Page 2 of Ambiguous
After meeting my eyes for a quick check-in, Stu picks at the strings, and a deep bass joins the drumbeat.
A roadie plugs in my guitar. I give it a strum, knowing the crowd can hear it, and am rewarded with another massive round of squeals and applause.
I glance around at everyone and nod.
We’re ready.
The curtain is whisked away and lights flood the stage.
I step out, dazzled, so I can dazzle them myself. I can’t hear a thing but the music in my ears, and it’s overwhelming.
I absolutely love it. This moment. This jolt of adrenaline.
It makes everything else in my world vanish, so all that exists isnow.
Shading my eyes with a hand, I survey the shapes in the darkness before us. I stand at the mic, stare down my fans, grin, and launch into the opening song.
CHAPTER2
Sam
Islide on my dark blue suit jacket complete with pocket square—old-school style, but it screamsLawyer!—and grab my briefcase from the back seat of my car.
Century City has a reputation for having the most cutthroat lawyers in the state. I’m not sure I fit in. But the firm’s name looks good on my résumé, and the opportunity to work on major nationwide initiatives that matter to me helps me deal with the rest. Mostly.
I take the garage elevator down to the ground level and cross the landscaped path to a high-rise office building, flashing my badge to security and weaving through the construction. I’m used to the dust. Someone’s always remodeling or upgrading, with particleboard cordoning off areas and quilted moving-van-style blankets padding the elevators. Four people get in the car with me as I take it to the thirtieth floor.
“Morning, Sam,” Bruce, our receptionist says, when I walk through. He’s a Parisian macaron of a man, with satiny dark skin and no hair, wearing pastel from head to toe. Somehow, he pulls it off, managing to look like the chicest person to ever live. “Terrill asked for you. He says he wants you in a meeting at ten.”
I assume it’s music related, which is a perk of working here. I love discovering new artists. I spend my days drafting and negotiating entertainment contracts, because we represent most of the major American record labels. It’s common for recording legends to stroll our halls, which is kind of a rush. Still, since this is LA, I have to act like I’m too cool and don’t notice their presence.
I nod. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
In the break room, I pause to brew a K-Cup. Then I make my way to my boss’s doorway. He’s on a call. He waves me in, and I sit down in a client chair, listening to him yell at someone… at eight fifteen in the morning.
Did I mention I’m not sure I like working here?
But. Think of the special projects. Think of the reach. Think of the opportunities.
I sip my coffee and wait, taking in his desk piled with papers. I restrain my shudder. How does he get anything done?
When he sets down the phone, he gives me a once-over, his nose wrinkling. He’s made no attempt to hide the fact that my sexuality creeps him out. He didn’t ask for me to be assigned to his division. He thinks I barely earn my keep. Given his attitudes, I’m amazed he’s civil to Bruce—although Bruce’s competence shines through, so perhaps that explains it. Or maybe he knows Bruce wouldn’t put up with his asshattery the way I do.
“Lighthouse Records has asked us to explain to one of its artists the penalty terms of the agreement he signed. His laziness is hurting their bottom line.”
“So it’s time to get tough?” I hide my grimace. This is my least favorite part of the job: threatening others with breach-of-contract lawsuits. But there’s only so many pro bono hours I’m allowed to log, even if that’s my main reason for being here.
He gives me a toothy smile. “Exactly. They figure if they can scare him, he’ll put out.”
“Fine. Who is it?”
“Julian Hill.”
That stops the forward motion of my thoughts, and I blink. Julian Hill is one of the biggest stars on the planet, and he has a reputation for being Tom Hanks–level kind. Why the hell does he need lawyers to read him the riot act?
Also, he’s my best friend Emily’s crush. I’ll be able to taunt her for the foreseeable future with this one—if meeting him isn’t confidential.
“What’s he done?”
