Say it Louder by Heidi Joy Tretheway Page A

this isn’t.”
    Gavin places a steadying hand on my shoulder, no doubt seeing the rage that wants to spring from my chest. Since I saw Chief slinking out my front door half-dressed, I’ve fantasized about the dozens of different, satisfying ways I could beat the shit out of him.
    “Don’t tell me it isn’t personal when I caught him fucking my girlfriend in my bed,” I seethe.
    Gavin gives my shoulder a gentle shove, knocking me back a step as we ride up the elevator to Chief’s office. “No. This is about choosing a manager that better fits our creative direction. We don’t need one more drop of bad press.”
    Gavin’s expression softens and I know he feels guilty for setting off the first firestorm in the wake of his muse Lulu’s overdose. When he admitted that he had a part in it, things went south fast for our band.
    We were stunned, frozen, almost incapacitated. Gavin had always been our bright main sail, our fearless leader. I was the rudder. Working out of sight, making a thousand tiny corrections to keep us on the right course no matter which way the wind blew.
    When Gavin fled, I stepped in. It’s how it always was—if Gavin got too drunk or crazy or was just too hungover from partying the night before, I navigated us safely home. And I was the one who pushed back on his drinking and smoking weed so that we’d get sharper and more focused.
    Gavin and I step into an elevator lobby and a pretty receptionist invites us to take a seat. She calls Chief, but her eyes never leave us. She knows who we are.
    I cross my arms and spin around, ignoring her, surveying the framed album covers on the walls. Our first two major label releases, Beast and Feast , are up there among impressive company, A-list names that routinely top the charts.
    “Guys?” Chief cocks his head and we follow him to a small conference room with a kickass view of Midtown. He sits. We sit. He pours us each a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. It’s all very civilized.  
    “Before we start with what’s on your agenda, I’d like to apologize,” Chief says. “You caught me in a compromising position, and of course I’d like to make it right.”
    “How could you?” My voice is hoarse with anger, and I mean it both ways: how could he violate my trust, and how could he possibly make it right?
    Chief takes my question for its second meaning. “I’d like to suggest we have a cooling-off period. I’ll take a step back from daily management, we’ll bring in a producer to work with you guys more closely on getting the album done and out the door, and then we can work together again once everything’s back to normal.”
    He smiles, his white teeth and skinny beard and balding head looking very content. Very comfortable. I want to knock the comfort right out of that sack of shit.
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gavin says, giving me a warning look that says he’ll handle this. “I think our relationship has run its course. We have an immediate termination clause in your contract. We’re using it.”
    “This close to an album release? Don’t be stupid.” Chief snorts.
    “No, stupid is screwing the girlfriend of one of your clients.” Gavin says.
    “You don’t shit where you eat, Chief,” I add. “I hope a couple of bangs with Kristina’s skinny hips and fake tits was worth it for you.”
    “I’m this close to getting you a sold-out stadium tour for fall.” Chief’s index finger and thumb are an inch apart. “If we go our separate ways now, you’d jeopardize that. You don’t want to do that to the band, do you, Dave?”  
    I clamp my teeth together, my jaw ticking and stomach roiling. I can’t let him get to me.  
    But Chief pushes a little harder. “They already know you’re a controlling jackass. Do you want to be a selfish bastard too?”
    I jump from my seat and my fist comes from nowhere, connecting with Chief’s jaw. My legs hit the table and send the glasses flying, shards and water