So they would remember who they didn’t pick. Once again.
The method changed, but I was no one’s choice. Had never been. Even my own mother had never let me believe she’d picked me. The only reason I’d been with her was because I’d had the misfortune of being in her belly when she’d fallen for the Englishman who’d broken her heart. First of many broken hearts.
For both of us.
“So you’ll see why this deal makes the most sense for all of you. We all know the history of contestants who come in second, third, or worse on these shows. Sure, you could be that rare bird who soars. Most likely? You’ll plunge into obscurity as soon as the screen fades to black.”
I clued back into the conversation with a start. I’d probably missed a good chunk of it. Not that I cared. Whatever meat market deal Mitchell was putting together, I didn’t want any part of it. I wasn’t anyone’s consolation prize. If this guy thought he could snap me up when I was down and desperate, he didn’t realize who he was dealing with.
My version of down and desperate was a lot bleaker than this. At least I had food in my cupboards, which was more than I could’ve said many of the days of my life.
And I had an ace of my own to pull. It would be risky. I’d considered it before, deciding to wait until I was better positioned.
But sometimes you didn’t choose the time. The time chose you.
“What kind of deal are you talking about here?” Even Byron seemed to have lost some of his artificial sheen. “And wouldn’t it be better if you spoke to each of on our own? Surely if you’re going to discuss financial details, you d
on’t want us to be privy to each other’s information.”
“Oh, if this goes the way I’m hoping, you’re going to be privy to a lot more than that of each other’s.” Mitchell grinned as if he was about to produce a shiny, new car for each of them. “I’d like to create a brand new pop outfit, with you four as the members. You’ll be stars.”
“Pop outfit?” I jerked to my feet, the string voodoo doll falling to the floor near my boot. “A band? Of people who don’t even know each other and can barely stand each other at that?”
“Hey,” Doug said, affronted. “I never had a problem with you.”
“Same.” Callum pushed back from the table and placed his hands on his thighs. “I don’t know what exactly Mitchell has in mind, but I’m willing to hear him out.”
“This isn’t against you, mates,” I said, and wanted to carve out my own tongue now that Byron had desecrated that word. “I’m just already quite sure that what Mr. Scott has in mind doesn’t jive with the plan I have for myself.”
“Oh, is that so? What plans do you have? Let me guess. You’re planning on riding the coattails of your brother. See how far that gets you.” Mitchell cocked his head. “The only problem with that is there’s already a Simon Kagan out there, and he’s a superstar. You, my dear boy, are nothing but an imitation, and a pale one at that.”
Same song, different day. I’d heard this one enough that I knew the lyrics by heart.
I gave him a bland smile. “Is that why you wanted to sign me? So I can front your band and make you money while being nothing but a shadow of the other Kagan?”
The best Kagan. How many times had I heard that from my mother?
Your brother wasn’t like you. He had a sweet heart and he was always so talented.
Sweet and talented and wonderful, that was Simon. I’d seen proof of that last night, when he’d been so eager to brand his own flesh and blood—the last remaining as far as he knew—a liar and a gold digger to boot. Just because I had dared to use the name that was mine every bit as much as his.
He also had a grateful bone in his body. You? Don’t have a one. Always want more. Never satisfied. Your scheming is going to get you laid up in a gutter someday.
No, it had just gotten me scheming on behalf of someone else. Two someones who claimed I was indebted to them.
“You’re not the lead singer, Ian.” Mitchell swiveled in his chair toward Byron, who’d suddenly regained some of his former cheer. “Byron will be.”
I dropped my head back as I laughed. Jesus Christ, the universe was truly trying to give me a righteous shove over the edge.
Well, far be it from me not to comply.
“Good luck with that. I hate to kill your One Direction dreams, but I’m not a boy bander. And I’m definitely not one to play a supporting role.”
“As if you have any other options.” Mitchell sneered. “Unless Simon’s scraps really are enough for you.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” I saluted Mitchell, then glanced at Doug and Callum. I didn’t bother with Byron. Useless, pretentious twit. “I bid you all adieu. Good day and good luck.”
I’d taken two steps toward the door when Mitchell’s voice reached me.