Page 78 of Resist

“What does it mean?” Dash asks worriedly, glancing back at the phone. The crowd is huge, and behind them is our label’s office.

“They will have no choice but to cancel the suspension and change your contract”—Po shrugs—“or face the wrath of the public. In music, the public is everything.”

“How do you know?” Fox asks, his eyes tight as he tries to hide his hope.

“Because I’m going to show them that. Do you think I’ve just been sitting around? No, I’ve been collecting evidence and support. I’m not going to leave them with a choice. Do you trust me?”

We share a look, and I speak.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to make sure Sanctuary has a long life on stage. Just give me a chance, but until then, don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Standing, he fastens his suit jacket then pockets his phone and rounds the table. “That means no statements. In fact, don’t leave the house for now, okay? Just put your gamefaces on because when they call you in, the cameras will be waiting.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Dash yells, excitement in his eyes. We’ve all been given a new lease on life, a hope that this might not end despite our thoughts last night.

Chuckling, Po looks us over before stopping in front of Fox and me. His hands rest on my and Fox’s shoulders as he smiles at us. “I told you, I’m always on your side, even when you weren’t discreet.”

“What do you . . . You knew?” My eyes widen.

“Darling, I’d have needed to be blind not to know, but you weren’t hurting anyone. I want you to be happy. It’s my job to make that happen. I might work for your label, but my loyalty lies with you. Now, shower and wait for the call. I have some arms to twist.” Stepping back, he straightens his shoulders and strides past us with a cocky smirk.

Po wasn’t kidding. He went to war. We only sat around for two hours before the call came. Dressed to kill, we get in the car they sent for us and head down to the label. Nervous energy fills us. Fox’s hand presses against my bouncing knee, trying to stop it, before he blows out a slow breath. “Breathe with me,” he murmurs.

Nodding, I copy his breathing, trying to slow my racing heart, which can’t seem to tell the difference between heading to our label and the end of the world. I’m so close to having everything I want that I’m worried it will be snatched away.

It doesn’t stop me from falling into the beauty of my boyfriend though. His hair is down and slightly wavy, his eyes are darkened with liner, and his lips are tinted the same coloras mine since he kissed me to apply it. His chest is bare in his unbuttoned white shirt, the sleeves rolled back to expose his thick, veiny forearms—which I know he did on purpose since I have an obsession with them—and his incredible thighs are encased in gray pinstripe slacks. He looks good enough to fucking eat.

“Have I told you how stunning you look today?” I whisper.

“No, but it can’t be as beautiful as you, baby,” he murmurs as he twines our fingers and kisses the back of my hand.

“Oh, Dash, look how pretty I am,” Strike teases.

“Not as pretty as me,” Dash responds, and I raise a brow at them.

“Don’t make me come over there,” I hiss.

“Try me, pretty boy.” Strike blows me a kiss, and I jerk forward in my seat, slapping him. Our laughter breaks the silence and nervous energy, until the car stops and we drop into silence again, staring out of the tinted window.

Our label’s building towers above us, but the crowd surrounds it. Security forms a path, and then Po knocks on our door, his smile in place. That has to be a good sign, right?

Fox slides to the edge of his seat and looks at us. “Ready?”

“Ready.” I nod, and Dash and Strike confirm they are prepared as well before he opens the door. The screams are insane and shocking when Fox slides out, then he turns and offers me his hand. I place my shaky one in his and let him pull me from the car. He keeps hold of me, interlacing his fingers with mine as Dash and Strike follow us out. Security instantly surrounds us, their arms out to form a path through the yelling crowd.

Po nods at us. “Follow me.” He navigates the path, and we have no choice but to keep up.

Our names are chanted, and words are screamed.

“We love you!”

“No restrictions!”

There are signs shoved over security, and I read them as I pass.

Love is love!

Artistic Freedom.

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