“Would you do him?”
I’m shocked. “What? No. Of course, not.”
Reed laughs. “No, no. Not literally. Not you,personally—I mean, as a figure of speech—as a measure of his commercial appeal.”
I flash Reed a snarky look. “I won’t say I’d ‘do’ Dax Morgan. I already feel like the guy’s my little brother. But I will say this: if you sign 22 Goats, I’d bet anything that armies of females, from tweeners to twenty-somethings, will be plastering Dax’s face on bedroom walls across the globe.”
“My thoughts exactly, T-Rod.That pretty little boy’s gonna make me a fucking mint.”
My heart rate spikes with excitement. “So you’re sure you’re gonna sign 22 Goats, then?”
“That’s not what I said.”
I look at Reed, confused. “What’s your trepidation, if you don’t mind me asking? I mean, I suppose if you were doubt-free, you would have picked up the phone the minute you heard their demo, right?”
“You’re good, T. Hey, standing offer: if you ever get sick of working for Faraday, come work for me in L.A. I’m dead serious—no matter what, I’ll find a position for you.”
For a split second, I can’t decide if Reed is being sincere, or if he means the phrase “I’ll find a position for you” as some sort of sexual innuendo (because I’m pretty sure he was looking straight at my chest when he said those words).
“Why on earth would you say that?” I ask. “I know nothing about the music industry.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got great instincts.”
“Well, thanks, but you can’t steal me away from Josh. No one can.”
“Yeah, I figured. He’d kill me, anyway. And that’s not a figure of speech—he’d literally kill me.”
I laugh. “So what’s your trepidation about 22 Goats? You didn’t answer the question.”
“The other two guys. From what I can tell, Daxisthe band. He writes the songs, sings ’em, and plays guitar front-and-center. He’s the one who makes all the girls wet their panties and the boys want to be just like him, not those other two. What value do the other two dudes bring? Honestly, anyone can play drums and bass on songs like these. The arrangements aren’t particularly complex.” He shrugs. “I’m just trying to decide if I should sign Dax as a solo artist and hire him a plug-and-play backing band.”
My stomach clenches. “But, Reed, those three guys have been playing together since high school. You should have heard the way they were talking last night about their shared love of the band and each other and their dreams for the future.” I suddenly feel breathless. “Reed, they’re The Three Musketeers.”
“That’s always the story with young bands,” Reed says calmly. “Doesn’t mean it makes business sense to keep the band together.” He leans back in his chair and his gorgeous eight-pack tightens and clenches with his movement.
“So that’s what you’re gonna do?” I ask, suddenly panicked. “Sign Dax and leave the other two guys out in the cold?”
Reed shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet. But, to answer your question, that’s why I didn’t pick up the phone to make an offer. If it turns out I wanna offer Dax a solo deal, that’s not the kind of conversation I should have with the kid on the phone.”
“Reed,” I say, my heart racing. “I know you know your business and I don’t know a damned thing, but,please, keep an open mind here. From the little I’ve seen of Dax, he seems exceptionally loyal to his friends. They’re like family to him. I’m positive asking him to choose between a record deal and his lifelong friends would be devastating to him, not to mention to the other two guys.”
“I’ll watch the show tonight and see what I think.”
“Pleasekeep an open mind.”
“I will. But only because you’re so passionate about it.” He winks.
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
A cocktail waitress walks by and Reed flags her.
“You want another one, T?” He points to my empty cup.
“Fuck yes,” I say, my body wracked with stress from our conversation, and Reed laughs heartily at my unexpected reply.
Reed places our orders with the waitress and then leans back and smiles at me like a wolf. “I will say this about Dax Morgan: that kid could probably play with a couple monkeys backing him and still make it to the top of the charts.”
“Then what’s the harm in signing the whole band?” I ask. “Those other boys can’t be any worse than monkeys.”
