Oreos for Breakfast: Nick BSB Fiction

Oreos for Breakfast - Chapter 16
By The Paperbag Princess and The Pumpkin Coach

Corresponding Message Board Posts (Fictional!)

I shut the hotel room door behind me and just stood there for a second, eyeing the bed. I had exactly 15 minutes before I had to meet the boys downstairs to meet with this management guy. If I laid down for ten, I could get ready in five…

No. Bad idea. I needed some coffee and some food. And I had to get out of these fucking clothes. Press all day, I had to look good, and I was sick of these leather pants. It was fucking hot outside, leather did not work in L.A. I could meet management in jeans, right?

I threw my bag on the dresser and wiggled out of my clothes, taking my first deep breath of the day as air hit my skin. I rummaged through my bag and found my phone, turning it on. It blinked at me angrily, telling me I had voicemail. A lot. It was nearly 11 here, that made it 2 on the east coast, Leno was long over, and I knew Nick and my family were dying to tell me how it was. We'd been so busy I hadn't thought to get a tape of it, or worry about when it was on… damn, we'd be at Roscoe's by the time we were on here, we were the last act. Had to get Lola to tape it for me…

My phone rang and I barely glanced at the screen, knowing it was Nick. "Bunny!" I cried. I hadn't talked to him in hours.

"Buttercup! You answered your phone!"

"I just got back to my room." I stood in front of the closet, contemplating what to wear for management meetings. "I have to meet with manager guys now, what should I wear?"

"What time is it there?"

"Almost 11," I sighed.

"Dude! You're doing meetings now? Aren't you beat?"

I smiled, leaning against the wall. "I'm wrecked, baby. But we're here, and we have got to fucking find someone."

"Yeah…" he agreed. "Sucks. But, uh, wear whatever. It's definitely not business hours. I saw you in the leather pants on the webcam just now, you look hot in those."

"I just took those off and I might never put them back on."

"Never?" he whined, making me laugh.

"Never!" I asserted, picking a black sleeveless thing. It was cool and comfortable.

"So what are you wearing right now?" he wondered, attempting to sound innocent.

"A bra and undies. Don't get any ideas, I only have about 10 minutes before I have to be professional."

"That's plenty of time, baby," he cooed. "Do you have any idea how great you were on Leno?"

"No, actually. Were we good?"

She sounded so curious I had to grin at the phone. I could just see her, sitting on her bed in just her underwear, waiting for me to tell her how wonderful she was. Or she was looking through the closet, hating all her clothes. Just in her underwear, though. I liked that image. "You were amazing, Rachel. The song was great, the interview was cute, everyone was impressed."

"Who's everyone?"

"Brian and Leighanne and Howie were here, then they got on their own buses. AJ and Kevin both had to call and tell me how great you were, too."

"Here? Are you still on the bus?"

"Yeah, should get to Boston in like another hour or something." I was so not tired. I was wired from the show and seeing her on TV, then on the computer while she was on the radio. "I've called you like a million times, did you get my messages?"

"I saw the light blinking, but I didn't get a chance to listen to them. Later, if I can keep my eyes open. How was your show, baby?"

"Good. We did the new one." It was a little off, but the crowd liked it. Whatever. It was a boring song.

"You did?" she squealed. "Did it rock?"

"It's a ballad, Rache. It did not rock. Now, you on Leno, that was rocking." I didn't want to talk about my show. It was a show. I did one last night, and I'd do one tomorrow. Same show, same songs, same costumes. Rachel's adventures in L.A. were far more interesting. "He liked you."

"Who? Leno? Oh, he likes anyone with breasts. We got dragged out of there for press, and then the radio thing. Did you say you saw that?"

"The internet is an amazing thing, buttercup."

That made her laugh. "I hate that I still had to look good for fucking radio. I can wear jeans to this meeting, right?"

"Saffron won't care, believe me."

"It's not with Saffron," she said, her voice muffled. Was she putting on clothes? I really liked the underwear image!

"It's not?" Didn't she say on a voicemail that she'd talked to Saffron?

