Reckless Reunion (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 4

  Chapter Five

  Garrett

  “She’s in there?” I ask Joe when we approach the conference room in his office.

  “She is.”

  “Is anyone else with her?”

  “Her attorney.”

  I stop and lean against the wall. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d look like a pussy in front of my friends, I’d put my head between my legs. I feel sick.

  Liam puts a hand on my back. “Dude, you okay?”

  I shrug it off. “I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  I let them all go in before me. I’m going to see her for the first time in six fucking years. It’s amazing how we lived in the same city for over five years and never saw each other. At least I assume we both lived in Stamford. After I walked out of her apartment that day, I never saw or heard from her again. She tried to contact me a few times, in the form of letters, since I changed my phone number the day after she ripped my heart out. I tore them up. Didn’t even open one envelope. There was nothing she could have said to excuse what she did to me. I’m not sure how she found my address. Not even my family knew it.

  Jeremy, our manager, sticks his head out. “You coming?”

  I take a few deep breaths and go in. My palms are sweaty, and my pulse races. I try not to make eye contact. I look out the window. At the art on the wall. At the water bottles and croissants in the center of the table.

  “Does everyone understand the purpose of this meeting?” Joe asks.

  “We’d like to avoid further litigation if at all possible,” says the man I’m not looking at on the other side of the table. “Nobody wants to see this go to court. Our hope is to come to a mutually satisfactory agreement.”

  “Let’s get started then,” Joe says. “Mike, can you and your client look this over?” He pushes a piece of paper across the table. It’s a copy of my handwritten lyrics. “These are the lyrics in question, are they not?”

  Mike looks it over and says, “Ms. Mancini?”

  I realize what I didn’t yesterday. They are calling her Reece Mancini. I look at her for the first time. She’s not looking at the lyrics. She’s gazing at me. Tears pool in her eyes and spill over. No one in the room fails to notice.

  My heart is in my goddamn throat. Her hair is longer and it’s a lighter shade of blonde. Long bangs are swept to one side and tucked behind an ear, a strand left hanging down the side of her face. Her face is fuller, telling me she’s not as thin as she was when she was eighteen. She no longer looks like a girl. She’s a woman.

  “Do you need a minute?” her lawyer asks.

  She wipes her face and looks away. “No. I’m fine. Yes, these are the lyrics.”

  My insides twist at hearing her voice again. Even her voice is more mature. She looks sad, but her words came out with authority—something I didn’t expect based on the person I knew back then.

  “And Ms. Mancini claims they were written by her and her alone?” Joe asks.

  “Her assertion is she wrote them, while Mr. Young may have made a few minor changes during the process.”

  “Did she ever file a copyright?”

  “No.”

  Joe pushes another piece of paper across the table. “Here is the copyright Reckless Alibi filed six months ago when the song was in production.”

  Mike barely gives it a glance. “This doesn’t mean anything, and you know it.”

  “I understand Ms. Mancini and Mr. Young had a romantic relationship some years back. It’s also come to my attention that Ms. Mancini hoped she would have a career in the music business but instead is working at”—he looks at his notes—“Mitchell’s Restaurant, here in New York City. Therefore, it’s our position that Ms. Mancini is trying to capitalize on their previous relationship and the success of Reckless Alibi to try and improve her financial situation.”

  She works here in the city? Not in Stamford. And why the hell is she still waitressing? I’m confused.

  I allow myself to look at her again. I expect more tears, but she doesn’t look sad anymore. Just pissed.

  Part of me wants to feel bad, because I know I’m a douche. We wrote the song together. Bits and pieces of that night keep coming back to me. I haven’t allowed myself to think about it in a long time, not even when we play the song. But I was drunk, and I can’t remember how much she wrote and how much I wrote. I don’t let myself feel sorry for her though. Not after what she did to me. I deserve the song. She’s the one who fucking left.

