I may not have been a reporter of serious news, but I learned well enough how a carefully worded phrase could change audience perception of information.
“Griffin …”
“We’ll apologize formisleadingpeople—not for ‘lying,’ since we never said we were dating, everyone assumed—and let them know that we’re together now because we did develop real feelings for each other during our collaboration. Some people will be mad, but a confession promotes trust, even in the wake of deceit. Not to mention it renders FM Sound’s ammo pretty much useless; they can’t shock anyone with a big revelation, because we’ll have already revealed everything. Our fans will forgive us.”
“And if they don’t?” Harmony asks. “Or if Dana leaks the texts and the emails after we confess, adding the full negative context to our version of the story? That’ll make us look even worse. It’ll seem like we only confessed because we were about to get caught—and that we lied again to make ourselves look like we have more integrity than we really do. No matter what, it’s going to kill my career, and yours, and no one will want to sign with Glambam. If Glambam takes a hit, they’ll have to lay people off. I can’t live with myself if I let you and the label go down with me over a bunch of stupid songs I wrote a long time ago.”
“They’re not stupid. And I don’t care about my career; I care aboutyou—and the fact that FM Sound is exploiting you. This is a ‘negotiating with terrorists’ situation.”
“Sometimes the terrorists win,” she says softly, more to herself than to me.
“We have to keep fighting,” I argue.
Now she lets the tears spill over, scrunching up her face. I sit beside her and put my arms around her.
“I’m …” she starts. “I’m … so … tired … of fighting.”
Swiping her tears off her cheeks with my thumbs, I say, “I know. I know you are. But if we don’t get ahead of this now, FM Sound is going to lord this over you forever, any time you do something they don’t like, or if they suddenly decide they want something else from you. If we take their power—or at least the brunt of it—it will be over. We can deal with the damage, whatever it is, and move on.”
I look into her glossy, watery eyes, and mine start to well up too.
How can anyone do this to her? This sweet, incredible girl. She doesn’t deserve this. It’s not fair.
My chest is tight with all the fury I contain. I want to smash something. I want to punch holes in the walls.
Then she forces a sad smile, sniffs, and says, “I can’t.”
“You ‘can’t’ …” I repeat. “What do you mean you can’t?”
Harmony shakes her head. “If I give up the masters, they’ll leave us alone. That’s all they want—I’m sure of it. So I’ll give them up, and then this goes away.”
I stop touching her and gape for a moment. “That’s it? You’re … you’re going to give them what they want … and pretend like that’s what you want too? While I pretend to be okay with that?”
Harmony doesn’t say anything.
My brother told me if I could just pretend for a little bit, I could get a foot in the door to the music industry. SiNKroNyze told me if I could just pretend to be country for an album or two, then maybe one day I could try something else. Glambam told me if I could pretend a while longer, they mightmaybetalk about letting me push the limits of my genre—and then said if I could pretend to be dating Harmony and double projectedrecord sales, they’d finally give me the creative freedom I’d been asking for from day one as a signed artist. It’s always just a little longer and a little longer and a little longer, with the promise that eventually I can stop pretending.
But now I have to pretend that FM Sound isn’t quietly decimating the woman I love from the inside out? Now I have to stand by and let them force her to stop fighting so she can protect me and Glambam and everything she’s worked for since she was practically still a kid?
Fuck no.
“Harm, please.”
Slowly she stands up and steps back. “I’ve made up my mind.”
I watch her in shock as she numbly shrugs out of her cardigan and drops it on the bed, then continues to undress as she makes her way to the shower, leaving her shirt on the chair by the desk and her jeans on the carpet, unhooking her bra as she gets to the threshold of the bathroom door. Only in silhouette do I catch sight of her turning on the water and slipping off her panties.
My body doesn’t know how to respond. I clench my fists so hard, even my well-trimmed fingernails bite into my palms. My pulse pounds. For at least three minutes I keep sitting on the bed, not knowing what to do next. Fuming. Aroused. Frustrated.
Finally I get up and take off my shirt and pants and socks, leaving everything in one pile. While I’m at it, I pick up Harmony’s clothes too but pause when I reach her underwear on the bathroom floor because she’s visible through the glass shower door as she lets the hot water cascade over her. Almost as if on autopilot, I step out of my own underwear and get in behind her. She doesn’t protest.
The water hits some parts of me but not others, which is fine. I want Harmony to stay warm. Cautiously, I put my hands on her. I caress her midsection, not in a sexual way but tenderly, and kiss one of her shoulders. I keep my erection away from her,not wanting to give her the wrong idea. Of course I want her, but more than that, I want her to know I’m here for her.
Just like when I approached her at the bar lounge, she doesn’t really react. Her mind is elsewhere, probably spinning at a speed I can’t fathom.
She smells like floral soap. Suds swirl around her feet.
After some time like this, barely moving, she makes a slow turn and stands up tall on her toes and kisses along my jaw. When she gets to the corner of my mouth, she waits a beat, then kisses me full on with terrifying ferocity. I kiss her back, unable to stop myself from palming both her breasts when I do. She drags me all the way under the water and grips my cock, elongating me so fast I can’t see straight.
