Page 38 of Perfect Assumption
“It’s not completely out of the blue, Ward,” Carys argues. “ Sue me—I’m getting cautious in my old age.”
I try to speak, but Carys tramples all over me.
“I’d like to have a conversation with a potentially talented young woman. I’d like to continue to practice the due diligence that built this firm. I may want to have a conversation with her, one which I don’t want to be repeated. Is it so odd that before I have that conversation I ask her to sign an NDA? No. Later, I may decide to rep her depending on what I find out. What’s throwing you off? The fact she’s a DJ or her age?”
I cast eyes in Becks’s direction before muttering, “Both.”
Carys says airily, “There are more and more artists laying down tracks with famous DJs. Think Frankie Knuckles, Daft Punk, David Guetta. Skrillex. They are considered recording artists since they lay the tracks and would be considered both composers and artists, correct?”
I follow Carys’s train of thought—at least on the legal aspect. “It depends on whether they’re overlaying the track with their own music. Certainly, we’ve been structuring our contracts correctly for these scenarios and demanding royalty payouts if appropriate from the recording labels in that case. There’s always a liability if an artist is using someone else’s music or if they do something live that can’t be controlled.”
“I’m impressed, brother. You did learn something at Watson, Rubenstein, and Dalton,” Carys drawls.
“Kiss my ass, Carrie. Let’s tell the real story. You want us to drop everything because he”—I point at Becks—“got up into something with this artist. And now what? Instead of you doing your own scouting, we have Becks’s number one fangirl ready to sacrifice herself on the altar of the paparazzi in order to save his skin. Isn’t that taking your job responsibilities a bit too far, Angie?”
“I explained that. Angie’s looked at other artists for me before. Besides, I turned that part of my life up toyouwhen I found out I was having a child. But becauseIcan’t go, someone who understands the situation has to,” Carys yells.
“What situation?” I demand just as loudly.
“That’s not for me to tell you,” my sister shouts back.
“And you were willing to send Angie in without either of us as backup?” Silence follows my frustrated question. “That’s awfully risky, and you know it, Carys. She may be your go-to girl for everything, but despite her loyalty, she’s not perfect. So, fine. I’ll go and I’ll fix whatever it is Becks managed to get himself into this time.”
Angie recoils even as Becks shoves himself from his seat and stalks over to where I’m standing. “Watch it. Take all the damn potshots you want at me because I’m unwilling to share everything with you, but leave Angie out of this.”
“Damn straight.” Carys stands as well. Despite my sister’s diminutive height, she’s a teeming mass of fury. “I know why you’re upset, Ward. Anyone with half a brain in this room has figured it out by now. But that gives you no reason to take potshots at someone who’s stepping up for the team out of love, loyalty, and friendship. And if you can’t, maybe you need to rethink the contract you signed with this firm.”
Carys’s words kick me back to the ground where I’ve barely managed to get back on my feet after a morning where I already felt like I was crawling on my belly. “You don’t really mean that,” I manage hoarsely.
“I damn well do.” Carys holds her stance.
And with those words, I’m transported back to when I was a teenager and I’d fuck up in some way. And as always, I can feel her anger and disappointment washing over me, telling me I’ve let my sister down. Just like I let my parents down.
Before I can say another word, Angie murmurs, “If you all will excuse me, I need a few moments.” She scoots back from the table to stand, but I hold out my hand.
“It’s probably best if you stay and I go. Apparently, you’ve been more productive than I have with the team while I was out this morning.”
“Ward…” Angie starts to protest.
I stride to the door and fling it open. Looking back at Angie, I say scathingly, “Just make sure you’re properly dressed up for this. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
Ignoring the murmuring behind me, I storm out of the conference room and head into my office to ruminate upon my sins. The pain I glimpsed in Angie’s glorious eyes just before I slammed the door behind me is just another one to add to my list.
“How the hell am I supposed to fix this mess?” I ask the thin air. Once the alcohol hits my lips, I ignore the bitterness I swallow along with burning Scotch whisky.
* * *
Hours later,the most I’ve managed to do is put a sizable dent in the tumbler of Macallan I poured the moment I entered here. I’ve yet to turn on my computer to do a single piece of work which I know will have David riding my ass about the contracts he needs to send out when there’s a knock at my door. Figuring it’s him there to do just that, I call out, “Enter.”
When David slips inside, I don’t bother to move. Instead, I reach for my drink and lift it in a silent offering.
“Nah, I’ve got to run out to go get Ben.”
“I thought Carrie picked him up in the evenings.”
“She normally does, but since she spent a good portion of today dealing with Becks, fashion crises, and arranging for an overnight guest, our normal plans have been a bit disrupted.” Despite the innocuous words, the undercurrent to them has me lifting the glass to my lips. I’m grateful for the burn down my throat. It eases the one in the pit of my stomach when David says, “Thought you left the prick behind, Ward. Turning over a new leaf.”
“So, sue me.”
