Grip Trilogy Box Set

“This ‘thing with Parker’, as you call it, is not the point.” I slip razor blades between each word. “I’m not doing that damn song, and you and those executives can kiss my black ass.”

“Wow.” Irritation narrows her eyes to slits. “That’s real professional.”

“Professional?” I drop a laugh loaded with sarcasm. “And was it professional for you to go MIA the week of my debut release and send your junior flunky to handle me?”

It’s strangely satisfying to see her cheeks flush the color of not- quite-ripe raspberries. I know I’m not being fair. Sarah did a great job, and not once did I have reason to complain. But I can’t complain to Bristol about the thing I want to—the fact that she chose that entitled prick over me—so I’ll complain about things that don’t really matter.

She’s right. Real professional, and I don’t give a damn. “Hey, what’s going on?” Rhyson asks from a few feet away.

Bristol and I glare at each other while we wait for him to reach us. How it got this bad, I’m not sure. I’m only sure that I’m making it worse. Every time I’m near her I want to pour accelerant all over my anger so it burns us both to ash.

“What are you fighting about?” Rhyson looks between us, his frown deepening the longer he studies our faces.

“I was telling Grip that the Target executives want him to do ‘Top of the World’.” Bristol sighs like I’m a thorn

in her side. “But he won’t.”

“Bristol, could you give us a minute?” Rhyson asks.

“What?” Her expression climbs from irritated to outraged. “This is my job, Rhyson. I don’t need you to—”

“If this is your job, then I am your boss.” Rhyson’s tone and face brook no argument. “And I said give me a minute with my artist.”

“With your art . . .” Bristol folds her lips in to stem her words and draws a calming breath that doesn’t seem to be working since she’s still glaring at me. “Have at it, boss man.”

She stalks off, her precipitously high heels clack clacking her indignation with every step she takes across the floor.

“You know you need to do this song, right?” Rhyson hops up beside me.

“No, I’m not . . .”

Reason swallows the rest of my sentence. Of course I know I need to do the song. But the last thing I want to do is get up in front of all these happy faces and sing about the first time I kissed Bristol or how she turns me inside out like a sweater running through the spin cycle.

“I’ll do it.” I run my hands over my face, exhaustion from the demands of the week landing on me like a brick house. “Whatever.”

“This is exactly what I warned you about.” Rhyson points a finger at me.

“I know you better get your finger out of my face.” Involuntarily, my lips lift at one corner, and so do his. He laughs first, a small sound that loosens some of the tension bunching at my neck and shoulders. “I don’t think this is going to work, Rhys,” I say quietly after the short-lived laugh.

“What won’t work?”

“Bristol, us working together.” I tip my head back to look at the lights overhead with their multi-colored gels. “I don’t want her to manage me anymore.”

“Dammit, Marlon.” Rhyson leans back, arms straight, heels of his hands pressed to the stage and supporting him. “You and Bristol work incredibly well together. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”

“I know. I just . . . I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it.” I look at him frankly. “I’ll just keep antagonizing her until everything blows up, and we’ll ruin even the chance to be friends some day.”

“Is that what you want?” Rhyson asks. “To be her friend?”

“You know what I want.” I tap out the bass line to “Top of the World” on my leg. “Wanted. But I’m finally accepting that won’t happen. I only agreed to her managing me in the first place to be closer to her. Kai and I thought it would help my chances.”

“Kai was involved in this shit storm?” He shakes his head. “That’s what she gets for playing matchmaker.”

“Her heart was in the right place.” A bitter breath gushes past my lips. “Mine wasn’t, I guess. You were right all those times you said I should give up on Bristol and let it go.”

“Yeah, well. What do I know?” Rhyson shrugs carelessly, but when he meets my eyes, he seems more careful than a few moments before. “I mean, what if I was wrong about Bristol? I’ve been wrong before. Like that one time in high school I was wrong.”

“We both know you’ve been wrong a lot more than that.” My smile starts but melts before it’s fully formed. “But about this you were right.”