CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NASH

For the hundredth time this morning, I grab my phone and check the notifications. There’s a ton of them, but not a single one from the person I actually want to hear from. I check my messages again; just to make sure it went through.

It did.

There’s a pang in the pit of my stomach telling me something isn’t right. Just as I go to tap the call button, there’s a flash on my screen and it flips to Incoming call… I slide the bar to answer it. Only a few people have my cell phone number, so I’m not worried about screening it. “This is Nash.”

“Mister Miller! This is Hugh from Rage Records. We want to talk to you if you’re interested in becoming a one-man runaway train in this industry.”

Groan. “I’m not a one-man band.”

“No, but you could be! My label is prepared to make you a very lucrative offer.”

“No.”

“It’s seven figures, two albums, one world tour, and endless creative freedom,” he lets the words hang in the air before he continues. “We’d of course be happy to bring your brothers on board as a supporting act for the tour.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of my mouth as I think about telling my brothers they’ll be opening for me. “It’s a generous 

offer and very flattering. Thank you for your consideration, but I respectfully decline.”

“I don’t think you underst—”

I tap the button to end the call. “I understand just fine,” I mutter under my breath as I lean back in my chair and toss my feet back onto the desktop.

Travis barrels through the door to my studio and startles me, causing me to lean too far back in my chair. Just as I’m about to dump myself out onto the floor, I’m able to grab hold of the edge of the desk and pull myself and my chair back upright. “What the hell, man?”

“Sorry, but I heard you on the phone just now,” he admits.

“And that means you need to barge into my personal space?”

He nods his head to a beat that only he can hear.

“You’re a weird dude.”

“Maybe,” he mumbles. “Did I hear it was another offer?”

“Uh-huh,” I grunt.

“Are you going to take it?”

How can he even ask me that? “Of course, I’m not.”

“Good,” he says, rubbing the back of his head with the palm of his hand. “Adair and Griffin would miss you.”

“It’s okay, bro. I know you love me. You don’t have to admit it.”

He just rolls his eyes and throws his head back in one over-exaggerated movement. “Whatever.”

“It’s getting exhausting.”

“What is?”

“The offers, the calls, the press crawling up my ass, again.”

He rests his chin on his hands with his elbows perched on my desk. “I know. I just want to make music without having to be a dancing monkey all the time.”

“Right?”

“I think the fans would stick with us through the changes.”

So, do I. “What changes are you thinking of?” I can’t help but wonder if once again Ainsley was right and we’ve all been on the same page this whole time, but because we suck at communication, none of us knew it.

“I want to turn Amaryllis Studios into a lifestyle, a community, a…” his words trail off as he tries to find the right words to explain his vision.

“A movement?”

His eyes light up like he can’t believe I get it. The excitement is bubbling over from him. “Exactly!”

There’s a slight knock on the door as it creaks open just enough. Mira’s eyes peek through the barely there gap between the door and its frame. “Mister Miller, there’s someone here to see you.”

I point at myself, and then at Travis. “Which one?”

“You,” she says, looking at me.

Travis hops up and pulls the door open wide so he can excuse himself. “Mira, you can call us by our first names. It’ll make life much easier,” he says, giving her a little wink. I catch the way her cheeks flush when he does. Groan. “Travis quit flirting with her and get to work.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, turning around and standing at attention. He gives a salute, then marches into his studio. I can hear him laughing from behind his closed door. He’s not as funny as he thinks he is.

I run my hands over the wrinkled fabric attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of my vintage metal band shirt. “Show them in, Mira.” Ugh.

She nods and disappears for a split second before returning with a familiar face. One I haven’t seen since we first signed with The Machine. Jack Nelson, a label executive with a reputation that could rival a mafia boss. “Nash!” his booming voice fills the space of my studio and sets me on edge as soon as I hear it. “It’s good to see you, again,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. I tuck my hands in to my sides and give him the curt dude-nod that guys do sometimes.

“We’re not supposed to shake hands, CDC guidelines.” I hold my hands up and give him my best nothing-I-can-do-about-it expression. Mira must’ve caught it because she stifles a snicker as she closes the door behind us. “Thank you, Mira,” I call out just as the door latch clicks into place. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

“Well, the word is that you’re refusing to talk to anyone on the phone.”

“I just got off the phone with someone, actually.”

“You’re still refusing talk to them though, aren’t you? You’re not hearing any offers.”

