Page 75 of One More Bad Boy

We reached my floor in tense silence. Sherman exited first, using every power move in the book to show he was in charge.

“Here's the deal,” he said, shoving his way into my office. He looked around like he was seeing it for the first time. It wasn't any different than when my father used it, I hadn't had the heart to change anything. “I know you don't have the money to pay off this lawsuit.”

“You don't know shit.”

“I do. A little bird told me plenty of interesting things.” Sherman stood under a big painting of a sky full of stars. It was the first decoration Dad had hung in this space. “I know you signed a ton of new talent. I also know all about yourspecial projectwith Amina Richards.”

I was wrong before—thiswas the apex of pressure in my skull. My head was going to split apart. “What project?” I whispered.

“Her debut CD. I haven't heard it yet, but that wrap party you threw was serious business, so you must be invested in its success.” He stopped smiling. “Why did you wait so long to try and save Laurence's company? Did you realize your fun and games were over, that you'd have no more money to waste on partying and toys?”

My mouth was too dry for me to respond. Violet spoke for me, her tone melting with scorn. “Did you come here to rub this in our faces?”

“Give me some credit,” he said. “I told you, I'm offering mediation. You don't have the cash for this suit. But if you don't pay it off, you can't use anything Amina's created.”

“So?” Violet asked, waving the contract like it was on fire. “Then we cut her loose. If you believe your 'little bird' then you know we can go forward with all of our new talent. Right, Bach?”

I wondered if my stone mask was protecting me at all. “Violet is right.” I choked on every single word. “We don't need her. We've got other musicians.”

None of them are like Amina,my inner voice cried.

None of them are her!

“I'm surprised,” Sherman mused. “My insider made it sound like you cared about that girl. Even if you're cold enough to cut her off, leaving her in debt and unable to perform music while Pickadillie continues its suit, it's a waste of energy.” He stopped looking at me and focused on my VP. “You of all people should know what has to happen, Violet. You worked with Laurence for years. If either of you care about this company, you'll hand it to someone who can still repair it. Someone who neverstoppedgiving a shit.”

I said nothing. I did nothing. I was watching this event from far away, their voices muffled as I sank lower into misery. Sherman was still talking to Violet—I hated how she was actually listening to him. Like he was making good points.

Finally, he spared me a quick glance before walking to the door. “The SoCal Artist Awards are in two days. I saw Amina's name on the roster. If you want her to be able to perform, I expect I'll hear from you before then.”

With him gone, Violet faced off with me. “Bach, I'm so sorry.”

On heavy legs, I approached my expansive windows. The city below looked dirtier than usual. Gray and grim, nothing like a place full of angels.

“Bach...”

“Fuck,” I growled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck!”I screamed the words, but no matter how hard I railed against them, the facts were still facts. I’d come so close to fixing everything; the answer had been right there in my grasp, and now it was gone. And with it would go... her.

“What are you doing?” Violet asked nervously.

I stormed into my kitchen, ripping the refrigerator door open so roughly it popped a hinge. Violet shouted in surprise; I ignored her, yanking a bottle of half empty vodka from inside. I lifted it high, drinking so quickly that the liquid bubbled. It burned like hell but that still wasn’t enough.

She took a step in my direction. “I know you’re upset, but we can figure this out. The answer isn’t at the bottom of that bottle.”

Gasping for air, I said, “There is no answer.” I took another long swig of vodka. “Everything is over with.”

“Just breathe, then talk to me.”

“Get out,” I snarled.

Her face went slack. “Let me—”

“OUT!”I roared.

Violet stood her ground. It reminded me of how many times she’d patiently explained what I needed to do—how many times she'd ignored my awful moods, so she could nudge me towards whatever next step had to be taken.

My irrational anger couldn't be soothed away.

Not this time.

She must have realized that, because without another sound, she left me alone in my office. I finished the vodka, holding it high as the last drops filled my mouth.It’s gone just like she’s going to be gone.How could this be happening? How could my world fall apart so easily in just a few minutes?

“It’s not fair,” I hissed. “I’m losing everything.” I shook myself, trying to gain control of my emotions. “How the fuck is this happening?” My voice rose in the empty room. “How... the... fuck!” The empty vodka bottle flew from my grip, obliterated against the far wall. The glass glistened in the sunlight on the carpet.

Squaring my shoulders, I stormed to my broken fridge and grabbed the only other bottle inside—a chocolate brown container of Irish Cream. I used the stuff as a mixer or hid it in my coffee on miserable mornings. It tasted like sugary shit when drank straight, but I'd have chugged paint thinner to escape my torment.

Standing by the window, I glared at downtown and drank deeply. I swallowed every tooth-aching drop until all the glittering windows became nothing but a blur. Time was pointless to me. My future had come to a crashing halt.

If everything was over with...

what was the point of staying here?

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