  The two attorneys talk. It’s legal jargon I’m sure most of us don’t understand. Her lawyer gives something to Joe, and Joe shows it to me. My eyes widen. “Two million dollars?” I shake my head. “So this is all about money.”

  “The two million is just for damages,” Mike says. “You’ll have to cease selling the song and remove it from the album it’s associated with. Ms. Mancini is willing to negotiate the sale of the song, however. Triple the amount, and she’ll grant Reckless Alibi an exclusive license and walk away.”

  “Six million?” Liam says in disbelief. “She wants us to give her six million for a song she can’t even prove she wrote? Man, you’ve got some balls, lady. Garrett, you were right all along. She’s a goddamn gold digger.”

  Reece turns red. She starts to speak, but her lawyer shuts her up by whispering something in her ear. “Let’s all calm down,” he says to the rest of us. “There’s no need for name-calling.”

  “Why should we consider entertaining your offer when it’s his word against hers, and Reckless Alibi already owns the copyright?” Joe asks.

  Mike slides an iPad across the table. “Press play.”

  Joe glances at me as if I know what’s on it. I shrug.

  The second the video starts, it all comes rushing back. I ball my hands into fists and dig my fingernails into my palms as she sings.

  A younger Reece plays the guitar and belts out the lyrics to the song now titled “Swerve.” My bandmates stand and gather behind Joe and me, watching the video. She stumbles over words and changes them as she sings. I can hear me encouraging and praising her, offering suggestions here and there. At the end of the song, she walks toward the camera, heat in her eyes. I turn the lens on us, and Reece is in my lap, kissing me. “We should write down the lyrics,” I say. “You were fantastic. You’re going to be a star one day.” The video stops, and all eyes are on me.

  Joe watches it one more time and then hands it back to Mike. “If you and Ms. Mancini will wait in the hall for a few minutes, I’d like to confer with my clients.”

  Mike looks smug as he leads Reece out the door. Reece, on the other hand—I can’t read her. At first she was sad, then she was pissed, and now she seems, hell, I don’t know.

  “Jesus, Garrett,” Crew says. “It’s her goddamn song.”

  “Now hold on,” Joe says. “Garrett did help with the lyrics. His suggestions were implemented. Even if he only wrote ten percent of it, without a formal agreement, they are each entitled to an equal split as co-writers.”

  “What do you suggest?” Bria asks.

  “That depends on if you want to buy the rights from her or not. Do you want to keep the song?”

  The five of us look at each other. “Yes,” Bria says. “It’s already getting a lot of attention, and it’s only been out a week.”

  “Then it’s best we negotiate quickly,” Joe says. “The more attention it gets, the more leverage she has. I suggest we offer half of what they’re asking. One million in damages and two million for the exclusive license.”

  “Three million?” Crew says. “Can we afford that?”

  “What do you mean, we?” Liam scoffs. “G stole the song; shouldn’t he be the one to pay?”

  A dark cloud seems to envelop me. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  We argue until Joe intervenes. “She’s suing all of you and the label.”

  “Still,” Liam says. “It’s G’s fuckup.”

  “We’re in this together,” Bria says. “Maybe she’ll
take less. She’s a waitress. A million dollars will go a long way. Why don’t we see what happens if we make the offer.”

  “I looked into her attorney,” Joe says. “Turns out Ms. Mancini is a friend of the family who owns Mad Max Productions, the company Mike works for. Believe me when I say he’s used to this type of negotiation. I’m not sure he’d even take the offer to his client.”

  “But his client is right here,” I say. “She’ll know what we’re offering. I bet she takes it. She grew up with nothing. And she’ll do the lowest, slimiest things for financial security.”

  Bria touches my shoulder. “What did she do to you, Garrett?”

  I don’t answer. I’m not discussing that.

  Joe sighs. “We can try the lowball settlement, but they have the upper hand here. I’ll ask them to come back in.”

  Ten minutes pass.

  “What’s the hold up?” I ask.

