Page 137 of Second Sets Omnibus
His stare is a stark reminder of the little girl just a floor above us, patiently waiting for her Aunt Kaycee to collect her for a sleepover. It’s the reminder that he left her. They left her knowingly, refusing to listen to me. They gave up their responsibility with the flick of their wrist and signatures across restraining orders.
Fuck them.
“We have no future here with you. I’ll speak to my agent about this. There’s no way in fucking hell I’m working with you,” Kieran barks, twisting on his heels and stomping away.
Oh, cue the dramatics from the biggest dickhead around. Of course, he’d stomp and throw a fit at the sight of me. Idiot.Deep breaths, River. You have to reel them back in.Kieran always did have a flare for the dramatics, but this is pushing it too far. He’s running away like the big fucking coward he is instead of facing me. Sounds way too familiar for my liking. I’d rather him go back to the boy who strummed his guitar on the hill behind our apartment complex, singing songs he envisioned during school. Instead of that man, the one I fell in love with twice, I’m left with the angry shell walking away from me.
“Fucking Kieran,” Asher growls, climbing to his feet with determination. “You can’t fucking walk away. Not because it’s her.” His eyes follow Kieran’s slow, angry retreat, almost afraid to take his eyes off him.
My eyes narrow at the emphasis on the word her. Again. If they say it one more time like I’m not standing in front of them, I’ll lose my shit. Seriously, though. Who, me? Little ole River West? The girl you dumped so fast after witnessing Van Drake, my stupid ex, forcefully kiss me without permission in my kitchen as I nursed my grief alone. Alone! They left me at my own mother’s funeral without so much as a “sorry for your loss, Riv.” Anger simmers beneath the surface of my skin, bubbling and aching for me to act on it at the harsh reminder of their betrayal. My mind begs me to lash out and put them in their place, but I bury that piece of me. I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to discuss the future of their band. Nothing more. Nothing less.
As Kieran drifts farther away from the group of men staring at him with wide eyes, I slip back into my professional persona. With one last deep breath, I become River West—The Fixer. Not River West—The Brokenhearted.
“I can do whatever I want. I can’t be in the same room as her,” Kieran growls, picking up his pace toward the French doors on the opposite side of the room.
My edges harden at the wordheragain and how it’s implied. Maybe I should remind them of who they’re fucking with. I discreetly rub the handle of my old knife nestled in the pocket of my dress pants. Images of Kieran behind the counter at the old record store I worked at come to mind. I smirk. This time Kieran wouldn’t get a boner when I sit the edge of my knife near his dick, which I’ll promptly cut off if he keeps up this defiant rock star bullshit attitude. He’s on thin ice, growing thinner. Soon, he’ll drown at my hands.
Asher looks at me and back at Kieran with wide eyes, expectantly waiting for him to come back to his seat like a good boy. But if there’s anything I know about Kieran, he’s not a very good boy.
Every step Kieran takes is a step closer to him forfeiting their contract. I could let him go and walk out into the hall and wipe my hands clean of them and never look back. I could laugh as they realized they’d fucked themselves over by not staying in the same room as me. No more concerts. No more fangirls willing to suck their mediocre dicks on their tour bus. And no more West Records. Bye, bye Whispered Words. You can return to Central City and explain to your mommy why you’re back penniless and contract-less.
Inwardly, I groan, staring at the ceiling and counting backward. I’m better than that. I’m more professional than that petty behavior. Plus, my brothers would never let that fly. For some fucked up reason, despite knowing exactly what they did to me, they like their music.
The moment Kieran’s hand touches the handle, I sigh. My responsibilities nag at me to do the right thing, just this once, and I comply.
“Mr. Knight, you should know the moment you step out of this meeting, you void not only your contract with West Records but all their contracts as well,” I say in a smooth voice, crossing my arms over my chest and surveying the room.
Someone grumbles. Another gasps. And Asher, the once smug bastard, fucking begs—much to my delight. There once was a prideful man named Asher, who never got on his knees to beg another human being for anything. And yet, here he is, about to drop down and save face. I shouldn’t have a giggle bursting up my throat or joy humming through my body at the stark difference.
But I do.
“Kieran, you have to give this a chance. It’s a second opportunity for us to continue with our dream,” Asher pleads with desperation, falling back into his chair with a desperate huff, never taking his pleading eyes off Kieran’s retreating form.
“Bro, you can’t walk out.” Rad finally slides his gaze to me, quickly darting away with a twist of his lips and a shake of his head. His brows furrow, almost in confusion or maybe pain, but he shakes it off, running a hand through his curly mullet. I can’t believe he’s kept it after all these years.
“I can do whatever the fuck I please,” Kieran sneers, twisting away from the door. “You can’t be our band manager. You don’t fucking belong here. You belong in the gutter like the rest of Central City. Is this a fucking joke?” Kieran barks out, throwing his arms all around like a child.
“Oh, ouch. Awesome,” I mutter with so much sarcasm I swear one of them chokes on my tone. So much for biting my tongue.Must. Remain. Professional, River.Ugh. As much as I want to bash my fist into his dick and make him drop to his knees, begging for mercy, I don’t.
“You can’t be,” he hisses again like a hysterical child, readying himself to drop to the floor and throw a full-blown fit.
You’d think our daughter Lyric was in front of me, throwing herself around and screaming at the top of her lungs because I refused to let her eat unicorn ice cream for dinner—cue the eye roll. Somehow, my four-year-old manages to regain control of her emotions better than this full-grown man. Pathetic.
Cracking my neck, I straighten my posture and ready myself to face the bull. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll fight this every part of the way. And I say, bring it on, Kieran Knight.
“I am your new manager. That’s something you’ll have to get over right here and right now. I am in charge of you, officially, this time. You fuck with me. I fuck with your career. Do we have an understanding?” I ask with an even tone, trying not to let my boiling anger get the best of me. “This is a professional environment. We will not disrespect each other. The past stays in the past. This is the present. I will not be disrespected again. Got it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on each of them as theynod in unison, still giving me the stink eye. Reaching into the paperwork, I pull out a thick copy of their contract with West Records and throw it down the table. “If you want to read for yourself, it’s on page fifty-seven, subsection B. It’ll lay out everything you need to know when dealing with me and the professional services I offer at West Records.”
Kieran grunts, shoving the paperwork at Callum, who sits rigidly in his seat, clinging to the armrests of his chair.
“You read it,” Kieran barks out his order, pointing at the stack of papers.
Callum doesn’t flinch when he reaches for the contract and flips through the pages, using his photographic memory, no doubt. “Fine,” he mutters, stopping on my part of the contract, and he nods. “It’s-it’s all right here,” he says, heaving his breath while pointing at it.
A pang pierces through my chest. The old Callum was doing so well and coming into himself. Now, it seems like he’s reverted back to the stuttering, shy man I helped come out of his shell.
Those beautiful, gray eyes spare me one glance, and my heart thunders. Despair rests deep in his gaze when he flicks his eyes up and down my body. A familiar redness tints his cheeks until his gaze hardens again. Every ounce of life spirals out of his eyes, leaving me with his blank stare. My lips pop open when I zone in and really examine the faint remnants of black surrounding his slightly swollen eye, and then he turns away.
“How?” Asher mutters in a shaky voice, rubbing circles over his ghostly white temple, bringing me back to the conversation.
