Page 129 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Well, fuck him. I’d enjoy a mini-vacation in my own damn house.

Twenty-Five

Dealing with management of any sort fucking sucked.

Even if you paid them.

Especially if you paid them, because then their incompetence became “doing things in your best interest.” Or “working to protect your reputation.”

In this case, that all could be summed up as “jack shit.”

The morning I’d awakened to this shitstorm, I’d had bigger problems to face than a few borrowed phrases. Pretty heavy coincidence my notepad had been stolen from Lo’s too. But it had been hard to focus on all of that after my latest car crash.

I still didn’t know what the fuck had happened. Part of me wondered if I’d skated too close to a breakdown, and that night had sent me physically over the edge.

Except my mental state hadn’t been any worse afterward. It was as if I’d had a crazy blip and when the smoke cleared, I was back to me.

The me I’d been for a decade, better or worse.

But there were still things that didn’t make sense about that night, whether or not I’d had a temporary mental collapse. Like the call I didn’t remember making to Kyle. How he’d been there to help me at the exact right time. That he knew what Lindsey called me in private.

Could be the tabloid photographer was exactly whom I’d hoped it wasn’t.

But before I tried to untwist any of that, I had my manager to deal with.

I leaned a hip against the counter as Sarge peered up at me with one gleaming green eye. He was stationed by his empty food dish. Empty because he’d just licked it clean.

“You’re not getting more until breakfast,” I mouthed to him.

He flounced out of the room with a twitch of his tail.

“Nash, there’s protocol we need to follow,” Don said on the other end of the phone.

“Basically, you’re saying you’ve done nothing to stop this.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Not even close.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I poured black coffee into my mug. It was my third of the evening. Pretty soon I’d be able to grip the phone with the power of my mind.

“We’ve filed paperwork to halt any further efforts to release the song. Until Angel’s lawyer makes contact—”

“Do we even know she has a lawyer?” That she’s even cognizant enough to realize she needs one. I didn’t add the last part.

“She has a management team, so I’m sure she’ll take the required steps. The bigger question is how she obtained access to those lyrics of yours in the first place.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Let the legal team handle it.”

“Oh, you mean let the legal team sit around on their asses while the clock ticks? No, thanks. I’ve worked with Angel in the past. I’ll ask the goddamn question about where they came from.”

“If you do something that throws a wrench in the case, you’ll regret it.”

“What I need is answers.”

About far more than a few phrases, but it was a start.

“She took your words, Nash. We both know how precious they are now.”

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