"Saffron's later, at Roscoe's."

"Later?" Did my voice just crack? I think it did, because Rachel giggled at me.

"Midnight. This guy is from HK or KH or something. Sam. Stan. Steven?"

"Wait. You're having a business meeting at midnight?"

"At Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles. Ever been there?"

Mmmm… fried chicken. Roscoe's ruled. No, wait, don't go all Homer Simpson, Nick. "Yeah. You're meeting Saffron there?" Yeah, Saffron was a normal person like that, she'd like Roscoe's. "At midnight?"

"Insane, I know," Rachel sighed. "I should really just get some sleep. That's why we never made any management decisions before, because it's just too complicated, and we don't have any time, but-"

I interrupted her. "Rachel. Stop. They must totally fucking want you."

She was quiet for a second, catching up with me. "Why? It's L.A., doesn't shit like this happen all the time?"

"I don't think so. I know none of our meetings were never at midnight over fried chicken." Might be more fun if they were. "Who's this other guy? Where did he come from?"

She told me she had Jeremy set up a meeting with someone that had called him, so she couldn't be accused of doing whatever I wanted.

I wanted her to sign with The Firm. I trusted them, and Saffron was great. Rachel would be safe there.

"It's so complicated, Nick." She sounded sad, and worried. "We're in the realm of stuff I don't understand now, and it's scary. I don't know who to trust."

I had to laugh, even as I wanted to hug her, hold her to my chest and take care of everything so she could just do her music and make millions of dollars and be happy. "Think how I feel, Rache. I started this when I was 12, what the hell did I know?"

"But you know more now, you know all about percentages and contracts and crap."

"Sorta," I admitted. "Not half as much as Kevin or Howie. Or my mom. That whole thing with Lou was just-"

"Coming!" she yelled, not at me. "I gotta go, bunny. I really want to talk to you about this, I'll.. shit, it'll be like five in the morning there when I get back…"

"I'll leave my phone on. Call me, I want to know all about it. Promise me you won't sign anything tonight."

She giggled. "Lola already made us swear not to sign anything until a lawyer saw it. Don't worry. She's setting up some stuff for us in Chicago in a couple of days, too. I love you. Are you sure I can call when I get in?"

"Rache! Of course. I want to know what happens. I love you."

She sighed quietly. "I would feel so much better if I could just hug you now."

God, yeah. I shut my eyes tightly, trying not to get overwrought and stupid. "Stop that, or you'll ruin your make-up. Just act like you understand what's going on. You're smart, you'll figure it out. Alright, buttercup?"

"Game face, baby. I'm good. Talk to you in a couple of hours."

And she was gone.

"Gentleman… the lovely lady." An older guy in a perfect suit smiled at me. "I'm Sam Moore. Great to meet you." I shook his hand when it was my turn, trying to figure out if he was annoying or I was just tired. I was fucking strung out, we'd barely had time to breathe all day.

I was really regretting pushing the guys to meet with management firms now. It seemed like a good idea in the afternoon, but right now I just wanted to crawl into bed and talk to Nick about how to do this management stuff. We'd just been getting into some interesting details when James knocked on my door, making me come down here.

"You looked great at the VMAs last night, Rachel. You're a natural." Was I? I just read what was on the prompter and kissed N*Sync when they came up to get the award. Stepped away when Justin fucking Timberlake tried to grab my ass, but that probably didn't show up on camera. I wasn't sure; we still hadn't had a chance to watch the tape Lola had.

God, was that just last night? I bit back a sigh. It had been a long night and now this was turning into a ridiculously long day.

"Thanks."

"Did you get a chance to get interviewed on Leno?"

"Yes," Jeremy answered. I knew by the tone in his voice that he was a little annoyed that Sam was only talking to me. "We had about five minutes."

Sam looked over at him. "Did Rachel get the chair? She should. I've been watching your press, and you really need to play her up more. Chick rockers are hot right now."