  “They said they needed more time,” Joe says.

  “For what?”

  “If I was psychic, I’d pick the winning lottery numbers, get rich, and retire to the Bahamas.”

  Who knew Joe could be funny? I open a bottle of water and chug it, drenching my bone-dry mouth. In my head I’m going through my finances. We’re making serious money, but a lot of it is going into promoting the tour. And IRL is expanding. We recently signed a lease on a larger building. This could really set us back. How in the hell did I get us into this situation?

  The door opens, and Reece and her attorney appear. He holds the chair for her while she sits. I can feel her looking at me even though I keep my attention on the table.

  Joe says, “Mr. Young, Reckless Alibi, and Indica Record Label are willing to compensate Ms. Mancini, and purchase the exclusive license for the song, for a total sum of one million.”

  With stoic expressions, Reece and Mike whisper to each other. “We’d like to re-negotiate our initial settlement offer,” he says when they finish.

  Joe cocks his head. “You mean you want to counter what we’re offering?”

  “In light of your inability or unwillingness to pay, perhaps we can come to an agreement that doesn’t involve money exchanging hands.”

  The five of us look at each other and then Joe.

  “Looks like you have our attention,” Joe says.

  “Ms. Mancini came up with a compromise. It seems you’re going on tour in March. Ms. Mancini will forgo all compensation if she can be your opening act.”

  “No way,” Liam says.

  “Does she even have a band?” Crew asks. “Equipment?”

  Bria says, “We’ve already lined up half of the opening bands.”

  When the room becomes quiet again, I stare at Reece. “What’s your husband going to think of you being gone for over two months?”

  She looks at me, confused. “I’m, um …, not married.”

  Now I’m the one who’s confused. I glance at her left ring finger, which is bare. I have the urge to ask a lot of questions, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m telling myself I shouldn’t care. She deserves whatever she got.

  “Everything makes sense now.” I turn to Joe. “Looks like her asshole husband left her penniless, and she’s trying to extort money from us.” I stare her down. “Karma can be a real bitch, can’t it?”

  “This has nothing to do—”

  Mike puts a hand on hers and gives her a sharp shake of his head. She stops talking. “It’s hardly extortion, Mr. Young. Ms. Mancini wrote the song. I’ll concede that you had a hand in it, but she is deserving of whatever compensation she’s seeking.”

  Joe looks at me for direction. “No way.”

  “Then it looks like we’re back to our original settlement offer,” Mike says. “Which would you prefer? Two million and the song rights revert to Ms. Mancini, or six million and you keep them? Either way, everyone in this room knows we have you over a barrel.”

  “I need a few more minutes with my clients,” Joe says.

  Mike and Reece exit the room once more.

  “Maybe we could come up with three million,” Crew says, “but six? That’s not going to happen.”

  “So we just let her crash our fucking party?” Liam says.

  “She’s bluffing,” I say. “I doubt she has a band.”

  “She could easily find one,” Crew says. “Who wouldn’t want to go on tour with us and open for thirty-five shows?”

  Bria stands and paces. “We can’t cancel the two dozen bands we’ve already booked. That wouldn’t be fair. Imagine if that had happened to you when you opened for White Poison.”

  “She’s right,” Jeremy says.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” I ask.

  “I have an idea,” Bria says. “She’s a great singer. I can say that after hearing her on a six-year-old amateur video. My guess is she’s even better in person. What if we let her come along and sing ‘Swerve’?”

  I push back from the table. “I’m not spending ten weeks with her, let alone be onstage with her.”

  “We might not have a choice, G,” Liam says. “Unless you have six million bucks you’ve been hiding from us.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “It might be the best compromise,” Joe says. “Since she’s willing to forgo the money, it looks like she might not be a gold digger after all. Could be she just wants recognition. Exposure. Bria’s idea might offer you the best outcome.”

  I try to think about what it would be like seeing her onstage almost every night. I used to dream of us playing together. Now all I know is it would be a nightmare.

