CHAPTER ONE
TRAVIS

It’s been right at two years since the last time Amaryllis saw a live crowd in front of a stage, instead of a swarm of cars in a parking lot or drive-in theater. We were almost ready to jump back into a tour cycle to celebrate, and promote, our first album—without The Machine—when the lockdowns hit, shuttering the whole world for over a year. It took a while, but the music community figured out how we could still connect with our fans and lift everyone’s spirits, even if that was only for sixty or ninety minutes at a time.

Those gigs were fun, and they helped us all keep what we had left of our sanity during the pandemic; but… 

It wasn’t the same.

Next week marks our first chance to play for a live audience of people who aren’t sitting in their vehicles, in twenty-four months.

I am amped!

“Nash!” Carly’s voice yells from the doorway of her office.

An audible groan comes from his studio. “What?” he barks back at her.

“Get your ass on the live feed.”

I shake my head and can’t stifle the chuckle that comes out. “You know he will not do that.” My voice echoes through the hall of Studio Alley. His studio is right across from mine, so I push his door open and find him sitting with his arms crossed behind his workstation. “Dude, do you think sticking your chin out like that makes you more intimidating, or something?”

“Shut. Up,” he whines, dragging his hands down his face. “I hate the lives.”

“If Griffin has to take time away from his growing family to do your job,” Carly almost screeches as she ducks underneath my arm, which is propping me up in the doorway. “He’s going to pummel you.”

“Nah,” I say it with an extra sing-song cadence in my voice. “I’ll do it for him.” My fist smacks into the opposite hand. I force my eyes open as wide as I can while walking across the room until I’m standing right beside him. “But I’m still going to pummel him. That’s just a given.”

The go-to-hell look Carly is giving Nash would probably terrify us both if we didn’t know her so well. That’s a huge perk to working with someone you’ve known since birth.

“Fine,” she says, with a slight tilt to her head. “I will just tell Ainsley you’re being a pain in my ass, again. She’ll—”

“You wouldn’t,” he gasps, clutching his chest with his hand.

She pulls out her phone and swipes the screen, turning it around to show us both Ainsley’s profile image. “Get. On. The. Live,” she demands, pointing her finger at the computer screens set up in front of him.

“Fine,” he growls through a sneer. “But do I have to leave the comments up?”

He didn’t always hate the Q and As. To be fair, they used to be fun; but, somewhere along the way, the fans stopped caring about the art and started caring more about the color of our eyes and how our muscles looked—or how they didn’t look—in the clothes we chose for the day. It’s hard to deal with. As artists we want to share our work with the world, but we’ve had to adapt to the idea that some people will be there just because they like how we look. At least they’re there and listening. That’s the point that matters, anyway.

“Yes, leave the comment section up,” she groans. “It’s a Q and A, which means the talent… that’s you,” she wiggles her finger back and forth between us, “answer questions posted in the comments by the viewers.”

“They’re always going on about what color shirt I’m wearing, or how much weight I’ve lost…”

I snort. “Or gained.”

He punches me in my shoulder. “I thought I said shut up.”

“You secretly love me. It’s okay.”

She pats Nash on the head and gives him a grimace of faux sympathy. “Welcome to exactly what it’s like to be female twenty-four-seven. We’re judged for what we wear, don’t wear, how much makeup we wear, or don’t, what we weigh, what we eat… I’m sorry, people suck. That’s life. We still have to do our jobs.” She hits the button and connects to Adair’s studio. “Babe, are you here?”

“What’s up?” his voice booms through the speaker.

“Oh, now you’re bringing your husband into it?” Nash pouts, sulking and hunkering down into his chair.

She rolls her eyes and lets out an audible groan. “Your brother is going to be the death of me.”

“What’d you do, Trav?”

“Nothing.” I cross my arms over my chest. “It was not me this time.”

“Ahem,” she clears her throat. “The other brother.”

“Griffin?” he asks, confused.

She groans into the speaker. “Nash.”

“Wait, he’s the levelheaded one. Nash, what the hell man?”

“Not in the mood to deal with the stalkers today, okay?” Nash grumbles.