"We're a band, not a support act," Jeremy told him, trying so hard not to snap. Don't say 'No Doubt,' Sam, don't…

"Of course, but look at No Doubt-"

Saved by our food, thank god. Don't get us started on No Doubt. We were too much like them and fought against it every second. The media made Gwen Stefani into the front woman, and we'd made a pact to fight against that. It almost destroyed them, I'd seen their 'Behind the Music.' That was not going to happen to my band.

Our server placed a huge plate of horrible bar snacks in front of us and asked Sam what he was drinking before disappearing again. Yeah, we were going to be eating fried chicken and waffles in about an hour, but we'd all agreed that we had to have something now, dinner had been hours ago, right after the Leno filming. I leaned towards the nachos, looking up when I realized Sam was speaking to me.

"Gotta watch that girlish figure, right, Rachel?"

"Excuse me?"

What was he saying? Was that a joke? Please let that be a joke.

"You should be showing off those tattoos a lot more often. Might be easier if you lost about ten pounds."

My mouth dropped open and James shoved a fried mushroom into it. "Try this, Rache, they're awesome." James knew me too well, thank god. It probably wasn't very professional for me to yell 'you could shed a bit more than that, tubby!' in the middle of this elegant hotel bar. "Sam, let's talk numbers. What sort of percentages are you thinking about, for what sort of projected revenue?"

It was so sexy when James talked numbers. His ex, Michael, was an accountant, sometimes James paid attention to those things. Luckily, it worked, and Sam leaned into us, painting pictures of tours sponsored by Coke and me selling cosmetics. Did he realize I usually couldn't be bothered to wear much more than eyeliner, even on stage?

I didn't need to lose weight. Did I? I hated my thighs, but didn't every woman? I had no problem showing off my tattoos, I just didn't feel the need to do it all the time. Maybe I should work out a little more. If I needed to lose ten pounds, and the camera added ten, did that mean I looked like a big fat cow in our video?

Fuck it. Who cared? We had fans anyway. If I needed to lose ten pounds to get more, I didn't fucking want them. Girls in this world did not need one more anorexic pop idol, selling them unrealistic beauty standards. This guy obviously wanted me to be another Britney, or Christina, just a few years older, with better hair and a cute backing band.

Fuck that shit.

My face hurt from the fake smile when Lola finally came over, telling us our car was ready. Sam joked that we were going out to party, and asked to join us, and I traded my fake smile for my 'oh, I hate you' one.

"We're meeting with The Firm, actually. Maximizing our time in L.A. Thanks for your proposal," I nodded toward the folder that James was now holding, hoping it outlined everything in black and white. Maybe it had a picture of him so we could throw eggs at it later or something. "We'll be in touch."

He asked what they were offering, and I just shook his hand and got up, following Lola out to the car, not caring if the boys were with me or not. "Not good?" she whispered, and I made a face.

"Do I need to lose weight? Honestly, now."

"Only if you're going for that Christina Aguilera heroin chic look."

"Yeah, I like that look where my head is too big for my freakishly skinny body. It's especially flattering when your hair starts falling out, too." I slid inside the limo and screamed.

Better. Lola leaned in to smile at me. "L.A. sucks."

James joined me. "Hey, nice wheels."

"The Firm sent it," Lola informed us as Jeremy and Darien slid in.

"Hey, all Sam was doing was picking up our tab!" Darien complained.

"What, he actually paid for the food that is ruining my figure?" I snarled. I started to go on, but Jeremy shook his head, taking my hand and kissing it.

"You were so good," he said sincerely. "You were better than me, and I just didn't like that he thought you were the front woman."

"I do not need to lose weight!" I snapped, and he nodded, pulling me up against his side.

"You are the wanton sex goddess, and we are Sudden Silence, and Sam Moore was a fucking idiot."

"Oh, good, I'm not the only one that hated him?" I asked, and the boys all answered at once. By the time we got to Roscoe's, we were laughing about him, and I knew that at least we wouldn't be signing with him.

"Well, let's go see how horrible this Saffron is," Jeremy sighed, offering his hand to help me out of the car.