  “Who’s in agreement?” Jeremy asks.

  Everyone raises their hand but me. “Fuck.”

  “You made your bed, G,” Liam says. “It’s time to lie in it.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. How in the hell is this happening? What choice do I have? We can’t come up with the money, and I can’t compromise the label when things are going so well. “Do it.”

  We go over some details before letting Reece and her lawyer back in.

  “We have an alternative proposal for you,” Joe says. “Since Ms. Mancini co-wrote the song, they are willing to let her sing it at every one of the tour venues.”

  Reece looks at Mike, clearly excited. Mike holds up a finger to make us wait, and he and Reece whisper back and forth.

  “Who would be playing guitar?” Mike asks.

  “I would,” Liam says. “It’s non-negotiable.”

  More whispers. Minutes and minutes of whispers.

  “Ms. Mancini agrees to that with a few alterations.”

  “Which are?” Joe asks.

  “You will re-record the song with Ms. Mancini singing. She will be billed on the album as co-author of the song. She will be entitled to royalties from the single at the same rate members of Reckless Alibi are entitled to them. Finally, we’re asking Ms. Mancini be the opening act for four tour appearances.”

  “Is that fucking all?” I say then get up and leave the room.

  Everyone follows me. “Garrett, we can work with this,” Crew says.

  “Everything is negotiable,” Joe adds. “This isn’t the final deal.”

  “No opening acts,” Liam says. “We haven’t heard anything else she’s done.”

  I thumb at him. “What he said.”

  “I really don’t want to re-record the single,” Crew says. “Bria killed it.”

  “I’d rather not either,” she says.

  “But you’re good with everything else?” Joe asks.

  Everyone looks at me. “Do I have a fucking choice?”

  Crew pats my back. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  We rejoin Mike and Reece. Joe says, “They have agreed on all points with the exception of re-recording the song and the opening acts. Remove those two, and you have a deal.”

  More whispers between them. Mike counters, “Ms. Mancini will capitulate on not re-recording the song. That’s not as important to her as being seen as a performer. We stand firm on
four opening act appearances.”

  “Do you have a band?” Jeremy asks.

  “I’ll find one,” she says. “Won’t be hard, given the circumstances.”

  “We haven’t heard anything else she’s written,” Liam says. “We need assurances she and her cronies won’t embarrass us.”

  “We’ll play for you before the tour begins,” Reece says. “You’ll see I can put together a band as good as any other opening act.”

  “What if we hate you?” I say.

  She looks me in the eye. “You won’t.”

  I laugh. She thinks I was talking about her band. “Where will you stay on tour?”

  “As Ms. Mancini will be touring with you, we expect her to have the same accommodations afforded to Reckless Alibi.”

  “We tour by bus and sleep in hotels,” Bria says.

  “Then that’s where she’ll be.”

  “Hell, no.” I slap a hand on the table. “I’m not riding on a bus with her for ten weeks.”

  “As Ms. Mancini has agreed to forgo any cash settlement, you understand she’s not in a position to pay for her own travel arrangements and accommodations. Would you like to revisit the cash settlement?”

  Liam leans over and whispers, “She’s got you by the balls, man.”

  “Two opening acts,” I say.

  Mike and Reece share some words, then he says, “Three. Are we agreed then?”

  Everyone else nods. Joe looks at me.

  “Whatever.” But what I really want to do is crawl into a fucking hole and die.

  Chapter Six

  Reece

  I walk into my apartment, throw down my things, and sit on the couch, still in shock. Maddox appears in his bedroom doorway. “How’d it go?”

  I don’t know whether to smile or cry, because I feel like doing both. “You won’t believe it.”

  He drops on the couch next to me. “How much did you get?”

  “I didn’t get any money. Well, I’ll get some royalties—”

  “That piece of shit. How in the hell did he get away with it?”

  I give him a hard stare. “Let me finish. I haven’t gotten to the good part.”