I cringe and force myself into an overdramatic shudder. “I love the fans, I love our fans, but if you remember I was almost abducted not that long ago by one of those fans.”

Nash sighs. “Dude, that was your fault. You led her on.”

“I did not.” Okay, maybe. But I didn’t mean to. “I’m just saying that statistically I’m much more likely to have to deal with stalkers than you are.”

“You led her on,” Carly agrees, nodding her head.

“Sorry, champ. We still have to do our jobs.” I flick him on the shoulder as I walk around to the opposite side of his workstation and flop down into an empty seat.

“Just don’t answer questions from the fans who make you uncomfortable,” Carly says. “They’ll pick up on what you will and won’t accept in the comment section.”

He sticks out his tongue and makes a gag face, which makes me think of my dog when I try to get him to take his medication, and that makes me laugh, which doesn’t look like it went over well with Nash.

“You’re slowly going insane, Travis,” Carly says, reaching over Nash to set up the feed and make sure all the connections are active. “Thanks for the backup, Babe. End connection.” The speaker on Nash’s desk flashes a blinking light twice, and before Adair can even respond it turns solid black again.

She might be right about a slipping grip on reality. It’s been a hell of a whirlwind the last two years and having to stay in quarantine for the better part of it… “I’m not sure any of us know how to human, anymore.”

Her hand pats me on my back. “None of us do. We’re just jumping back in with both feet and hoping for the best.”

Nash’s face pops up into the screen, which is right in front of me. “Ahh!” I jump in my seat and knock my leg into his desk. “Ow!” I moan, rubbing my knee. “And that’s freaking me out,” I say, pointing to his face in the screen. “Is this thing on, already?” I lean in, trying to see if there’s a blinking light or something I might be missing.

“Yes,” she deadpans.

The comments and laughing emojis flood the screen almost instantaneously. 

Carly snickers behind me. “That’s a lot of reactions. Great engagements.” She nudges me in the shoulder with her elbow. “Keep it up. That’ll get us more viewers.”

“So, hi.” I throw up my cheesy performer’s smile and wave to the crowd, watching on the other side. “We…” I lean to the side and point to Nash who is just behind me in the camera view, “We just wanted to pop on here to let you all know about some important news in the Amaryllis camp.”

The requests to join the live feed have already started inundating the screen, and it’s distracting. I can’t focus on what we’re supposed to be telling them when I’m reading all the messages attached to the Allow UserXYZ to join notifications. “Hey, Carly,” I whisper while tapping the audio button on the screen. “Can we turn that option off?”

“Nope,” she snorts. “You’ll be fine. Just ignore those.”

“Right,” I groan, unmuting the audio.

The door to Nash’s studio flings open with Adair’s body, filling the doorway. “That’s a lot of dead air, bros,” he scoffs, taking three strides to cross the entire room. “Where are we at?” he asks, sitting on the corner of the desk so his face is in the camera angle too. Barely, but it’s there.

I point at the screen while shooting lasers from my eyes. I picture the lasers firing from my pupils and knocking his cocky ass off Nash’s desk, and it makes me laugh so hard I double over.

“Sorry,” I spit out, between laughing and coughing fits. “So, first off we just want to thank all of you on behalf of the entire Amaryllis team for sticking with us through this last year.”

Nash nods his head. “It’s been hell, but—”

A fly lands on the screen over the web cam lens, causing the entire screen to turn black. I swat it away and somehow tap or brush something causing a loud ding to come through the speakers as the screen shifts and puts our faces inside half of the feed, with a buffering signal on the other side. “Damn it. What’d I do?”

Carly leans over and whispers in my ear. “You let someone join your live. Good luck with that. I’m out or I’m going to be late to a meeting with a new client.”

“We’re your clients, too.” Nash throws his hands in the air. “What do we do?”

“You know how to handle it,” she says with a wink. “I’ll meet you guys back here around two for the pre-tour discussion.” The door closes behind her, making a thud that echoes through the streaming audio.

Adair squeezes my shoulder in that older brother, I’m going to make you pay for this, kind of way. “Nice work, Trav,” he grumbles under his breath.

The buffering symbol stops spinning, and a woman’s face pops up into the feed next to mine. It terrifies the living hell out of me. “Holy—”

“Ahh!” She’s squealing and clapping her hands together. “I can’t believe I made it in.”

