruciatingly handsome he is in the shot. “Is this the guy who screwed you over?”
“Yup. That’s him. Reed Rivers. Fucking dick.”
Despite everything, hearing Reed’s name sends butterflies racing into my belly. “Yeah, that guy looks like he’d be a fucking dick.”
Troy chuckles. “He’s more than a dick, actually. He’s a fucking psychopath.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “A psychopath? In what way?”
Troy pauses. “I’m actually not allowed to talk about this in any detail. I sued that guy’s ass after he shelved my album, and we reached a confidential settlement. If I say too much, and it gets back to him, I’ll owe him a shit-ton of money.”
“Whoa. You sued him? You’re such a baller.”
Troy looks enamored with himself. “Yep. I brought that bastard to his knees.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m dying to hear this story. Something tells me it’s super-hot.” I bite my lower lip suggestively. “Hey, aren’t lawsuits public record?”
“Yeah...?”
“So, you’re allowed to tell me stuff that’s already in the public record. You can’t get in trouble for doing that, if it’s right there for anyone to find it.”
Troy considers that logic for a beat. “Good point.”
He empties his beer bottle, and I order him another one. We talk some more. I flirt and laugh and nudge him a bit. And, soon, hallelujah, the floodgates open for me. Blah, blah, blah, Troy says, telling me everything I already know from reading his lawsuit, except for a few noticeable edits. First off, he refers to the “unnamed woman” as “the record guy’s ex-girlfriend.” Which, again, makes me think it has to be Isabel. And, second off, seeing as how he’s trying to pick me up, Troy gallantly says he “hooked up with” Reed’s ex, rather than explicitly saying they had sex. “And the next thing I knew,” Troy says, “the bitch went straight to Reed and told him we’d hooked up, and that’s when all hell broke loose. The guy went fucking psycho on me!”
My mind is racing. Reed’s ex went straight to Reed after fucking Troy, huh? Now, why would she do that? Could it be she’d only screwed Troy to make Reed jealous? “How did the record label guy go psycho? What’d he do?”
“He dropped my band from his label, shelved our album and music video, and totally blackballed me in the industry, so I couldn’t get signed anywhere else, or hired for any tours or festivals.”
I gasp like I’m shocked. “What a dick!”
“Yep.”
So, is Troy going to mention Reed beating his ass, too? He made a huge thing about that in his lawsuit, after all. Or does he not want me imagining that smoking hot record label guy kicking his emo ass? “Is that everything the label guy did to you? Anything else?”
“I think he did more than enough. Don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. I just mean, how did he blackball you? What did he say?”
Troy takes a drink of his beer. “Oh, you know. He just talked a bunch of shit about me to all his powerful friends in the music industry.”
I scoff. “None of it true?”
“Nope.”
“What a jerk.”
Hmm. Troy just lied to me. I believe most of what he’s told me about Reed, actually... but something about this thing—the blackballing—doesn’t ring true to me. I can’t imagine Reed picking up the phone and spreading flat-out lies about Troy. Reed cares too much about his reputation and name to do something like that. But then again, Reed is a scorched-earth kind of guy. And he did settle with Troy, so who knows how far Reed might have taken his vendetta.
Troy babbles for a bit longer, about how great his band was and how big they would have been if Reed hadn’t been such a wack job asshole psychopath who thought he “owned” his ex-girlfriend’s body for eternity. And while Troy talks, I google Reed on my phone, pretending to get up to speed.
When a photo of Reed and Isabel lands on my screen, I gasp. “Wait. This guy dated Isabel Randolph? She’s my favorite!” I look