Page 17 of Poetry By Dead Men
"Respectfully," Bobby cuts him off, "I think as far as my legal needs go, pretty much any firm would suffice. It's basic copyright law. I just need someone to look over my contracts and protect my assets."
He's right. I might not have followed Bobby’s career, but I do know his reputation is spotless. He doesn't appear to party like most rock stars do—has never gotten himself into trouble or had any negative press at all, really.
"If it's a matter of cost…" Harrison sputters. He looks utterly panicked. This was clearly not how he expected this meeting to go, and nerves bubble in my stomach. If he doesn't want to work with Harrison, then why does he wantmehere?
"It's not." Bobby shakes his head. “It's more that I want to ensure that my legal counsel has my back in maintaining the image I've worked so hard to grow. I want to work with a firm that is behind me completely. A partnership."
"Absolutely," Harrison nods eagerly. "And we can provide that by—"
"That's where Beth comes in," Bobby interrupts again, and I sit up straighter in my chair. Harrison must be fuming at being interrupted a third time, but I don't dare look at him to confirm my suspicions, too anxious about where Bobby’s going with this.
"I'm not a lawyer," I say, but he knows that already.
"She's not," Harrison echoes, seeming personally affronted by the idea that Bobby would potentially want to work with me rather than him. "But I assure you—"
"I know," he cuts Harrison off again, and even without looking at him, I sense the switch flip. I glance out of the corner of my eye and watch as Harrison's demeanor changes, his jaw going tight and his eyes narrowing. It's a look I've only seen twice before. Once, when he was losing his fifth game of poker and ended up breaking his friend's nose when he laid down a full house, only to be beaten by a royal flush. The second time… Well. It's in the past.
"I take care to thoroughly research everyone I'm considering hiring," Bobby continues. “Background checks, personal references. I have someone who finds out everything they can about my potential employee's family, close friends."
"Sounds like you don't trust people," Harrison says tightly, and he waves over our server, Ella, barking at her to get him a scotch. Neat. I wince. Normally, he's extremely polite to servers, but at the moment, he's no longer my sweet, charming fiancé. I scoot my chair a few inches away from him, making a mental note to apologize to Ella once Harrison leaves.
"I trust the people who’ve earned it. You can never be too careful in my position. I'm sure you understand," Bobby says with a smile, and Harrison lifts his chin, as if having family money causes the same amount of public scrutiny as being a billionaire musician.
"Of course I do," he says, defensive. Not a single thing Bobby has said was outright insulting or rude, but Harrison’s on edge.
I want to chime in and force them to get to the point, but I'm nothing but a spectator in their pissing match, my voice trapped in my throat.
"My manager has been on me for years to allowRolling Stonean all access feature about my life. The real Robert Beckett. I like my privacy, but with my upcoming album release," Ella brings Harrison's scotch, and Bobby pauses. "Excuse me, I'd love a coffee, please. Beth?"
I clear my throat. "Yes, same. Um, black please, Ella."
Bobby narrows his eyes. They have a full coffee bar here, and apparently, he knows it. I look at the menu in front of him, flipped to the side featuring the many beverages available here, including lattes. My body practically begs me to order one, but Harrison is already testy. The last thing I need is for him to snap at me about ordering a silly, embarrassing drink in front of a potential client.
Bobby sighs, shaking his head slightly before leaning back in his chair, and I relax, grateful he’s decided to let my coffee order go. "Anyway. Back to where Beth comes in.”
"It’s Elizabeth. And I'm not sure I understand." Harrison is snappy, quickly losing his patience.
“Funny. That’s not how she introduced herself to me.” Bobby’s focus shifts to me completely, making blood roar in my ears. "Beth, I understand you're a writer."
Harrison scoffs. "Not a real one," he says, and Robert freezes. I feel like I've been punched in the stomach, my breath whooshing out of me as his words twist like a knife in my gut.
"I'm sorry," Bobby says, his words made of white-hot fire. "I'm confused." He pulls out his phone. "Beth Winters. Twenty-six. Graduated with honors from NYU with a degree in English Lit. Has published dozens of articles in several major publications. Am I missing something?"
From the angle I'm sitting at, I can see the screen of his phone.
It's blank.
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry," Harrison says, patting my hand. "Yes, Elizabeth has done some freelance writing in the past. But I'm still not sure what that has to do with signing on with my firm."
"I've run out of excuses for not doing theRolling Stonestory. Except, I don't want just any reporter poking their nose into my business. I would feel far more…" he trails off, his finger tapping on the table, "protected"—he finally settles on the word—"if the person writing the story had my best interest at heart. Who better than the wife-to-be of my future lawyer?"
The coffee arrives, and Bobby hands me mine before accepting his own. He thanks Ella by name, and she looks as if she might faint before scurrying away.
Harrison's phone rings. "I really am sorry, but this is my next meeting. I have to run. But I want to make sure I understand correctly. Elizabeth writes the story forRolling Stone, spins it to make sure you look good, and you'll sign with Prodding and Smith?"
"Yes. Beth will come on the next leg of my tour. Two months. Everything will be provided, of course. Lodging, food. You'll be paid, Beth. I get final approval of the story. Those are my terms. Assuming you both agree, I'll sign the papers this evening."
"Excellent," Harrison pops up from his chair, not even looking at me before shaking Robert's hand. "It's a deal. I'll have my assistant send you the contract, and of course, let me know if you have any questions." He kisses the top of my head. "Keep him happy," he whispers in my ear and there’s an intensity in his words that sets my whole body on edge. I nod, and Harrison squeezes my shoulder tightly before answering his phone and walking away.