“Yeah, um…” Nash rubs his chin while searching for the right words. “Hi! Tell us about yourself.”

Yeah, that’s how we’re going to get out of this gracefully. Just give the fans the mic. What could go wrong? I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I also don’t want anyone joining this thing. It’s our channel, and we’re also the label, which means we’re liable for anything we put out there to the rest of the world.

We need to keep as much control as possible on the overall messaging.

“Listen,” I stammer, “That was an accident. So—”

“Everything happens for a reason!” She squeals.

Adair snorts from beside me and I want to punch him, but… camera.

“There are no accidents,” she screams into the camera. “You’re the last single Miller, right?”

I nod. But am I though? I’ve considered myself taken since the moment Master Wang handed me my soulmate drawing in Las Vegas, even if I don’t know who she is. I’ve spent every free minute trying to put myself out there, meeting new people whenever I can, because I have to find her.

It’s been difficult, even by soulmate-search standards, because Mister Comedy himself, the illustrious Master Wang only drew her from behind. So, I know what the back of her head looks like… and her shoulders.

That’s it.

“Can you take me out to dinner next Thursday?” Our overexcitable fan asks, shaking me back from my daydreams about who my mystery woman might be. I’m certain it’s not AmaryllisLuvr123 though.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She giggles and claps her hands together again. “I just broke up with my boyfriend and you’re my soulmate, and since everything happens for a reason—”

This is too much. I bump the desk with my elbow so the arm of the microphone stand scoots just enough to bump the screen. “Oops! Oh, no!”

“Dude!” Nash throws his hands out in an over-exaggerated gesture. “Rude.”

“It was an accident!” I defend myself and shrug into the camera. “It looks like we’ve lost connection. I’m so sorry. Congrats on the breakup though!” Wait. “As long as it’s a good thing.” I throw two thumbs up into the camera and watch as a grimace tugs on my face. It’s awkward as hell to watch your own expression change during a live feed. Now that I’m thoroughly distracted…

“All right. Back to the reason we’re here.” Adair clears his throat and pretends to shuffle through messages on his phone, looking for the one we’re supposed to deliver to the masses. “Here we go.”

Nash shakes his head and leans into the microphone. “We’re here to tell you that everything is opening back up, and that includes concert venues. You know what that means!”

Hearts flood the screen again.

“We’ll be coming to a town near you soon,” I add. “Our first block of dates sold out in less than an hour, which is incredible! Thank you all so much for your support. We’ve just updated the website with additional dates. You can head to the link in the profile to get all the latest venue, date, and ticket information.”

Adair points at the screen. “It’ll be updated daily, so make sure you’re checking often. Now, what questions do you have for us? We’ll do our best to answer as many of them as we can.”

This should be fun…

---

The conference room smells like fresh coffee, which Mira prepared according to everyone’s specific preferences. She’s Carly’s executive assistant, but she’s been handling most our shit too. Now that things are opening back up, we need to get someone else in here to handle things in the office. Especially, since Not Another Cliché, Carly’s marketing and consulting firm, is taking on more artists and expanding for the upcoming year. Mira will need to focus on their business and not ours.

“We’re back on the road in two days, who’s going to handle the press this time?” Adair asks. It’s probably the one question that has been on all our minds since we began planning this tour cycle.

All eyes shift to focus on Griffin, since he is the one who started this label. “I think we should all take a turn being out in front. It will help solidify the fact that we are doing this together.”

“It’ll help to deflect too,” I add, nodding toward Nash and his wife Ainsley who is rubbing her barely pregnant belly. “If they think they have to trail each of us, then it’ll be a quarter of the press on each of our tails.”

Griffin nods his agreement. “Instead of all of them on just one of us.”

Nash groans. “That’s still not good enough for me, dude.” He stretches his arm out wrapping it around Ainsley’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, princess,” Adair scoffs. “What do you expect us to do about it to make you more comfortable?” He perches his elbows on the conference table and leans forward with feigned interest, letting his head rest against his cupped hands.

Carly slaps her coffee down on the table so loud it makes half of us jump in our seats. “For your information, princesses have more strength than you do. Self-control has never been your strong suit.”