The line at Roscoe's on Sunset was at least 20 or 30 people deep, just like we'd predicted. Lola went up to the woman at the door and then motioned us in.

I felt like such a rock star, jumping the line, and James knew it, grinning down at me. "Think we'll ever have to wait in line again, Rache?"

I started to say something when I felt someone tug on my arm as I passed. "You're Rachel Connor!" The girl grinned at me and I stopped in my tracks. Someone recognized us here? I was getting used to fans at the hotels or outside our shows… but we never got stopped just doing normal things like going to dinner.

"Yeah?"

"I love you! I love the band! You are so cool. Can you sign this?" She held out a napkin and I smiled at her.

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Shari… and this is my friend, Dawn. We come here all the time and we were just joking that this was the kind of place you all would like. This is so cool! Oh, look, Dawn, it's Darien. She likes drummers," Shari whispered and I had to laugh.

My life was just getting more and more surreal. I was on national television earlier today, and now I was meeting with potential management companies at fuckin' midnight. "Hey, if you're such big fans, shouldn't you be watching Leno?"

"It's taping. We were out driving around, listening to you on KIIS, and had to have some chicken," Dawn assured me, making me laugh. I signed napkins for both of them and we chatted for a moment until I realized that the boys were gone. Bastards. I looked up and they were in the corner booth, talking to a pretty redhead. I excused myself and joined them.

"So, were they a plant?" I joked, sliding into the booth next to Darien, "One of them was into you, D."

The woman who could only be Saffron looked up from her conversation with Jeremy and smiled, "We're good, Rachel. But we get results, we don't worry about stunts. I'm Saffron, good to finally meet you in person. You know, Nick talks about you a lot."

She held out her hand and I shook it, quickly. Oh god, stop dropping Nick's name, Saffron. That's just going to piss Jeremy off. I didn't even risk a glance in his direction, looking down at the menu instead as she went on.

"Not that we're here to talk about him. I'm sure the rest of you are sick of him, right?"

There was collective agreement around the table and I pouted at all of them, "Stop! I'm not that bad!"

"You are and you know it!" Darien teased. "Hey! Can I get double chicken? I'm starving."

"Whatever you want, Darien. You were fabulous tonight on Leno, by the way."

We were? I looked down at my watch. It was 12:15 now. Did it play earlier in LA? No, those girls just said they were taping it. Saffron sensed my confusion and she smiled, "I had them send over a tape. We'll watch it in the limo after, if you'd like. I'm sure Amber didn't get them to play it back for you."

"No, we were busy doing promo. It felt good, though." Jeremy answered for us.

"Speak for yourself, I felt like I was going to pass out." The waitress came and we all ordered. I started to ask for a salad, but Jeremy kicked me under the table and I ordered my usual. One succulent breast and one scrumptious waffle. And a biscuit on the side. With a Sunrise, half orange juice and half lemonade. I could live on those things.

"A woman after my own heart, Rache. I can't be bothered to go for the girly plate, either!" She ordered the same thing and smiled at me. Not a smarmy smile, but a genuine "I think you might be able to be my friend" smile. I liked that. She looked… normal. I'd been afraid she'd be all polished and L.A., but she was in jeans and a polo shirt with The Firm's logo embroidered on it. She told us quickly about her history, she'd worked with Korn for a while and some country acts, had been on Backstreet's team since the release of Black and Blue.

"So, is that a conflict?" I asked, taking a sip of my drink as I watched her from across the table.

"We don't think so. I'll try not to get in the middle of lover's spats," she joked, grinning at me.

"Not even when Nick whines that he needs time off to come see me?" I teased back.

"He's a good whiner," she agreed, making me giggle and the boys groan. Quickly, she switched back into business mode. She talked fast, reminded me of a New Yorker, "I know that EMI has this idea that they can cross market you to the Backstreet fan base and, frankly, we don't even have to bother. It's a given. It's just there. Those girls follow everything the boys do, everything they say. If Brian says tomorrow that his favorite color is red, we'll suddenly see him getting all sorts of red presents. T-shirts, baseball caps, his letters will come in red envelopes."

