Page 3 of Diva Pop

He could swear he’d heard a sigh of relief from his friend. Jett tugged open the heavy back door of the rehearsal building, his eyes adjusting to the dim light after being in the bright, L.A. sunshine. He sauntered down the hall toward what he hoped wouldn’t be his doom. But he was dressed for battle and he didn’t intend to go down without a fight.

As soon as he entered the enormous room, he spotted Suit Guy. Hot damn. He could work with that. Unless, of course, the stunningly handsome Idris Elba look-alike was straight. Then there might be problems. He'd probably have to use his professional charm instead, which was much more exhausting.

His eyes darted to the two newcomers Tory had warned him about. Fuck. They were dancers all right. Jett had been around enough of them since the age of five when he’d first begun studying. As he drew closer, one of them caught his eye. He didn’t care for the little smirk the bastard wasn’t even attempting to conceal. Jett switched on his death glare again.

“Jett Fine?” Suit Guy approached him, his hand extended.

Jett immediately turned on his sweeter than candy, I’ve-never-been-so-happy-to-meet-anyone-in-my-entire-fucking-life smile. He shot out his hand and accepted Suit Guy’s palm into his own. Woof. Nice strong grip. Now he really was hoping Mr. Sex on a Stick was gay.

“Yes, the one and only.” He batted his eyelashes. “To what lucky turn of fate do I owe for having such a devastatingly handsome man at rehearsal today?”

Paul let out a loud pig snort. “Oh, please.”

Jett resisted the burning urge to punch him in the throat. Their mutual hatred had been in full bloom for close to three years. Jett knew that their vicious rivalry had been a contributing factor to Bob’s growing disgust with the band, but it couldn’t be helped. Like the legendary McCartney, Paul was supposed to have been the cute one, had once done all the lead vocals. Could Jett help it if the fans had determined that the title belonged to him instead?

Suit Guy gave him a tight smile, one pump of his hand then let go. “Excellent. Then we’re all here and can begin.”

Jett tugged his eyebrows together. “Um, excuse me. Who are you exactly?”

Suit guy had been in mid-turn but angled back around, a placating smile decorating his lips. “Why don’t you have a seat, then I’ll fill you in.”

Jett let out a small gasp and his jaw went slack. How dare this jerk speak to him like he was some nobody, as if Jett hadn’t almost single-handedly propelled Three Trick Pony to the top? However, it was too soon to begin firing the first salvo. He needed to keep his sugar-laced charm alive until he had more intel.

Jett swallowed down his fury. “Of course, handsome. Whatever you like.”

He swung his hips as he strolled past his nemesis, making sure his nicely rounded, exposed ass was on full display to Suit Guy’s gaze. He chose a chair at the far end of the row to give himself ample time to display his wares. Once he took his seat on the padded, folded chair, Jett demurely crossed his legs and donned his interested face. Then he laced his fingers together, propping his hands on his knees.

Suit Guy regarded him with a flat expression then, after a beat, turned his attention to his bandmates, the choreographer and Bonnie, who had also joined everyone. The two newcomers stood off to the side, but Jett refused to give them the satisfaction of acting like he cared.

“Hello, I’m Silas Jones. I’ve been retained by Charisma Records to take over as your manager.”

Jett grunted. Seriously? This stranger couldn't simply take over as manager. He hadn’t agreed to that. The contract he’d signed was with asshole Bob. Sure, he’d heard of Silas before, but whatever. Grand reputation or not, Jett didn’t know anything about him personally.

Silas darted his eyes in Jett’s direction before continuing. “I have several things I need to go over with you today, but I’m sure you’re all wondering who the two gentlemen are that accompanied me.” He gestured to the dancers at the edge of the studio’s practice area. The one who had smirked at Jett earlier preened a bit, while his cohort broke into a bright, sincere smile. “This is Crispin.” Preening boy gave a little bow and Jett tried not to roll his eyes. “And this is Sean.” Sean’s smile widened and he waved. “They’ll be joining you as new members of Three Trick Pony.”

Jett shot to his feet. “The fuck?” He angrily waved his arms around. “Oh, hell no. That’s not happening, so you can forget it.”

Princess had burst from her tower and wasn’t about to tolerate any horseshit.

Silas turned to him with a quirked eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Oh? And why is that?”

“You have no right!” Jett stabbed the air with his finger. “We didn’t agree to this. You can’t just come in here and arbitrarily decide what to do with our band.” Jett gestured between him, Tory and the odious Paul. “The record company can do a lot of things to us, but forcing some manager and two new band members on us isn’t one of them”

This time, Silas arched both eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”

Jett stopped mid-breath, halting what he’d been about to spew next. “Wait. What?” He regarded his bandmates, and even Paul seemed concerned. Jett turned back to Silas. “What do you mean?”

Silas let out a sigh then regarded the two interlopers. “Crispin and Sean? Would you mind going to the back and getting ready to rehearse? Perhaps warm-up? I’ll have Bonnie get you when we’re ready to begin.”

Jett swiped the back of his hand across his upper lip. Shit. He’d smeared his damn lipstick. But the rage was real. And if he was being honest with himself, so was the terror clawing its way up his throat.

Silas turned to Jett and offered him what seemed to be a sincere smile. Jett wasn’t falling for it for one second.

“Jett? Please sit down and I’ll explain everything.”

“N-no.”

He cleared his throat and licked his lips. Tory whacked his thigh and hissed, “Jett. Hear him out.”

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