Spotlight (Famous Book 2), page 25
It’s the original on my demo we wrote together.
I hadn’t let it out into the world yet. Not at any of my gigs.
I’ve been holding on to it tighter than I should have.
But as I release the angst and my fears about how I want to make it in this industry through a song disguised as a love ballad, my confidence builds.
The audience reacts, but I can’t tell if it’s positive or negative.
I only hear my guitar and my voice.
I thought that would be a good sign. Usually, there’s bar noise in the background, the steady low hum of a large crowd. Hell, some nights I feel like I’m being completely ignored up here.
Right now, there’s nothing.
It’s as if everyone in the room is collectively holding their breaths.
And when I finish out the song, the silence doesn’t stop.
For a beat or two, I think I’ve walked onto the set of some weird-ass movie where everyone’s gone mute because of some random gas leak or bioweapon attack.
It stretches forever, but in reality it’s probably only seconds before the bar erupts in cheers, whistles, and clapping.
The smile that pulls at my lips is probably boyish and not at all professional. It feels like my face is screaming, “You like me! You really like me!”
I clear my throat and tell myself to act like I’m used to this kind of praise from an audience.
I finish out the rest of my set with the songs from my demo and tell myself to ignore the giant bodyguard man and Harley as I exit the stage and head for my dressing room.
They’re not far behind, though.
I’m pacing the room with my hands on my head trying to dispel the leftover adrenaline from being out there when they enter the room without knocking.
My feet stall when a third person enters the room.
Brix closes the door behind them and stands guard. I guess he’s in bodyguard mode not boyfriend mode.
“Lyric Jones, this is Cameron Verikas,” Harley says.
My mouth dries. My palms fucking sweat.
Cameron Verikas is here. Like, right in front of me. He’s responsible for five of the biggest acts of the last twenty years.
“And judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing you already know who he is,” Harley says.
Cameron … The Cameron Verikas smiles at me. Me! “I’m gonna cut to the chase, kid. I want to sign you and find you a label.”
Harley steps in front of him. “I want to sign you to my label.”
“Together?”
Harley’s pouty bottom lip flattens.
Cameron scoffs. “This guy has no money to give you. And ten percent of nothing is nothing. So no. Not together.”
“I don’t have no money,” Harley says. “I have … little money, which, okay, is next to nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Cameron could get your name in front of some big labels who could write you a big fat check for your first album, that’s true. But I can give you what you want. A label who wants to produce you as you.”
“But you’re both connected to Ryder, so I can’t—”
Harley smiles. “Ryder said you’d say that. I love that man like a brother, but no way would I risk a brand-new label on a favor.”
“I’m looking for a new act,” Cameron says. “I don’t go around throwing offers at mediocre artists because an old client tells me to. We’re businessmen first and foremost. Remember that whenever you believe someone is doing you a favor in this industry, okay? Favors are easy to repay with very little effort. I’ve already done more for you than any favor that’s been asked of me. I sat through an entire set just to hear you sing.”
“People like Cameron Verikas don’t do that,” Harley points out.
They’re right. Both Harley’s and Cameron’s time is valuable. And even if Ryder asked them to come hear me play—which I don’t think he did because we’ve talked about that—they didn’t have to come backstage and offer me anything.
Harley steps forward. “What we’re offering is genuine. He can make you big, but I can make your dreams come true.”
“Hear us both out, and then make your decision,” Cameron says.
“O-okay.”
If someone had told me I would have the chance to sit down with Cameron Verikas and Harley Valentine and that I’d even be contemplating picking Harley over Cameron, I would’ve told them their crystal ball was broken.
Yet, here I am, wanting to hear both of them out.
Cameron could have me shooting to the top of the Billboards in weeks. Months, tops. He’s the type of manager a guy like me could only dream of. Yeah, he managed Eleven, but he’s also been responsible for some Grammy Award–winning acts who aren’t so boy bandy.
Harley, on the other hand, is all boy band. But he wants to change that image, and he wants to give not only me but Ryder his own voice as well.
“The original out there,” Harley says. “Did you write it?”
“Yes. Uh, well, with Ryder’s help. The melody is mine. He helped me with the lyrics.”
Harley seems pleased with my answer. “You two make a great team. I’d want to keep that if I signed you.”
“Keep that how?”
“Get Ryder to produce your music.”
That right there is almost enough for me to yell “Sold” and shake his hand.
Cameron doesn’t let me get that far. “I can have the hottest producers in town gagging over working with you.”
Harley cringes. “Old man, don’t say gagging like you’re a contestant on RuPaul’s Drag Race.”
Cameron ignores him, but his lips twitch. “I have all the contacts in the world.”
“I have what you want,” Harley counters.
Brix clears his throat. “Babe, could you not make it sound so sexual when you say that? Thanks.”
“Aww, jealous, Rambo?”
Cameron seems to know about Harley’s relationship, which is surprising, but it shouldn’t be. He would’ve had to have known about Harley’s sexuality back in the Eleven days. Is he one of the ones who made Harley and Ryder stay closeted throughout their boy band days?