“Hey!” he squeaks, leaning back in his seat with eyes growing wider by the second.

“No.” She shakes her head and turns her attention to Nash. “You’re right, Nash. It’s absolutely not good enough.” She shrugs her shoulders, letting them wrap around her ears. “But it’s all we can do right now. We don’t have the tools to change the entire industry and a band’s success—or failure—is directly linked to how each member interacts with the press and the fans. It’s just a fact of life in this very connected and socially active society that we live in.”

He nods and smacks his lips together. “That’s fair, but it still sucks.”

Mira raises her hand to say something, but she’s standing behind Adair and Carly, so they don’t see her, and Griffin is texting on his phone right now. Her face falls just enough for me to catch the change in her expression.

“I don’t—” Adair starts.

“Shh.” I hold up one finger to my mouth and glare at Adair, knowing it is doing nothing but pissing him off right now. Fun fact: pissing Adair off is my favorite past-time when we aren’t making music. I nod toward Mira. “She was going to say something before you interrupted her like a rude asshole.”

He growls and acts like he’s going to come for me from the other side of the table, but Carly kicks his leg, which makes him jump. He redirects his focus to Mira as her face turns a bright shade of red. She recovers quickly putting on her game face. “If you want things to change, then you have to begin the process of creating that change,” she says.

“What’s that mean?” Adair’s eyebrows scrunch together, and it looks like he might be in physical pain as he tries to decode what she means. “Is that like some self-help motivational quote, or something?”

I snort a chuckle out. “No one ever accused Adair of being the brains in Amaryllis.”

Griffin leans over the conference table, resting his chin on his fist. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mira?”

“Whatever it is, I’m on board if it will give us a fighting chance of having a semi-normal life,” Nash grumbles from his seat. “The press has been hanging around and lurking in the background again, just like they did when we were with The Machine.”

“It’s getting intense,” Ainsley adds. She’s leaning against his shoulder while still rubbing her barely-there baby bump. “I’m sure they aren’t all like this, but I was on my way to the store yesterday to pick up some things for the nursery and they swarmed me. It’s not a huge deal for me, honestly. Or it wasn’t a big deal for me; but we’re trying to keep the newest Baby Miller out of the spotlight for as long as we can.”

Griffin holds one hand up and nods slowly. “You don’t have to justify it; I get it.” If anyone here can understand exactly where she and Nash are coming from, it’s Griffin since he and London just welcomed a brand-new baby girl into the world a few months ago. He turns his attention back to Mira. “What’s your idea?”

“So,” Mari clasps her hands together and takes a few strides to the front of the room, “my idea isn’t all that revolutionary.”

“Then why are we talking—” Adair grumbles.

Carly gives him a look that shuts him up before he can finish his sentence. “Go ahead, Mira. We’re listening.”

Mira’s gaze dances around the room. I’ve learned this look of hers. It means she’s trying to decide how to present her idea to the rest of us in a way to get the least amount of pushback possible. Since she’s been working with us, I’ve spent a lot of hours side-by-side with her and learned some things, which my brothers probably don’t know. One of those things is that no one should ever discount her suggestions. She’s a people watcher and learns how to influence the room by observing the people in that room. That’s the most powerful type of person and someone you want to have in your camp. I’ve also learned her boyfriend leaves the seat up and toothpaste on the sink. Gross. “What are the things you hate about being in the public eye?” she finally asks.

Collective groans and sighs echo around the room. Nash opens his mouth to speak first, but Adair cuts him off. “The intrusions into our off-time.”

Nash and Griffin nod in agreement. “I think it’s also the intrusions into the lives of our loved ones,” Griffin adds.

“Uh-huh.” Nash nods, leaning over to give Ainsley a kiss on top of her head. It’s a sweet moment that makes me realize how much I wish I had someone to share those moments with. “We are so lucky to be able to do what we love and have so many people supporting us, but it’s also a curse when it affects the safety of the people, we love the most.”

“Everyone has a right to privacy,” Carly adds, scrolling through notifications on her phone.

Mira nods and makes a note on her tablet. “So, what I’m hearing is the biggest issue is a complete lack of boundaries.”

