Page 64 of Crimson Desires
It wasn’t like I was disillusioned to the time commitment that Dad’s work demanded. But in my mind, it didn’t matter that Dad was a high-level executive. Axel and Damien had busy dads too—but their fathers still carved out time to spend with them.
But not James.
Before my mom died, I only knew my father as a vague idea. The name James Maverick did not remind me of playing catch or fishing at the lake. Instead, it dredged up stock-photo images of corner offices, sleek suits, and corporate stakeholders.
Dad had been active enough in my life to recognize my talent. He shoved me into the music industry. He protected me so that I didn’t stumble into the tragic fates that befell so many other child stars. But really, even then, he felt more like my boss than my father.
Once my mother died, things changed. And surprisingly, they changed for the better.
Dad accompanied me on my first international tour, and as a result, we got to spend some actual time together. He took a more active role in my life, sitting in on my recording sessions and inviting me to the office so that I could learn about the nuts and bolts of the music industry.
Yet, even after all of that, we’d never gotten drinks together.
Dad and I sat at his hotel’s VIP bar. Hammered gold pendant lights hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a dim glow. The bartender, a young guy with an immaculately waxed mustache, mixed a martini for my father. My drink, a classic rum and coke, sat in front of me untouched.
Once the bartender had finished mixing, Dad thanked him for the drink and took a sip.
“I heard about your interview with Kaleidoscope Radio.”
Shit.
My shoulders tensed. “Did Ava talk to you about it?”
Dad shook his head. “No. Kaleidoscope Radio’s general manager did. He called to complain personally about your behavior.”
“Dad, you don’t understand. The interviewer they sent was a dick.”
“Regardless. It’s unacceptable to treat a member of the press like that.”
“He completely disrespected the other guys, Dad. I know that I fucked up, but-,”
Dad held up his hand to silence me. “Enough, Jack. I’ve tried to convince Kaleidoscope Radio’s general manager to delete the interview footage, but he’s refused. He said that his team is working on a cut of the interview that will still cast you and Wicked Crimson in a favorable light. How they’re going to achieve that, I have no idea.”
I grabbed my glass, hands shaking slightly. Then, I threw it back, gulping down my drink in one go. Dad looked mildly disgusted with my lack of etiquette, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“Can’t we sue them if they refuse to delete the footage?” I asked.
Dad shook his head. “I don’t want to escalate things if I don’t have to. You’re not the only artist that our label represents, and I don’t want to reduce press opportunities for any of our other musicians.”
I sighed, my shoulders sagging. “Fine.”
“Anyways, I’ve thought about our last conversation,” Dad said. “And I’ve decided to bring on the songwriting consultants. They’ll start working with you and the others as soon as the tour ends.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Wicked Crimson isn’t making enough to justify its existence,” Dad said.
“That’s ridiculous. Do you hear yourself? We’re selling out every venue we book. What’s our revenue going to be for this tour?”
“Whatever it is, it’ll be nothing in comparison to what you used to bring in for the label as a solo artist,” Dad said.
“Dad, I don’t know how to get it through your head—I’m never going to be a solo pop artist ever again.” I tapped the counter with my drink, summoning the bartender. Thankfully, the bartender read my mind. He poured me another rum and coke. “I was fucking miserable doing that.”
Dad slammed his hand down on the bar top. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to keep a steely expression.
“I’m not asking you to be miserable, son, I’m asking you to be professional. Do you even realize the position of privilege that you’re in? How many musicians would kill to work on an album with my songwriters?” Dad took a breath. “I’m bringing on the songwriters—that’s final. If you want Wicked Crimson to continue its contract with Maverick Records, you’ll agree without protest. And before you say anything, I want you to remember that your career isn’t the only one at stake here.”
That made me take pause.