I snickered, remembering all the stuffed animals I'd carried up to the boys in Milwaukee. What was the weird one Kevin got? A turtle? Had he mentioned once his love of turtles? Did he have a secret love of turtles that even he was unaware of? Every hotel I went to with Nick had girls standing outside, clutching the things that they just knew would make the boys happy, make them smile.

"So, the Backstreet fans, sorry boys, that's a given. Some of them hate you, Nick's the most popular, they don't like his girlfriends."

"Yeah, that Willa, what a bitch," Darien said, looking pointedly at Jeremy, who just scowled at him.

"Don't even me started," Saffron sighed. "Still, she's doing okay. The teens are good, it grows your pop base. There's disposable income there. We need the teens, everyone does. That's why you see acts like Korn and Kid Rock going on TRL. Teens equal money."

Our food came and we were quiet for a moment as we passed syrup and salt and whatnot. I could just see Jeremy contemplating his next attack. Come on, J, at least she hasn't told any of us to lose weight yet. "But the teens are fickle," he finally stated, challenging her as he attacked his chicken.

"Absolutely," she agreed. "That's why we want your market to go far beyond that. I spent a little time on your site today, and you have a great, solid group of fans that will follow you no matter what you do. Some indie bands lose fans when they get played on TRL, it looks like that's not really happening with yours. That's fantastic. We need to take what you have already, build upon that and make sure you make the right decisions that will mean we're here celebrating the release of your fifth CD in a few years."

I liked the sound of that. I liked that someone didn't see us just as a flash in the pan. Hell, we saw ourselves that way. We knew this couldn't last. There was a finite shelf life for bands like ours. We weren't kidding ourselves that we were destroying the fabric of the music industry or anything. We weren't the Stones or U2.

"Tenth. We can record an entire CD in a month," James joked.

"Well, that's not smart, is it? Don't want to saturate the market." We all stared at her blankly, making her laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tour you into the ground. And when you do another album, you'll do it however you want to. But this one has legs, you can get two or three more singles off of it."

Two or THREE? I was feeling good about being a one-hit wonder.

"It is the time of the chick rockers, sorry, boys. Rock boys are a dime a dozen, and it takes a lot to get one of them to break out. But you've got Rachel, right here." Jeremy started to say something and she held up her hand. "Of course we're not going to go the No Doubt route. They stumbled for a while, but look at them now. Advance press from their new one is hot, and the boys are just as big as Gwen. We want you guys to start where they are now. And we have James!" she crowed, pointing at him with a grin. "He's here, he's queer, he is a gay poster boy. I love it!"

'Gay poster boy,' that's what we always called him, and we fell out laughing, even James.

"Sweetie, you should have kissed JC last night on the VMAs, it would have been all over the papers," she told him, and he grinned.

"I tried, believe me." He wisely kept it there, and we somehow managed not to tease him that he did a lot more than kiss JC last night.

"Well, you're all wonderful, and we have a lot to work with. I think you could be huge. You already have the talent and the music, I'm just here for the marketing. I know you aren't all about the numbers, but I did draw some things up. You can take them with you."

She passed around neatly typed reports to each of us. I raised an eyebrow at Jeremy and he gave me a half-smile. Okay, she was sucking him in.

"Now, Rachel, I know in all those marketing courses you learned a few things about strategy and timing, that's all the business is. You need someone to be the buffer between the public and you. Between the record company who, for the sake of argument, we'll assume is EMI, and you. So that you are free to do what you do best, make music. I know you spent most of your career booking your own gigs and doing the legwork. You've earned the right to have someone else take care of that."

"Wait. Back up a sec," James interjected, "What do you mean, 'assume' EMI is our record company? We have a contract."

She smiled and took a bite of her waffle, "Damn, I never get tired of these." She swallowed her bite, leaving all of us hanging for a moment and then cleared her throat, satisfied that she had our attention, "If you choose to let The Firm come onto your team, that's the first thing we renegotiate. You are signed to a three-album deal with EMI, correct?"