“Sounds right,” Griffin agrees. “I want a normal life for Carter and Ava, and now my future niece or nephew,” he adds, motioning toward Nash and Ainsley. “At least for as long as possible.”

“We need to establish new rules for anyone who wants to get the inside story with Amaryllis, the studio, any of the new talent you all signed, new clients with Not Another Cliché… You all have to get on the same page and keep things as consistent across your brands as possible.”

“Consistency. I like it.” My mind is racing with ideas of how we could establish that consistency across the board. “So, we just refuse to talk to the ones who push through our boundaries and only give the story to the ones who respect our personal bubbles?”

“Bingo.” She flicks two finger guns at me. “But you all have to be on board with the game plan. If you’re all playing by the same rules, then they will eventually follow the pattern you lay out.”

“But if any of us falter then it’s going to leave the door wide open for them to just go back to business as usual.” Because they’re after the story and they’ll do whatever it takes to get it. That’s been proven time and time again with The Machine and the smear campaign they keep rolling through the media.

Mira nods with a big smile, transforming her features. “Exactly.”

Carly’s expression shifts, obviously impressed with her assistant’s ability to break down the subject and come up with a solution. “That’s brilliant. Your boss should give you a raise.” She nudges Adair in the side. “I’m giving her a raise.”

“Don’t argue with her, Adair.” From the way she’s been on his ass today, I’m guessing there is a little trouble in his brooding rockstar paradise over there.

“I’m not!” He holds his arms out wide, already defensive.

Nash tries to stifle a laugh but gargles out a booming guffaw.

“Mira,” Carly singsongs. “Can you put together an update to go out to all of our clients informing them of our new policy for speaking with members of the press?”

Mira stammers at first but swallows once to pull herself together. “You don’t want to draft it, first?”

Carly shakes her head no. I think you should draft it and I’ll just proofread it before it goes out.

Mira’s clearly flattered by the trust Carly is placing in her. “Of course.”

“Hey, Mira.” I give her an air high-five as I push myself out of my seat and onto my feet. “Good work! Now that we’ve gotten the major issue out of the way, I just remembered that I left some sample audio files in my truck. I promised the talent I’d get back to them before we hit the road, so I’m going to go grab them and start going through the stack.” I can hear them all going back to the typical chatter and banter as I make my way toward the exit at the end of Studio Alley. As I push the door open, I hear a collective gasp coming from a group of people who have surrounded the back door to our studio.

“Here comes someone!” a lone voice in the crowd belts out.

I hold up my hand signaling for them to back up. “C’mon, guys. Give me some space to walk here.” I lead with my shoulder, trying to make a pathway through the warm bodies without hurting anyone. “Just let me get to my truck.”

Phones are flying up in front of my face faster than I can even process through my thoughts alternating between Get the fuck out of my way! to Please move, so I don’t hurt you on accident. to Why the hell can I not just walk to my truck without an ordeal?

“Tell us what your response is to the latest reveal from The Machine,” someone calls out.

The latest reveal. Ha! That headline was the biggest pile of click-bait I’ve ever seen. They alleged we were all difficult behind the scenes and that they dropped us instead of the truth, which is that we told The Machine we were done. They claimed the reason for the split was hundreds-of-thousands of dollars in damages assessed by hotel insurance companies, which were charged to The Machine’s tour management account.

That part is actually not a lie, but Stone was the reason for that.

Not Amaryllis.

Mira’s words run through my mind. ‘You all have to be on the same page… ‘

Now is as good a time as any to test out her theory. “No comment.”

“What about the new album? Your first single blew up as soon as it hit radio. How much of that do you think is because of the feud between Amaryllis and The Machine?”

None. It’s because our fans are amazing, and we put out quality music instead of shit, which is what The Machine wanted us to pump out. “No comment.”

“How about all the new ventures? Each of you branching out into new territory. Does that signal the imminent end of your music careers?”