I shake my head. “Nope.” I’m resolved to stay right here at Amaryllis Studios with my brothers. “I’m not interest—”

He holds up one hand and cuts me off. “Maybe I can change your mind about that.” The look in his eyes shifts, and I know we’re about to fall into the rabbit hole. This is the Jack Nelson. He’s ruthless when you cross him, and he doesn’t enjoy being told no. “When you breached your contract with The Machine, the courts imposed a pretty hefty fine, didn’t they?”

Damn it.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that fine was enough to eat up most of the royalties you all still had in reserves.”

Double damn it.

“That was what? Six mill—”

“Ten million,” I answer matter-of-factly.

“I can give you and your brothers every single cent of that back, and I’ll even throw in a five million sign-on bonus for you once you sign this,” he pulls his phone out and swipes at the screen before laying it on the desk in front of me. “Go ahead, read it over. You can sign at the bottom.”

“I’m not signing anything, Jack.”

“You will.”

I shake my head no.

“Here’s the deal. Sign this and you get to be the hero. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

I refuse to answer him.

He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he waits for me to look at the document on his phone. “Signing this will save you and your brothers—and your beloved studio—from all the financial drama you’ve gotten yourselves into by trying to compete in the big leagues.”

“We’re doing just fine, thank you. Our fans are loyal.”

He scoffs as a smug smirk creeps across his face. “Don’t forget, you were only visitors to the field. I bought and paid for you to be there, so I can and will keep you off the field if I have to.”

I take a deep breath and focus on the air filling my lungs instead of the overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. The image of him falling over backwards and flipping over the chair he’s standing in front of roll through my mind, and I have to fight the laugh threatening to come out. “You want to make a deal?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a businessman, Nash. Yes, let’s talk about a deal.”

I slide the phone back across the desk to him. “Email it to me, I’ll forward it to my attorney, and we’ll get back to you.”

He nods once and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “Okay, but if I don’t hear from you within seventy-two hours, then I’ll have to assume you’ve made the wrong decision.”

“Noted.” I nod once and motion towards the door. “You can show yourself out.”

He turns back just as he reaches for the door and narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t forget the reason you got into this business, in the first place, Nash.”

“And what reason do you think that was?”

A condescending chuckle floats out of his mouth as he tilts his head to the side. “You were only in this band because of your brothers. If you think I didn’t already know that, then you have underestimated me. I always do my research and I did mine before The Machine signed you. That means I’ve been studying and watching you for over five years. I know everything you wish I didn’t. Don’t take too long looking over that paperwork. I’ll tell my assistant to expect your response.” He flicks the studio number sign on my door and snorts out a chuckle as he lets the door slam behind him.

As soon as I hear the main door to the studio close, I hit the intercom button and wait for Mira to pick up.

“He’s gone,” she answers over the speaker.

“Thank goodness,” I groan. “Can you tell my brothers to meet me in the conference room?”

“Of course.” Her voice disappears as the intercom clicks off.

As much as I hate to admit it, Travis gave me an idea. Just as I’m about to reach for the door, I decide to text Ainsley one more time.

I stuff my phone back in my pocket and mentally chastise myself for texting twice before a response. Sigh. The conference room coffee pot is already on and percolating, filling the room with its aroma. It helps to dispel some of the negative thoughts floating through my mind right now. I shake my head twice to clear the fog and reach for the mug underneath the brewer. “Thanks for getting it set up, Mira.”

“No problem, but…” she says with a smile, blocking me from grabbing the cup. “This one’s yours.” She hands me a cup of my favorite blend. “Black. No sugar, no frilly stuff.”

“Thank you.” I watch her as she prepares the next four cups. One for Griffin, his favorite hazelnut, with just a hint of creamer. Adair’s is a specific blend with a skull on the label. Then she goes to make Travis’s. His is just as eccentric as he is, but she remembered every detail. “How did you know what we all take in our coffee?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” she smiles, setting Carly’s cup in front of her usual seat at the table. “It’s just something I do.”

Hmm. Griffin is the first one into the room and takes his seat, surprised to find a steaming cup of coffee already prepared for him. “Thanks!” he lifts the cup up and nods toward Mira. Her smile widens as Adair follows suit, but when Travis enters the room her smile fades as she bites the corner of her lip, watching his expression as he takes the first sip.

“Whoa! Someone loves me,” he says between sips of his coffee. Mira’s smile returns, along with a faint blush on her cheeks. He might be right; I think to myself.

“Isn’t Mira amazing?” Carly asks as she flops into the seat next to Adair. “Thank you! You’re a lifesaver.” She motions for Mira to take a seat next to her, but she shakes her head and starts toward the door.

