Risky Business

“Water for now, please,” I answer.

“Spring, sparkling, or electrolyte?”

I must make a face of surprise because Jazmyn barks out a laugh, but I manage to answer, “Spring is fine. Unless you’ve got a bourbon?”

Jayme knocks my knee with hers under the table, but I see interest blooming in Jazmyn’s eyes. I’m not opposed to a bit of self-deprecation if it gets us what we want—Jazmyn signing on the dotted line.

“Would’ve thought they’d serve water from the hose in a plant-heavy place like this,” I joke, and Jazmyn smiles vacantly. Is she on something, perhaps? If so, what, and should I be concerned about it?

“Can you imagine?” Jazmyn intones. “Tap water? Gross. I’d rather drink piss straight from a stranger.”

I can tell she’s waiting for a reaction, testing us, so I fake a shiver of disgust at the very thought. And I must pass her test because the mood at the table becomes much more comfortable.

Score one for me. But LA is a strange place.

“Steve says you want me to perform at Americana Land.” It’s a flat statement, no excitement or interest, which is especially concerning considering this is supposed to be an easy meet-and-sign deal. If anything, the money alone would make all but the most jaded performers sit up and take notice, and Jazmyn is too young and too new to be that careless about the bankroll we’re offering. “That’s where Abby Burks was assaulted.”

Jayme stiffens beside me.

“No,” I growl. Jayme places a light touch to my hand on the tabletop, not intimate but it’s enough to stop the rage bubbling up at Jazmyn’s accusation. “I mean, yes, we want you to perform. No, Abby Burks was not assaulted.”

“That’s not what she said.”

Jazmyn’s digging for a story, but I don’t have one to give her. I’ve said my piece and am moving on with Jayme’s help. That’s what we’re here for. So I give the barest-bones, detail-free, calmly practiced answer. “Ms. Burks created a scene where it looked as though she was shoplifting and then was intentionally unhelpful in getting the confusion straightened out. Including resisting being escorted to a more private space by our onsite security guards.”

“So she was asking for it?” Jazmyn follows up with a taunting smirk of her black-painted lips.

“Of course not,” I snap. “Not in the way you mean. I would never, and my staff would never, behave in an objectionable manner like that.”

Jazmyn flashes a ‘gotcha’ smile. “Touchy.”

Fuck. I walked right into that one. But those unfounded accusations have been hard to hear, and defending myself and my team is my first instinct. Especially when I know we didn’t do anything wrong.

In a stern voice, Steve says, “Jazmyn, could we not?”

She rolls her eyes before schooling her face back to blank disinterest. “Whatever.”

Great, things are going just great.

Jayme clears her throat then plasters a bright smile on her face. “Why don’t we order some food and then discuss the exciting plans we have?”

As if summoned, the waiter reappears. “Our special today is oat grain hoecakes with goat milk crème fraise, kale salad with homegrown bean sprouts, feta, and a raspberry vinaigrette, and chef-designed quiche. Served with fresh-squeezed orange juice mimosas.” He cuts his eyes around the table. “Or I can get you a menu?”

I get the sense that no one takes that option but rather orders the special regardless of what it contains. I glance at Jayme, then Steve and Jazmyn, and seeing no arguments, I say, “Four specials would be great. Thank you.”

And on the way out of here, I’m getting some real food. There’s got to be a decent taco truck somewhere between here and the airport.

“Great, shall we get to it, then?” Steve suggests as the waiter slips away. “We’ve had our lawyer review the contract, and everything seems to be in order, but I understand there are some updates?”

I nod confidently. “Yes, some exciting ones. During our initial conversations, we were aiming to present a series of concerts, topped off with a Jazmyn Starr special.” I offer her a smile, hoping to intrigue her with this next bit. “But I think we’ve come up with something much better.”

“Better than a Jazmyn Starr concert?” Jazmyn says doubtfully, examining her nails. “Good luck with that.”

For a newly signed artist whose primary audience is through Spotify and YouTube, she’s beyond confident. I hope her show stands up to that confidence.

“How about a one-day, jam-packed festival of music from a list of up-and-coming artists? We’ve already got quite a few on board, but we need our headliner act.” I expect that to be a dangling carrot Jazmyn can’t resist. I mean, isn’t that the point . . . all teens and young adults are into this festival set-up? Instead, her eyes narrow.

“Like who? I’m not playing with just anyone. I’m very selective.” She almost purrs the word but somehow makes it sound like a threat at the same time.