Page 62 of The Twisted Beats

“How could they?”

She shakes her head and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I gesture to her phone. “Give it a try.”

“I guess I have to.” She takes a deep breath and brings the phone to her ear.

She talks to the director and explains. I feel bad that I told her to lie when it’s something I wouldn’t do, but I’m impressed at how well she handles it.

She’s completely believable. I laugh to myself. She’s an actress. Of course she can pull it off.

She hangs up with a massive grin from ear to ear. “It worked. They said they can switch things around without too much trouble since it’s a rehearsal day. I guess that means we have the whole day to spend together.”

“We have some time, but Guns and I have to go to the recording studio today. We’re supposed to lay tracks, but we’re gonna quit instead.”

Her eyes go wide. “You can’t do that, Callum.”

“Why? I hate that group.”

“You’re under contract. They could sue you if you do.”

“Are you sure?” My insides empty. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m in the business.”

“But I think record contracts are different.”

“I don’t know, but I’d ask your uncle before you do something that could get you sued and blacklisted.”

I sit on her bed and rub my face in my palms. She could be right. I pick up my phone and text my uncle.

Me:I’m quitting the band.

He responds in seconds.

Uncle John:No, you’re not.

Me:Why?

Uncle John:Do you have the money to pay back the advances they gave you plus the ten percent interest?

Me:I thought that money came from Mr. Hemings and that other guy.

Uncle John:It did, but it’s called an advance for a reason. They’re investors and plan to make a profit.

Me:Meaning?

Uncle John:Cash, you’re required to pay it back through the income you make from albums, merch, and tours. If you don’t fulfill your obligations, you still have to pay it back plus the ten percent. And they’ll exercise the option. It’s in your contract. Unless you have money I don’t know about, you’re not quitting.

I gaze up at Livianna with my lungs deflating. “You’re right. I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Love?” My stomach spins and I smile. “I’m your love?”

She blushes. “It’s just a term of endearment.”

“Uh-huh.” I beckon her over with a crook of my finger. “I didn’t get a morning kiss,love.”