I turn to him. “How do you plan to pitch an out and proud gay artist? I won’t step into a closet like—”
“Like Ryder and I did?” Harley asks.
I don’t answer.
“Those boys came out to me after the fact,” Cameron says. “After the contracts were signed and the label had put their rules in place. Being up-front is a lot easier. Some labels will turn you down because of it, I’m not going to lie, but being out from the beginning is key in this industry.”
Harley sighs. “I really want to debate why I would be a better choice in this area, but I think we both know that’s not the case. Actually, in a lot of areas, Cameron is by far the better choice.”
“That really fills me with confidence,” I say.
Harley shakes his head. “I’m never going to lie to you either. That I can promise. I will work you hard. You and I will fight over songs, over lyrics, and everything in between. But I will always listen to you. I will always work with you.”
I glance at Cameron. “And you won’t?”
“It’s my job to be the go-between for you and the label. I will go to bat for you—”
“But he’ll also bat for the label,” Harley adds.
Cameron can’t deny that.
“Sign with me and I’ll cut out the middleman,” Harley says. “My label is going to be small starting out. Just Eleven and one artist I want to promote the shit out of. Then I’ll think about adding more artists.”
“What about the fact that my sound is so much different than Eleven’s?”
“Not an issue. Eleven will bring in the money. I want different acts. I’m getting bored recreating the same crap over and over again. I need new blood.” Harley’s passionate. There’s no doubt about that. But he’s also a little too excited about the new-blood thing.
I tilt my head in Brix’s direction. “He is still talking about music, isn’t he?”
“I have no idea,” he answers.
“In all honesty,” Harley says, “it’s a risk working with me.”
“I’ll get you signed within a month,” Cameron promises.
My head hurts, and I rub my temples.
“Think about it,” Harley says. “This industry moves fast, so Cameron can’t wait for an answer as long as I can. My label will take months to get off the ground.”
“I’m a little overwhelmed,” I admit. And then something occurs to me. “How did you two know where to find me?”
“Total fluke?” Harley squeaks.
I narrow my eyes.
“Shit, is that the time?” Harley checks an imaginary watch. “It’s way past my bedtime.”
He goes to leave.
“What happened to not lying?”
“Okay, fine. Ryder told me where you might be, but trust me, it was only because I’d been calling him nonstop about you. I even tried to trick him into giving me your demo, which is how Cameron got involved in the first place, but he saw right through it. Now Cameron’s interested in you too, and if I was going to lose you to anyone, I’d be comfortable with it being him. Even if, right now, I really want to tell a guy who is like my dad to fuck off.”
Cameron smiles. “With Harley going to extremes to get your demo, it piqued my interest. It’s business.”
Right. It’s business.
“I … I have a lot to think about,” I say. “And I’m not considering anything unless you send me contracts with all your terms.” Thank fuck my brother is an entertainment lawyer.
“Give us your contact details, and we’ll send them,” Cameron says. “Unless you’re going to make us go through Ryder again?”
“I’ll give you my information.”
They each give me their phone, and I put my email address and phone number into their contacts.
Harley steps closer to me. “Please don’t be mad at Ryder for telling me where I could find exactly what I was looking for. I wouldn’t be fighting for you if I hadn’t seen something out there.” He points toward the stage. “Neither would Cameron. I admire you for wanting to get this the right way, but I also have to say that you need work. You need to grow as an artist. We both see that thing inside you that you need to be great. Eventually. No free rides. Got it?”
I nod.
The way this is happening is not how I ever wanted to get a deal, but I believe him when he says he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t believe in me. Neither of them would be willing to sink time and energy into me.
The weight of my decision claws at my throat.
My head says Cameron. He’s one of the biggest managers in the industry and could make me a huge star.
Harley … he’s offering me more, but it’s a risk. His new label, no matter how big his name is as an artist, is a risk. He might suck at running the business side of it.
I really have no idea what to do, and the only thing I want to do right now is go home to Ryder.
CHAPTER 27
RYDER
I’m pacing my bedroom and starting at the text I sent to Lyric a few hours ago. As soon as I hung up with Harley, I knew I’d done the wrong thing and needed to confess.
It took a few hours to work up the courage to type a half confession.
So, I did something. Please don’t hate me.
I figured he was onstage, maybe, or hadn’t seen it.
By now, Lyric would know for sure if Harley had turned up, which I assume he had. He wouldn’t have been hounding me for details on Lyric only to drop it the minute he was given them.
So I guess the only question now is how much trouble I’m in.
The front door clicks open, echoing up the stairs in the silence of the late hour.
I pray to the God my parents forced down my throat, even though I don’t believe in Him, and hope it’s Lyric and not some stalker situation like what Harley dealt with this past year.
I open the door to my bedroom and come face-to-face with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.
From his loose, long, wavy blond hair, expressive hazel eyes, and strong jaw down to his usual attire of tight jeans, plain T-shirt, and a suit vest, I love everything about this man.
