Page 26 of Big Boss
I am a walking self-made problem. I devoted my life to music, and it’s what I’m known for. But why am I not making any songs these days if music is really what I care about?
How much longer am I going to let my father’s awful caricature of me control what happens next in my life?
Even after I escaped his exploitative management scheme and sued him and won most of my money back in court, my father’s ongoing toxic narrative of who I am has driven almost every single thing I’ve done in public my entire adult life.
I’ve spent so much time working against his version of who I am that in the end, I became the very thing that he was trying to sell— a dirty joke in skintight leather pants. Insatiable for all the world’s pleasures, but unable to create anything other than scandalous headlines, watching from the sidelines while the artists I back with my own money make great music and my hands stay empty.
The worst part is the incessant yearning. I want so badly to wrap my hands around a guitar and make something beautiful happen that it aches throughout every bone and sinew of my body.
But I keep coming up empty-handed, night after night, until I can’t help but wonder if I have any business saying I make music at all.
Maybe I’m only good at finding it in other people. Maybe I shouldn’t bother trying anymore. Perhaps I should quit kidding myself that I have any business making my own music and resign myself to spending the rest of my life watching other people create what I crave the most.
Sebastian snaps his manicured fingers in front of my face. “Quit. You’re deep in your head, and you need to snap out of it. Now what did that woman do to you this time?”
I bristle at his tone of voice. How dare he take a jab at Erica? My Erica, who’s always so quick to defend me, even from myself.
“Apparently she went to a day spa.”
Ethan guffaws. “Women and their fancy things. Is she getting one of those volcano mud treatments? A hot stone massage? Or that pedicure with the tiny fish?”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of the jumble of words that just flooded the room. I’ve never been privy to the things that women do to look beautiful, having grown up with no mom or sisters.
And obviously, I’ve always dated beautiful women—that’s what rock stars, even aging failed ones, do. But have I ever given any real thought to how they get beautiful? Absolutely not.
Jackson lays down his cards and straightens them into a tiny stack. “What exactly did Miss Ridley do to result in a phone call from the police, Tate?”
I bite back the defensive tone that’s ready to burst out of me and shake my head. “She used my name and credit card to try to get in.”
Jackson waits, his hands folded. The moment stretches out. “And?” he finally asks, not even hiding thattold-you-solook on his face.
“And that’s it. I know you don’t like her or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right—”
“I never once said I don’t like her. I told you that you hiring her was a terrible idea.”
I cut him off with a swipe of my hand. “Well, it goes to show how much you know about anything. Hiring Erica is the best crazy decision I have ever made.”
Ethan laughs and comes over to high-five me. “Well said.”
Jackson looks at me a moment longer. “Well, is there some reason you haven’t called the day spa yet? You know, the one she was using your name and money at.” He arches an eyebrow at me, his lips curled into a semi-snarl. “Were you waiting for your assistant to do it, because…” The words trail off in a sea of sarcasm.
“Hey, asshole.” snaps Sebastian. “You don’t get to be mean to Tate. You’re supposed to be the nice one here, but it seems like you’ve forgotten that lately. Ever since that succubus girlfriend of yours supposedly ruined your life, you’ve been acting like an absolutely terrible person.”
All the air in the room leaves in a rush. It’s not the first time Sebastian has taken a dig at Jackson or his ex-girlfriend, but we can all tell the jabs are getting sharper over time.
But why? We all hated Nikki and were frankly grateful when she pried her talons out of Jackson and fled the scene. All of that means it’s more than a little difficult to understand why Sebastian makes such a big point of hating on her every chance he gets.
“Hey, hey. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. My problems, not Jackson’s.” I spread my hands out like I’m directing traffic, willing the conflict in the room to settle down.
Jackson glares at Sebastian. “I’m not the one causing problems here, Tate.”
I nod, because he’s right. Jackson isn’t causing my problems. I am. “Listen, we all know the best way to deal with Sebastian is to ignore him.”
It’s good advice, but difficult for people to follow, as Sebastian lives to be inflammatory. He is a walking controversy in any way he can possibly arrange to be, and more than anything else, he absolutely thrives on the misery of other human beings.
Good thing he’s a lawyer instead of a kindergarten teacher, I guess.
Sebastian pins me down with his cold, unblinking eyes. “You can try to ignore me just like you’re trying to ignore your little assistant situation, but there’s only so long you can keep your head buried in the sand.”
