“Speaking of which,” I say. “Grip has a session soon, making some last-minute adjustments for the album. We better get him into the courtyard for your interview before it gets too late.”
I make my way through the crowd until I’m standing right behind Grip, waiting for him to finish the last few autographs.
“You enjoy managing my son?” Ms. James asks at my shoulder.
I turn my head, startled to find her so close, those eyes, so like Grip’s, trained on my face.
“Yes, very much.” I clutch his leather jacket and hoodie a little closer. “I manage several artists, but Grip definitely has a special place. He’s like family, being so close to Rhyson.”
“So he’s like a brother to you?” Ms. James asks.
“Something like that.” I lick the lie away from my lips, turning to offer her a smile. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
I see a good stopping point, and know I have to dive in and get him out before he starts with another group.
“Excuse me, Ms. James.” I smile politely and press my way to Grip’s side.
“Hey.” I touch his elbow, drawing a sharp glance from him. The smile on his face, the light in his eyes dies when he realizes it’s me. That look drags a serrated knife over an open nerve.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say softly. “But we need to get into your interview with Meryl. I think you have a session this afternoon, right?”
For a moment, it seems he may not even acknowledge my question, but then he nods and turns back to the crowd.
“Gotta go, guys.” He raises his voice to be heard by all who are around. “I’ll stay longer next time.”
“Sorry to break things up.” I look up at him, searching the rigid lines of his face for any softening. He flicks a glance my way with a barely discernible nod.
“Oh, here’s your stuff.” I extend the jacket and hoodie to him.
“Thanks,” he mutters, slipping the hoodie over the plain white T-shirt he played basketball in.
“Sure.” I look over at Shondra to give myself something to do while things feel so weird. “Hey, can we head to the courtyard for the interview now?”
“Of course,” Shondra responds. “Follow me.”
Meryl gets a call on our way to the courtyard. While she’s on the phone and Shondra is a few paces ahead of us, I search for something to break this awkward silence between Grip and me.
“I didn’t know you were taking online courses.”
“And I didn’t realize it had anything to do with managing me.” He looks straight ahead. “So, why would I tell you?”
He quickens his steps to catch up to Shondra, to get away from me. I notice his shoulders relax, the handsome profile lit with a smile as they talk about old times in these halls.
It’s like a slap across my face, his indifference. Or was it rejection? It all feels the same now. In giving him his chance with Qwest, I wasn’t prepared for what I would be giving up. Whatever existed between us, even the friendship I’ve grown to treasure over the years, will never be the same.
Bristol
HE’S GOING TO be number one.
He’s going to be number one.
He’s going to be number one.
That thought buzzes around my head as I obsessively check the numbers on Grip. It’s Prodigy’s first release. It’s the thing I’ve poured everything into for months. With two number one singles already under its belt, topping the album charts would be a crowning achievement. It’s critically and commercially beyond anything we could have hoped for. Reviews are glowing. Sales are shockingly good. By the time Meryl’s story goes to press, Grip will be in another stratosphere.
I rarely cry, but tears stand in my eyes because no one deserves this more than he does. He’s worked hard for years and is one of the most talented artists on the scene. So happy tears, but tears nonetheless.
“Knock, knock.” Rhyson raps his knuckles against my open office door and pokes his head in. “Got a second?”
“Sure.” I sniff and sneak a thumb under my eyes, hoping runny mascara doesn’t give away too much. “Come on in, brother dearest.”
“Did you see the numbers?” The eagerness on Rhyson’s handsome face matches the unassailable joy leaping in me since I saw the first batch of sales figures.
“What numbers?” I blank my face, but probably can’t suppress the happiness in my eyes.
“What numbers, my ass.” Rhyson huffs his disbelief, collapsing into the leather chair across from my desk. “I bet you’ve been checking every five minutes.”
Try every two.
“Grip is outpacing sales of my last album,” Rhyson says. “You’re telling me you don’t already know that?”
“It’s pretty freaking awesome, right?” I burst out, unable to hold it back any longer.
“Yeah, it is.” His smile softens with what looks like affection . . . for me. “We did it, Bris.”
“Grip did it,” I reply immediately.
“Of course, he did, but this is Prodigy’s first release. This is our baby, and we did good, kid.”
It means everything to hear Rhyson talk about the label as ours and the work as our shared project. This feeling, this accomplishment, the possibility of it, is what compelled me to focus my college degree on business and entertainment. It spurred me to move here for Rhyson’s solo career, even when he wasn’t sure he wanted one after all the drama with our parents. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted me in his life.
“It’s pretty incredible.” I push the words past the pesky lump in my throat.
“So where’s the man of the hour?” A grin curves Rhyson’s lips.
“He’s your best friend.” I shuffle some papers on my desk, avoiding Rhyson’s eyes. “You don’t know?”
“Are you kidding me?” He barks a laugh out. “You know where all your artists are at all times.”
“True.” I twist my lips into a wry grin at how OCD I can be. “He’s got a full day. He started off super early this morning with a call into The Breakfast Club in New York, and he’s everywhere. Several in-store appearances. He’s even on Seacrest, in studio.”
Rhyson gives a low whistle, sitting back to cross an ankle over his knee.
“Wow.” He studies my face. “So why are you here and not with our biggest star?”
“Sarah’s got it.” I stand and take a small stack of papers to the shredder I keep in the corner. “We do have other artists, and I’ve been giving so much to Grip, there’s lots to catch up on. Kilimanjaro is still out on the road. Luke is finishing his album. There’s a few movie scripts coming in for Kai, after the baby of course.”
“No nudity.” Rhyson frowns. “Like at all. Preferably no love scenes. We need final approval on the script. Aren’t there any great, meaty nun roles out there? Remember Audrey Hepburn in A Nun’s Story? She received an Oscar nomination for that.”
I chuckle because my brother is notoriously possessive over his little wife. The nun stuff sounds ridiculous, but he isn’t even kidding. I look back, and his face is completely serious. Poor Kai.
“Uh, got it. Nuns. I’ll see what I can do.” I sit again, hoping he’s lost his previous line of questioning.
“So, about Marlon.”
Damn, he’s persistent.
“I promise you Sarah’s got it. She’s more than capable.”
“I’m sure she’s capable. You wouldn’t keep her if she weren’t. We’re not known for tolerating incompetence. Guess we got that from our parents.”
Among other things.
I leave that on the shelf because Rhyson and I have never gotten far discussing our parents. Come to think of it, there are a lot of things we don’t get far discussing outside of our business dealings.
“Besides Marlon, you’ve worked harder on this than anyone, Bris.” Rhyson leans forward. “You should be with him today, and you know it. So why are you here?”
“Drop it. Geesh.” I open my laptop and pull up my checklist for Grip’s listening party and release celebration. “Everything’s covered.”