Travis holds his hand up to get her attention. “Go ahead, have a seat. You’ve been helping us keep this place alive during the shutdown. You should be here for the discussion too.”

“Okay,” she says with a slight hesitancy in her voice as she pulls the chair out and takes the spot next to Carly.

Griffin thumps his hands against the table in a drumroll pattern. “So, what’s up?”

“I’m fed up,” I blurt out, shocking even myself.

“Well, tell us how you really feel,” Travis screeches, pushing himself back from the table.

I laugh louder than I mean to and, judging by the looks on their faces, I’ve pissed them all off. “Hear me out.”

“Wait,” Adair says, holding both hands up in the air. “Is this about all the deals you’ve been getting offered since your little jump into the main spotlight?”

“Kind of,” I admit, squinting through one eye. “But not entirely.”

“We’ve been trying to be pretty chill, but…” Adair continues. “I think I can speak for us all, when I say, we want to be there for you while you’re figuring out what you want to do, but we need to know where your head’s at, man.” Griffin and Travis are nodding their silent agreement.

He’s right. I’ve been keeping everything bottled up, and it’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to anyone. “I haven’t been keeping you all in the dark on purpose. I couldn’t let you all in on something when I didn’t even have the answers yet.”

“That’s fair,” Griffin says with a nervous sip of his coffee. “Have you figured it out yet?”

“I have.” I click the button on my phone to connect to the monitor attached to the wall behind me. “Look at this…” I scroll through picture after picture, video after video, of our fans at our shows. Most of the images are fan shout outs, but there are quite a few Carly took herself for the promo packages she put together. “These faces…” I keep scrolling. “These are the people we’re creating music for.”

“Of course,” Adair scoffs. “The fans have always been the focus.”

Travis clears his throat. “Except that they haven’t been the focus.”

“For once, I have to agree with Travis,” I admit. “We’ve been focusing on how to combat the smear campaign The Machine launched against us and how to show we’re the polar opposite of Stone and all his disgusting energy he brings to the table. We’ve been focusing on how to make sure we’ll get picked up by radio when the next single drops, by staying in our comfort zone, and making sure we put out something familiar.”

Silent nods around the table tell me they’re getting the point and maybe it’s resonating, at least a little.

“Griffin,” I say, turning to face him directly, “Why did you want to launch this studio?”

He tosses his hands out beside him before intertwining his fingers behind his head. “I was tired of being a puppet on a string for The Machine and the industry.”

“Adair, why did you start looking for talent and launch a side hustle with Nigel?”

He shrugs. “I wanted something that would help me get closer to Carly.”

She chuckles and smacks him on the shoulder. “That’s sweet, but it’s a total lie. You were already close to me and were making an ass out of yourself day after day.”

“That’s not completely—”

“He told me,” she interrupts him, “he started it because he wanted to use the position Amaryllis was in to help others, and yes that included helping me launch my business, but I wasn’t the sole reason.”

“Thanks for the honesty, Carly.” I scowl at my brother and flip him off. “Travis…”

He holds his hands up. “So, I have something I’d like to share with the class.”

He’s such a pain in the ass sometimes. “Yes?”

“I may have been working on something in the background for a while,” he says with a nervous quiver in his voice. “Griffin, I know you didn’t initially want to take on any extra talent with the label and then the pandemic hit. Things looked terrible.”

Our brother nods as he listens to Travis’s explanation for whatever he’s about to unload. I get why he’s nervous. Travis has some crazy ideas, but he genuinely impressed me with his plan when he told me about it at the drive-in show the other night. The memory of the show makes Ainsley’s face flash in my mind. I wonder if she’s responded yet. I fight the urge to check my phone yet again and resign myself to waiting until after we’re done with this discussion.

“Right now, the world is ready for a change. If we’re going to commit to this Amaryllis… movement, that we’ve been martyring ourselves for over the last couple of years, then now is the time. If we don’t take a step forward, then I’m going to have to leave the band, guys.”

Collective gasps and groans echo from around the table. “Dude.” I let out a low whistle, shocked by his comment. “I didn’t know you were that serious about it.”

“I am.” He flicks through his phone, looking for something. “I’ve been talking to an attorney behind the scenes—”

“You’re suing us?” Adair growls, standing up and reaching across the table to grab Travis by the collar.

“No,” Travis scoffs and jumps out of his chair, dodging Adair’s hands just in time. “You’re an idiot.”

I hold my hands up and signal for them to sit back down. “Can you both please just calm down, so we can continue this conversation like adults?”

