RIO
Prince Michael has the limo stop an entire block before the Midnight Records office. It’s located in the prestigious 30 Hudson Yards building. Rumored to be the tallest skyscraper in the city.
It shoots straight up into the sky, a massive steel-and-glass middle finger to gravity. The top third disappears completely into the clouds.
Already I imagine the meeting our band will have with Midnight Records kingpin Derek Ward.
Even from the sidewalk, I can already see the glass table, the platinum records lining the walls. And Derek saying he can’t wait to sign us.
My mouth actually waters thinking about it.
I glance over at Steven, who's staring at the building too.
Our eyes meet, and I can tell he feels exactly what I'm feeling.
Prince Michael clears his throat and adjusts his tie. I've seen that serious look on his face too many times. Eyebrows knitted. Lips pressed into a thin line.
He's preparing to give one of his famouslectures. The one that starts with "Now, boys" and ends twenty minutes later with us wanting to jump out the nearest window.
I take a deep breath and brace myself for whatever wisdom he thinks we need right now.
But just as he opens his mouth, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The guy never turns it off—not during meals, not during meetings, not even that time we were at the governor's mansion.
He glances down at the screen, his expression shifting from stern dad to concerned businessman in an instant.
He holds up one finger to us and mouths "one minute" before stepping away toward the corner of the sidewalk.
Keith leans back against the limo and lets out a sigh.
"At ease, men," he mimics in that Manchester accent that makes everything sound like he's either joking or about to start a bar fight.
Steven indicates that I follow him out of Keith’s earshot. We walk to a far corner.
Keith’s a good bandmate, but he’s not soul brothers like me and Steven.
"What's up?" I ask.
Steven leans in closer, his jaw tight.
"Rio, you got lucky when Prince Michael convinced that Quench sponsor to give you another chance after you went off the rails in Las Vegas. Then we brought Maddie to Vegas to pose as your fake girlfriend. But you completely fucked that situation up too."
"I didn't fuck that up," I say. “If your sister wants to two-time me with her ex-fiancé, why is that my fault?"
"You didn’t hear her out," says Steven. "You just cut her off without an explanation. You let the press believe she slept with Joseph all night."
I look at him for a minute, then shake my head.
"Steven, you're overestimating my powers. I can't fucking walk on water. You think I’d be able to say anything that would make a national tabloid apologize or retract a story?"
"Yes," says Steven, "if you fucking went on record as saying the cover image was photoshopped. That it was a bold-faced lie. That they manufactured the picture.”
“I don’t know any of that for sure.”
“Then you should have at least stood up for Maddie. Then maybe the sponsor would have had more sympathyfor her.”
Steven stares me down. “And he wouldn’t have kicked her off the project. Did you even realize what you're doing to her? The shame of it all?"
"I saw her with my own fucking eyes leave that Joseph guy’s room at 3 a.m,” I say. “It’s clear she chose her wealthy ex over me."
