Page 125 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

We were never here and this meeting never happened.

I look at Priscilla as she perches herself on the edge of Monroe’s desk, her handbag draped across her lap.

His cellphone rings, prompting a groan from Monroe as he rounds the desk. “I’ve been fielding calls all morning,” he says as he silences it. “Knox and the boys made quite the stir in Boston last night, didn’t they?”

Christian lowers into one of the two chairs waiting for us in front of the desk while I remain standing.

“Yes,” I say with a hard sigh. “They did.”

For a split second, Monroe appears sympathetic. He continues around his desk, stopping at a drink cart by the window. “Well, neither of us will have to deal with that for very much longer, hm?” He pours a splash of an amber-colored liquor into two old-fashioned glasses. With a drink in each hand, Monroe walks up to me and offers one. “To our new partnership,” he says. “And to leaving all that bullshit behind us once and for all.”

I accept the glass, but I don’t drink as he does. “I have questions first.”

Monroe nods. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” he says, amused. He rounds the desk again and sits down, placing his drink on a coaster next to his phone. “What would you like to know?”

“The truth,” I answer, still standing. “You had that bug planted on our bus. Why?”

Monroe opens his mouth to answer, then hesitates.

“I left my life behind to stand here today,” I say. “I left my family. If we’re really in this together, Mr. Monroe, then I have a right to know why.”

He tilts forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “The truth is, my contract with Sugar Sound came with a few strings attached.”

I look once at Priscilla, who offers a sly wink. “What strings?” I ask.

“There’s a lot of money to be made in this industry, but it’s as fleeting and temporary as fame itself.” He glances at Christian briefly. “Less competition meansmore.More fame. More money.”

I nod, understanding. “Less Criminal Records means more Electrics.”

“Oh. It’s more than that,” he says. “Less Criminal Records means less Midnite Music. You remove Criminal Records and—” He pinches air and yanks his hand back, pulling a phantom block from a tower. “It all comes down. Sure, they might stay afloat for a while with some barely legal pop princess or an aging old rockstar trying to reclaim his former glory, but they won’t recover. And if they do, well...” He smirks. “Under my leadership, underourleadership, Sugar Sound will have already overtaken them. But for that to happen, I had to first find out how to bring Criminal Records crumbling down.” He yanks another block. “It didn’t take long for me to figure out that’syou.”

I take a breath. It’s the same bullshit I’ve heard before.

It’s about time everyone else heard it, too.

Monroe exhales with another one of his heavy, oh-so-sympathetic sighs. “None of this is personal. It’s just business. Always has been. But if you want personal, then let me say this: I meant everything I told you in back in Chicago. You are a bright and talented young woman, and you deserve better than them.”

“And only you can provide that,” I finish for him.

“With Christian Myers signing on with you by his side, we’ll make Sugar Sound bigger than Midnite Music ever was.” He chuckles as he leans back in his fancy chair. “All’s fair in love, war, and music. I’m truly proud of you for finally seeing it that way.”

I turn my wrist slightly, allowing for the liquid to roll around in my glass as my thoughts do the same in my head.

Love. War. Music.

It doesn’t surprise me when Bronson pops into my head with each word.

Perhaps it should, but...

Filled with a strange yet sudden calmness, I set the glass down on his desk. “No, Paul,” I say, dropping the formality. “I’m not sure I do.”

Mr. Monroe frowns.

“I’m sorry,” I say as Priscilla pushes off the desk and joins me. “I’m afraid I have to decline your generous offer, but if it’s any comfort, it’s not business. I really just don’t like you.”

We spin on our heels together and walk toward the door.

“Jordan?” Monroe stands up, his voice rising as we ignore him. “Jordan!”

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