Page 5 of Living on the Edge

I also need to find Sasha, our manager, and figure out why no one told me they were embedding a journalist on the tour.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know the band,” Ryleigh says after an awkward moment of silence.

“We’re actually pretty boring,” I say drolly. “I mean, outside of the music.”

She laughs and it’s a rich, hearty sound that normally would get my dick hard all over again.

But I know better than to let myself get stupid with a journalist.

Even one as hot as this one.

That’s the last fucking thing I need.

“Oh, I think there will be plenty to talk about,” she says.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Well, I could start with why you made such a big deal out of being an indie band and then signing with Hart Records.” She meets my gaze head on.

Great.

This one has balls.

And that’s a topic I don’t want to talk about. Our lead singer, Jonny Gold, is the king of PR. He loves talking to the press and he’s good at it. That’s why he does seventy-five percent of our interviews.

We’d known this subject might come up, but we really hoped it would fade away.

Apparently not.

“It was a business decision,” I say carefully, since I can’t just walk away. “On our own, we couldn’t open for a big-name act like Nobody’s Fool. We couldn’t get the same airplay. And frankly, we weren’t making enough money to survive. At some point, you have to weigh your beliefs with reality. We had standards, and we stuck to them to the degree that made sense. Signing on with Casey Hart was a smart decision from where we’re sitting, and Hart Records isn’t like the others out there.”

She nods. “I guess that makes sense. But so many bands tried to follow your lead, striking out on their own, using social media to their advantage. And then you sold out.”

I’m not indulging this line of questioning any more than necessary.

“Sometimes,” I say, rubbing the towel down my face before continuing, “you have to use common sense. Casey Hart came to us with a phenomenal deal. We didn’t sell out—we moved up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll have to continue this conversation at another time.” I turn and stalk in the opposite direction.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Hopefully, I didn’t say anything stupid, but that’s the one thing we’ve had to deal with since the incredible deal that took us from starving Minneapolis musicians to the opening act for a platinum-selling band. Not to mention the release of our first full album.

Hart Records has been amazing, both to us and for us, so I hate that there are people out there who think we sold out.

“What was that?” Our rhythm guitarist, Tate Jeffries, falls into step next to me.

“Did you know they were embedding a journalist fromRock Harder Magazinewith us?” I demand.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Why? Is that who the redhead is?”

“Yeah. And the first thing she does is ask why wesold outby signing with Hart Records.”

He grunts. “Maybe she should pay our bills for a while and then talk to us about that.”

He’s right, but I still feel a moment of discomfiture. “Well, we did play the indie card pretty hard, the whole time we’ve been together. Right up until we signed. I mean, how many interviews did we do talking about exactly that?”

“Yeah, I know, but it was a business decision. We changed course. Are we not allowed to try something new?”

“We are, but while wetalkedabout the indie route endlessly, we’ve optednotto address the change at all.”

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