Page 9 of Swan River

Not when it was all she had left.

She shut that thought down before it could bloom into painful memories of her family. She was happy with her life, spreading love and joy the way she’d always wanted to?through songs?using instruments she’d learned at her mother’s feet.

She shook her head again, pushing those thoughts to the background, and turned to their manager. Tommy was dressed like he was a rock star, in black leather and gold chains. Sometimes, he even acted like one, but he was also very good at what he did. Between him and their label owner, they’d taken The Painted Daisies from obscurity to Grammy-award-winning success in a handful of years.

Lost Heart Records was renowned for finding undiscovered talent and turning them into success stories, but the man who owned it, Nick Jackson, was rarely involved with actually making the music. He preferred the business side of things?copyrights, numbers, and marketing. So, when he’d shown up at the studio today, it had made Fiadh anxious for some reason.

And now, with everything spiraling, she wondered if it had been a sign.

Tommy dragged a hand over his face. “Well, fuck.”

The front door of the studio opened, and a man in a suit entered. He was younger than Tommy and Nick, maybe close to thirty, but there was an aura about him that screamed dominance. As if he was the male lion who’d win the battle for the pride even when the other two men had more knowledge and experience. He had dark-brown hair that was shaved slightly on the sides but left longer on the top. There was not a strand out of place, and yet it wasn’t gelled into a helmet, like Tommy’s. No, it was more like the hair was afraid to move and disappoint its owner. The man’s bright-blue eyes took in the handful of people in the room, brows collapsing in on each other and a frown taking his full lips and turning them down. He didn’t look like a man who smiled often, and yet the frown also seemed out of place. Like he was better expressionless. Stonelike. Because his chiseled jaw could easily be a sculpture in any museum Fiadh had ever visited.

When he reached them, he took Fee in from head to toe with a careless assessment before he pretty much dismissed her to turn toward Tommy and Nick.

This pissed her off without him ever having opened his mouth.

“Where are the others?” the man asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Well,” Tommy said, dragging his hand over his chin. “We’ve had some shit hit the fan this afternoon.”

Mr. Alpha-Man’s jaw ticked, eyes squinting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We should postpone this meeting,” Nick said. “I’ve got to get ahold of Ronan Hawk and reschedule the documentary as well.”

“Explain,” Alpha-Man demanded, and Fiadh bristled, not sure why Nick or Tommy would be taking orders from this unknown asshole.

“Who the hell are you, and why do you think you can come in here and demand anything?” she asked.

Cold eyes landed on her again, his jaw ticking even harder before he settled in on Nick. “You haven’t told them?”

Nick straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “I’d planned on it, but as I said, we’ve had some bumps today. I think it would be best to hold back until we can get everyone together next week.”

Alpha-Man glared. “I’m leaving for Germany tomorrow. I’ll be there through the end of the month. I have this single window of time, Nick. Unlike these creative types”—his eyes shot to Fiadh again—“I can’t just blow where the wind takes me.”

What the actual fuck?

“Listen, jer?” Fiadh started, only to be cut off by a woman who emerged from behind Alpha-Man.

“Call your little bandmates, Fiadh. Get them here so Mr. Riggs can talk to them,” she said. It wasn’t the woman’s tone or the fact that she was telling Fee what to do or even her stuck-up attitude that had Fee bristling. Instead, it was because the woman had said her name wrong like a million other assholes had before her. She’d pronounced it, Fee-ah-duh.

A flicker of something like irritation crossed Alpha-Man’s face. He shoved his hands into his pockets and darted a look that could kill at the woman. “It’s Fee-uh. Like Thea with an F, Shari.”

Fiadh didn’t know what to process first. That this man actually knew how to pronounce her name right, that he’d called the woman out on it, or the fact that she’d been commanded to call her friends without Tommy or Nick saying a word.

She turned to the two men the band had trusted for seven years and demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

Nick’s eyes lowered to the ground before they raised back up to meet her face, and they were full of unshed tears. Tears that made Fiadh’s chest ache and her stomach plummet.

“I’ve sold the label,” he said quietly.

Oh, shit.

Fiadh’s legs gave out, and she landed on the arm of a chair behind her.

Nick came over, squatting down in front of her. “My wife’s sick, Fee. I just want to spend what’s left of her time at her side, giving her the best of everything.”

How could she possibly stay angry with him for selling now? For passing them off to someone else when his reason was so noble? So damn good!

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