Page 13 of Discover Me
I lock my phone and shove it back in my pocket. The pain in my chest hasn't eased. If anything, it's gotten worse, spreading outward until it feels like my entire torso aches with it. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and try to breathe through it.
I miss the days when music was just music. When playing drums was about the rhythm and the energy and the pure joy of creating something with other people. Before Tom and the contracts and the image management. Before I became a brand instead of a person.
The door opens and I look up, expecting Tom with his tablet and his ideas for image adjustments. But it's just Liam, his expression more sobered than I would have expected after my totally acceptable outburst. He closes the door behind him and leans against it, arms crossed.
"You done throwing your tantrum?" His voice holds no judgment, just genuine curiosity.
"Wasn't throwing a tantrum," I mutter. "I was making a point."
"You made it." Liam moves to sit on the couch across from me. "Rex is pissed, Tom's already planning how to spin this into content, and Jordan thinks you're having some kind of crisis."
"And what do you think?"
Liam studies me for a long moment. "I think something happened at that charity gala. Something you're not talking about. And I think it's eating you alive from the inside out."
The accuracy of his observation has me feeling uneasy. I look away, focusing on the abstract art along the walls instead of meeting his eyes. "I saved someone. That's it. Nothing special."
"If it was nothing special, you wouldn't be rubbing your chest like it physically hurts." Liam leans forward. "I know about mate bonds, Kellan. I have one, remember? And the sudden irritability, the confusion, the rubbing your chest? It looks a lot like the early stages of recognition."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Okay." Liam stands, heading for the door. "But when you're ready to talk about it, I'm here. And for what it's worth, you're not the outsider you think you are. You're just the only one who hasn't figured out that being part of a pack doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger."
I don’t think that, though. It’s just that my image of a perfect future is morphing into how I can find Micah Davis and see if whatever I’m feeling is mutual.
Because I’m pretty sure that I’m falling for a Beta I only saw once.
Kellan
Not even thirty minutes later, I find myself sitting around the conference table, staring at Tom and the other managers and the CEO of the label, the words they just said not making any fucking sense.
"What the fuck do you meanlove songs?"
I'd woken up from a stress nap about twenty minutes ago, my head still foggy when someone knocked on the door and told me I was needed in the conference room. Not asked.Needed. LikeI'm some kind of employee who can be summoned at will instead of an artist who's supposed to have creative input.
I stumbled back toward what I thought was the rehearsal room, ready to apologize to the guys and maybe try to be less of an asshole for the rest of practice. But instead, I got redirected to the conference room on the third floor. The one with the long mahogany table and the uncomfortable leather chairs and more abstract art painted in hues of blue and gold.
I sat my ass down between Rex and Jordan, both of them looking at me with apologetic expressions that immediately put me on edge. Rex's usual easy confidence was subdued, and Jordan's energy felt a bit more anxious. Neither of them would meet my eyes for more than a second, which told me everything I needed to know about how this meeting was going to go.
And now, I’m just… confused and angry. Pissed might be a better description.
The label wants us to put together an album of love songs. A whole fucking album. Twelve tracks of romantic bullshit about finding your mate and pack bonds and happily ever after nonsense. The complete opposite of everything Lunar Ransom has ever stood for.
"When does my contract end?" I ask, my voice flat. "Because this is bullshit."
Tom shoots me a warning look from across the table. "Take a deep breath, Kellan. Your fans have been clamoring for something a bit softer. The analytics show that the demographic has shifted. People want to see more vulnerability from you all."
"Since when have we ever put out something like that?" Rex leans forward, his scent spiking with irritation. "That changes the whole brand. We built our reputation on freedom and independence and not conforming to industry expectations. Now you want us to churn out love songs like every other band?"
The CEO, a man in his fifties with silver hair and a suit that screams money, leans back in his chair with a slight smile. "I'm surprised, honestly. I thought that three of you would have enjoyed the switch." His gaze lands on Rex, then Liam, then Jordan. The ones with mates and packs. The ones who have something to write about when it comes to love.
"Just because we're packed up doesn't mean we want to sing about love," Liam pushes out, his voice more controlled than I would have expected. "We put love into our songs already, but the lyrics aren't..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "What's really the reason for this? Trends? Analytics? Fear that we're becoming irrelevant?"
The executives exchange glances, a silent conversation happening across the table that excludes us entirely. Then the door opens and someone new walks in, and the collective groan from my bandmates tells me this is about to get worse.
"Fucking hell," Rex mutters under his breath. "What is she doing here?"
I turn to look at the newcomer. She's an Alpha, probably late thirties, with sharp eyes and sharper business attire. I mildly remember her from some industry event a year or two ago. She studies market trends and helps different entertainment companies assess their money makers, figure out how to squeeze every last dollar out of their artists.