Abso-fucking-lutely not. “No comment.” I reach for the door handle of my truck and hop inside the cab, letting the doors lock as soon as I do. The cab wobbles as the bloodsuckers climb up on the running boards and grab hold of the door handles and roof rack, anything they can get their hands on. Each and every hard fling of the door handle just reinforces the fact that I’m not talking to a single one of them. I want to yell Get the fuck off my truck! But I don’t. Ten. Nine. Eight… I count backwards while taking a deep breath. “I can’t hear you,” I lie, while shaking my head and pointing to both of my ears. I can hear every damn word, but that doesn’t mean I will answer them.

This shit has to change, and this is the first step.

The artists who asked me to check out their music gave me their audio files in flash drives and memory cards, since it was in-person. I don’t give out my contact information, and I sure as hell don’t let anyone connect to my devices, until I’m sure the artist is someone Amaryllis Studios will want to work with. Since I can’t use the flash drives right now, I pick a random memory card and pop it into a burner phone that I use for this stuff. We never know who we’re dealing with, and I don’t trust most people. The sound pumps through the speakers as soon as I hit the play button. It’s good. I hear a few key change slips and some basic melody improvements we can make, but it’s probably a keeper. I make a note on my personal phone to talk to the guys about this one. The second one isn’t as strong. It’s not something I think any of us can help with, but it might be something Nigel can find a studio and producer for. I find his profile image and tap to send him a message.

Me: I think I found one you could make shine.

Nigel: Translation = You found one who’s not good enough for you, but you’ll toss it my way.

Me: No! It’s just out of our wheelhouse. It’s more mainstream.

Nigel: Fine. Send it over. I’ll listen.

I tap to share the file and include the artist’s contact info.

When I finally look back up from my phone, there are still several faces peering through the windshield like they’re waiting for me to transform into an alien or something right in front of them. I make a stupid face and immediately regret it as camera’s flash from the other side of the glass. Damn it. My fist hammers down on the steering wheel, causing my aftermarket horn to blast out through the hood of my truck. The loud train whistle sound sends them all jumping backwards and back onto the pavement of the parking lot. I can’t help but chuckle as I watch them scrambling to pick their equipment off the ground. I try to hide the look of satisfaction, which I know is creeping across my face right now. I can’t help it though. I’ve never had much of a poker face.

It doesn’t take long for most of them to pack up and load up in their cars after that. A few even flip me off as they pull out of the parking lot.

The embarrassment must’ve been too much for them. Weird.

I’m still not sorry.

Most of the crowd has already cleared out and driven away, but there’s a set of keys lying on the ground just in front of the door to the studio. I love to prank people, but I’m not an asshole. Checking to make sure the coast is clear; I hop out of the truck and start walking back toward the building. My phone buzzes in my hand.

Nigel: Okay, they’re decent. I’ll see what I can do.

I knew he’d like them if he just gave them a chance. Just as I reach down to grab the key ring, which has a gold rhinestone skull attached to it, someone else also reaches for it. Her hand brushes against mine, sending a shock of electricity through my skin. She jumps back and rubs the back of her hand. It must’ve gotten her too.

“I’m so sorry.” When I look up, her face turns a muted shade of pink, and her dark brown eyes are as wide as silver dollars. “I was looking down, scrolling through notifications from my boss and wasn’t paying attention.” She’s wearing a vintage band tee, cut off denim shorts, and has long dark hair that fades into a strawberry blonde, which is twisted into a weird thick braid resting over her shoulder. It’s hot.

“No harm, no foul.” I shrug and hand her the keys. “I assume these are yours?” 

She nods and takes them from me. “I didn’t mean to run into you like that.”

“No worries.” She’s too aware of personal boundaries to be mixed up with the rest of those click-bait chasers. “What are you doing here?” I ask, realizing that made me sound like a jerk.

“My boss sent me.”

“You’re with the press?”

She nods and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She’s breathtakingly gorgeous. Do not ask a member of the press out. Do not ask for her number. Do not… “Anyway, thank you for…” she holds the blinged out skull and lets the keys jingle as they hang in the air. “I better get back to the office, since there isn’t a story here.”

I let my gaze follow her as she walks to her car. She’s not intruding on personal space. She’s not pushing boundaries. She accepted the lack of a story and now she’ll probably face issues with her boss—it might even cost her the job.

My stomach rolls. I don’t like knowing we’re causing someone else problems. That’s not how we do things.