"Yes. And we've recorded two. So that's one more to go."

She nodded at me and flipped open her report, reading something for a moment, "Right. Your contract is written that you are indebted to EMI for three releases. EP, full CD, greatest hits, re-releases with additional tracks…"

She let her voice trail off and one by one the light bulbs popped on over our heads. EMI was re-releasing our album in the UK with our new tracks next month, which was why we were going there, trying to start all over again. "You mean we can get out of our contract with EMI?" I nearly screamed. Out of Amber's reach? I loved this Saffron. Could I hire her on the spot?

I looked over at Lola. I know we'd promised her we wouldn't sign anything… but… damn, I really wanted out of the contract with EMI. We were hot now, I knew we could probably negotiate a better deal with another record company. I just knew it. She just shook her head at me slightly. She was being very quiet, because this wasn't her meeting, but I saw her taking notes. Yeah, she said she just wanted some waffles and she wouldn't get in our way. Right.

"That's precisely what I mean. We would have to have our lawyers look at it first, of course, and I'm not promising anything. But right now, their plan is to re-release 'Pretend To Be Nice' in Europe with the additional tracks. That will count as an additional release, giving you three under the EMI umbrella. That's your contract."

"But can we renegotiate while owing them money? We owe them a lot."

"Look, Jeremy, you'll always owe the record company money. That's the way the business is. I know you don't want to hear about Backstreet, but if you don't believe me, just ask Nick. Or better yet, Howie or Kevin, they pay real strict attention to the business side of things. Let's use an example, say 'Pretend To Be Nice' sells a million copies over the next year. Your take is 7 cents a copy, right?" We all nodded, our waffles and chicken getting cold as we listened to her, "That's $70,000 that you split 4 ways, meaning you take home over $17,000 each. Not bad for something you love to do, right? But if we renegotiate, you get a signing bonus and a higher percentage of sales. In addition, we get you artistic control of the marketing plan. That means you get to decide how your CD is going to be marketed and make a percentage of those efforts."

"Like, if we put my name on cosmetics and stuff?" I asked innocently. Saffron wrinkled her nose at me.

"Who'd want to ask you to sell makeup, Rache? You are way cooler than Mandy Moore. No, we want your face on something hip, something with an edge. MAC might be okay. With Shirley Manson or something…"

"Shakira. Rachel loves Shakira." I leaned over to whack James, but he laughed and ducked away from me.

"Okay, so you understand the numbers and we like what you're saying about artistic control. How much of our souls do we sell to you?" Jeremy asked, very matter of factly and I had to smile. It was so Jeremy. No sugar coating there.

"I like how your mind works, Jeremy," Saffron smiled at him, "Let me work something up for you. We never put our percentages and fees out there in the first meeting. It's just not something we do. We want you to see the plan, ask questions, and give us your ideas. Then we decide together how much you think The Firm can do for you."

Okay… none of us had a response to that, so we were quiet for a moment.

"Seriously, ask Nick or any of the boys. They can tell you about the good and the bad. I know if I were in your shoes, I'd probably be really confused about now. It's not like there's a management rating system you can use. There isn't a website where you can look up track records and download a how-to guide. In the end, you have to go with whoever you think understands you, your music, and will advocate for your best interests."

She let that sink in and changed the subject completely, asking us to tell her about being on Leno and how we got together. Before I knew it, Lola was looking at her watch.

"I'm really sorry, guys, but it's nearly 2am and you need to be on a plane in a few hours."

I looked over at her. Man, she looked more tired than we did. Did she ever get a day off?

Saffron nodded at her, "I'm done, unless anyone has a question?"

"Who pays for the Christmas tour if they're not with EMI?" Lola asked, and we all looked at her. Those dates were barely penciled in. And we wouldn't be out of our contract by then… would we? "Or, worse, if EMI knows they want out, then what? Those Christmas radio shows are a big market."