Even the scowl he’s … wait … not wearing?
He smiles at me, and now I’m wondering if maybe this is a dream.
I should be getting yelled at. I should be—
Not getting cut off by his mouth on mine. Yet, here we are.
I stumble back, but he comes with me. His tongue probes my mouth, making my lips part for him as he dives in and kisses me with everything that he is. Passionate. Caring. Mine.
I kiss him back just as hard, hoping he can taste how sorry I am for doing something he didn’t want me to. I’m hoping he feels how much he affects me, not just physically but mentally as well.
My cock tents my sweatpants, and I pull our lower halves together so Lyric can feel every inch of me against him.
“I want inside you,” Lyric murmurs against my lips.
I don’t hesitate to step back and shuck off my shirt and pants, leaving me naked for him in record time.
Lyric slips his vest off, then his shirt. “Get on the bed for me.”
I walk backward toward the bed, not taking my eyes off him for even a second. Sitting on the mattress, I wiggle my way to the middle and then lie back.
I’m exposed and hard. I go to reach for my cock to stroke it and try to give it some form of relief, but Lyric doesn’t let me.
He grunts. “Hands and knees will be better for this. I really wanted to make love to you, but I know this is going to be hard and fast.”
Part of me wonders if this is my punishment—an angry fuck—but I have to say, it’s not much of a punishment.
I do as he says and roll onto my hands and knees.
“You look so good like that.”
I stare at him over my shoulder while he drops his pants and gets supplies from my bedside drawer.
He doesn’t lie. The minute he has the condom on, he’s fucking me with lubed fingers, trying to get me open for him as fast as possible.
I moan as my ass clenches around his fingers. I’m craving more, craving the burn. I don’t care if I’m not ready, I want all of him. Now.
“Tell me if you need a minute.”
I shake my head, my throat too dry to make sounds come out of my mouth.
His hand goes to the back of my neck as he lines up his cock and sinks inside me.
We let out a collective groan, but mine cuts off when he rotates his hips and pushes in deeper.
No other sounds pass my lips. All I can do is feel.
The hand on my neck creeps up into my hair and holds tight so my head is pulled back.
Lyric moves in and out of me, the burn still there but diminishing slowly with every thrust. It’s hard and rough but not in the hate-filled or angry way I was expecting. It’s just rough enough to sting in between bouts of pleasure, and his hand on my hip is soft and gentle. He’s supporting me while still fucking me.
Tingles shoot down my spine. My toes curl and go kind of numb. Precum leaks onto the bed beneath me, my cock hard and untouched, and I struggle to catch my breath.
Lyric trembles, and I feel it in his thighs when they meet mine over and over again.
“This is …” He lets out a loud breath, and the hand on my hip tightens.
I want to say it’s amazing, but my voice is still gone.
Probably a good thing because all I keep thinking is how gone I am for him.
I’m in love with him. There’s no doubt about that.
“Fuck, Ryder.” He shudders inside me and holds his breath while he slows his thrusts.
Just when I think he’s going to pull out of me, his arms come around me, embracing my chest as he pulls me up onto my knees with my back against his front.
His cock is still inside me, still slowly jerking as he continues to come. I suddenly wish there was no condom between us and make a mental note to have that conversation with him sometime soon.
Lyric nuzzles my neck, and I lean back against his chest and rest my head on his shoulder.
His hand snakes around me and goes to my cock. The head is slick, and he strokes me languidly.
From the rough way he took me to the care he’s giving me now, my head swims.
Lyric’s lips trace my shoulder, and his hand grips me tighter. He jerks me off until my hips take over, and I fuck into his hand as he holds me close.
He peppers soft kisses over my skin.
And when I come all over his hand, he uses his free one to turn my head and kiss me deep.
By the time we’ve both recovered, our muscles are liquid.
Lyric releases me, and I don’t even care that I turn and collapse onto my back in a pool of my own cum.
He stares down at me warmly and leaves briefly to clean himself up, but then he’s right there next to me again, holding me.
“Hi,” I say.
Lyric laughs at me. “Hey. Probably should’ve started with that.”
“I thought you were gonna start with yelling.”
He kisses my nose. “No yelling.”
“Didn’t Harley—”
“Oh, he did. And he brought Cameron Verikas with him.”
“Cameron. And you’re not yelling at me why? I didn’t mean to tell Harley where you were. I mean, well I did, but I knew it was wrong the second I did it, and I’m sorry, and I’m not butting in, I swear. I—”
“They, uh”—a shy smile crosses his face—“both offered me a contract.”
I grin. “Fuck, baby. That’s amazing. You should’ve led with that.”
“I … I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“What are the terms?”
“They have to send me their contracts and exactly what they’re offering, but basically, Cameron is promising to make me huge, and Harley is offering me creative freedom.”
I wince. “That’s a hard choice.”
“It is.”
“Though, creative freedom is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Cameron says he’ll go to bat for me as an out artist.”
