Page 91 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

A few murmurs ripple through the room, but everyone settles down.

“We’ve been making great progress,” I say, addressing the room. “Ticket sales are strong, and the feedback from fans and the press has been overwhelmingly positive. But there’s room for improvement—especially with social media.”

I glance around the table, letting the weight of my words settle. “I know it’s not everyone’s favorite thing to do, but it’s critical for connecting with the fans and keeping the momentum going.”

Vince rolls his eyes and waves his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Do we really have to keep posting this crap? I mean, who cares if I share a picture of my breakfast?”

A few chuckles ripple through the group, but I don’t laugh.

“It’s not about just posting pictures,” I say, my patience already thinning. “It’s about engagement. Fans want to feel connected to you. They want to see who you are beyond the music. That connection is what builds loyalty.”

Vince scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “This whole social media thing is ridiculous. Why do we even have to bother?”

“No, Vince, it’s not ridiculous,” I shoot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “And the rest of the band doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. Have you seen your posts? They’re a disaster.” I say the words just slipping out.

Vince’s brows knit together, his scowl deepening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

"It means," I say, keeping my voice steady despite my frustration, "that if social media isn't your strong suit, maybe we should consider getting some professional help. What we're doing now isn't as effective as it could be."

Vince sits up straighter, defensive now. “My posts aren’t that bad.”

The room goes quiet, and everyone suddenly seems very interested in our exchange.

“Yes, they are,” I counter, crossing my arms. “Fans don’t care what you ate for breakfast. They want to know you—your passions. Right now, you’re not even trying to connect with them. If anything, your posts are hurting the band’s image.”

“That’s not fair,” Vince says, his tone rising.

“What’s not fair,” I counter, “is that you’re part of a team, but you’re not pulling your weight. Social media isn’t optional anymore. And right now, you’re dragging the rest of us down.”

A shocked silence falls over the room. Luke looks like he’s trying not to laugh while Sam stares at the table, avoiding eye contact. Cass exchanges a glance with Kendrick, but neither of them intervenes.

“Maybe I will hire someone,” Vince mutters, “or maybe we’ll all get so rich by following Nate’s advice on stocks we won’t need to worry about social media.”

“Good,” I say wearily, though a pang of guilt twists in my chest. “Do what you want.”

Nate suddenly clears his throat, breaking the tension. “We’re all in this together,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “If we want to keep growing, we need to step up—even if it means doing things we don’t like. No matter how successful our investments are.”

Vince glares at him but doesn’t argue.

“Let’s move on,” I say, my tone softer now. “We’ve got a tight schedule for the next few weeks, so I need everyone on the same page. Any questions?”

The meeting moves on, but the atmosphere remains charged. As I continue running through the agenda, I can feel Vince’s frown from here. Still, I push forward, knowing this had to be said—for the good of the band and for my own sanity.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails. I don’t see Vince again, and part of me is grateful for the reprieve. But the guilt lingers in the back of my mind. As for Sam, he’s been holed up with Cass for most of the day.

The drive home in Sam’s truck feels strained. He barely eats the dinner I prepared. It’s like we’re both walking on eggshells. By the time the sun begins to set, I feel utterly drained by the tension.

I step out onto the back deck. The ocean stretches out before me, calm and endless, and for a moment, I just breathe.

The sound of the sliding glass door opening behind me pulls me from my thoughts. I glance back to see Sam, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” he says softly, coming to stand beside me.

Nodding, because my throat feels thick. We stand in silence for a moment, the tension between us as tangible as the breeze. I want to reach for him to say something that will bring us back to where we were, but I don’t know how.

“You’ve been busy all day,” he says, nodding toward the house.

“Yeah,” I say with a faint smile. “Always something to do.”

---