Saffron grinned at her, like a teacher who wanted to pat a student on the head and say 'excellent question!'. "We make sure that doesn't happen," she answered. "I plan on talking to some other record companies very quietly if we think this contract is over. If it happens, it will be quick, and with as much media attention as possible. If there's a bidding war, gorgeous."

Bidding war? Fuck me, we had to grovel to get a contract in the first place. Now they're talking bidding war?

This was not my beautiful life.

I let them talk for a minute and then leaned against Darien with a yawn. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and I really, really wanted to talk to Nick. "Alright, you need to get some sleep," Saffron said with a grin at me. "I'm sorry, you guys are still on East Coast time, aren't you?"

James waved a hand at her. "It's all tour time now. Who knows?" We stood up, saying our good-byes, and I realized the two girls that stopped me were still there, so I sent the boys over while Lola went out to find our limo. Saffron slid out of the booth with our check in hand, leaving a huge tip for our waitress.

She nodded after Lola as I followed her to the cash register. "Ask her where she'll be next month."

"What?" I blinked at her. "In London, with us."

Saffron just shrugged. "She's sharp. Listen to what she has to say, she's been around for a while. Now, what size are you?"

"What?" I was so confused. Where was Lola going? Lola couldn't leave, she was the only thing keeping us sane. Why did Saffron care what size I wore?

"You're a small, aren't you? Totally unfair, talented and gorgeous," she teased, making me smile at her. She knew I was a small, take that, Mr. Stupid Evil Manager Man. That felt like forever ago now. "Do you want the tank top or the T?" She pointed at a small case holding t-shirts with the Roscoe's logo on them and I had to laugh.

"The tank, as befitting the wanton sex goddess, of course," I teased back, telling her that all the boys wore a large. The boys joined us just as she finished paying, and she handed out the shirts.

"Now, if you sign with us, these will be a happy reminder of our first meeting, and if you don't, well, you'll just feel guilty." She was so sweet as she grinned at us that I wanted to tell her we'd definitely sign. Okay, I was strung out, but I liked her.

Finally, we were in the car, all of us quiet, mulling over what we'd found out. Lola looked up from skimming through the papers Saffron had given us and smiled. "She gets it, guys."

"I know," I said, yawning. "Hey, she told me to ask you where you'd be next month."

"Oh." She didn't meet my eyes, looking down at the papers in her hand, making a big production of putting them back in the folder.

"Lola?" Darien asked, worried.

"I…" she sighed. "When you guys go to London, I'm going to tour with Keith Urban."

"Who the fuck is that?" Jeremy yelled, and I turned to Lola in horror.

"He's one of my country guys. He's hot. But, Lola!" I was whining. I didn't care.

"Look, guys, I'm really sorry. But I don't work for you, I freelance for EMI, and you've got nothing in November, and he's doing like four months. And if you're getting out of your contract, well…" She looked so sad. "I love you guys. I really do, you have been great, one of my best jobs ever. But I don't know what's gonna happen with you, and country music is forever. I'm sorry."

I hugged her. "Don't apologize. We're just gonna miss you."

"Who's gonna take care of us in Europe?" James whined, and she smiled at him.

"I think it's a guy who used to be on Robbie Williams' crew, he'll have some good stories, huh?"

"Wait, did you say Saffron told you this?" Jeremy asked me, and I nodded. "How the fuck did she know?"

"She asked me," Lola told him, before he could get weird. "She called me about the limo, and we started chatting, and she asked me. I just made the decision yesterday, when we were in New York. It's been so crazy I didn't want to tell you."

"So Saffron forced you to? That is so uncool-"

Lola shushed him. "Let's talk about this in the morning, okay? Nobody's signing anything until I get a lawyer. I'm talking to some people in Chicago, we're there for a few days next week. Don't get mad at Saffron, I didn't ask her to keep it a secret or anything. I think she's a nice person, I've seen an awful lot of managers in my day, and I liked her. That Sam guy was evil."

"Yeah, we knew that already," Darien agreed. "He's history."

So was Lola, apparently.

Chapter 16:
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