“The reason I had an attorney look at everything is because I wanted to build on what we’ve already established here. We’re all equal partners in the studio, and Adair has his side hustle—”

“Stop calling it that,” Adair grumbles. “I’m a talent acquisition consultant.”

“Right,” Travis scoffs with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t Executive Producer sound better?”

“What are you talking about?” Griffin asks, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

Travis gestures wildly to take in the whole studio with a sweep of his arms. “We each have our own production studios. We all have our own specialties when it comes to music. Nash knows that. That’s why he assigned us to different functions with his little school project.”

It’s true. I nod, realizing I don’t love the sudden trend of Travis being right.

“Griffin is best when he’s diving into the heart of true rock-and-roll. Adair is at his best when he’s surrounded by the hard-hitting beats in a rap rock fusion. Nash, you’re best when it’s just you and the guitar, pulling the lyrics out of your soul. A true southern rock vibe.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with how called out I feel right now.” I can feel my expression morphing into a cringe scowl as it tugs at my face. “And what’s your specialty?”

“Mine?” His eyebrows shoot up as he points at himself. “That would be the music of the people. Pop-rock.”

Groan.

“So, what’s the idea here, Captain Pop-rocks?” Adair scoffs.

Travis’s smirk turns into a go-to-hell scowl as he glares at our brother from across the table. “If we each focus on developing new talent in our creative genius zones then we can help a lot of people’s dreams come true.”

Carly drums her fingernails against her coffee cup. “That’s a noble idea, Travis; but is right now the best time to launch a huge new business venture?”

“It’s a valid question,” I say, looking at Griffin. The studio is his baby, so we shouldn’t move forward with anything unless it has his blessing on it. “The world is in a state of flux. Nothing is for certain.”

He leans back in his chair with his fingers laced together, resting on his chest. “There is one thing that is certain,” he finally says.

“What’s that?” Carly asks.

He glances up at the still images still paused on the screen behind me. “Our fans need us to be the band they believe us to be.”

“What’s that even mean, dude?” Adair grumbles under his breath.

Griffin shrugs and lets his arms relax at his sides. “I think it means we need to dig in and do better.”

“For me,” I add, “it means I need to create something to give them light they can shine when the world goes dark.”

“And that,” Travis interjects, “is why you’re the southern rocker vibe, dude.”

Whatever. “I’m okay with that. I’ll be in good company.”

“Amaryllis, community in full bloom,” Travis says, using his hands to mimic a flower blooming in front of him. “While all the other labels are busy pigeonholing their talent, we can be a go-to source for the indie community. The place they can go to get the support they need, while making sure they stay true to their artistic visions, so the sound still resonates with their fans.”

“There’s a reason those labels pigeonhole,” Carly reminds us all. “The marketing is easier when you only have to focus on one thing. One message. One set of imagery. One target on the other end of those ads and billboards.”

“But that’s why you’re the guru,” Adair says, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “You can do this.”

“I’m going to need a team if you all are going to do this. It’s not possible for me to set all of that up on my own. I can organize it and oversee it. It’ll hit every button you need it to hit if I have the right people on my team.”

“We’ll get you a budget for staff,” Griffin says without a moment of hesitation. “While we’re on the topic of reinventing and rebranding…”

Audible groans echo around the room again. “This meeting has been one slap to the head after the other,” I admit.

“The music we’ve written for the new record…” He cringes and mimes wadding up a ball of paper and tossing it into an imaginary trash bin behind him as we all nod our agreement.

“Except for the song Nash performed live?” Travis asks.

Griffin nods. “Except that one.” He purses his lips together as his eyes move around the room. “Carly, could we even be considered an indie alternative label with our history?”

She shrugs and gives a coy sideways smile. “Your average marketing agency would tell you no, but—”

Mira raises a finger and interjects. “Carly is the master. She’s a marketing and branding savant. If it can be done, she’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks,” Carly giggles as she blushes. “I think that we can connect the dots, since you walked away from The Machine. You walked away from the mainstream. You gave up the glory for the artistry. It’s a risk, but I think it’ll resonate.”

“When have we ever played it safe?” I ask, looking around the room. “Other than the last few months?” I snort.

Travis lets out a rushed breath and rubs his hands together. “Since we’re all on board, let me get the contracts and we can get everything started.”

“You already have the contracts?” Griffin groans, irritated.

Travis just sloughs off Griffin’s comment as he hops up and bolts back to his studio, only to reappear a few seconds later, empty handed. “I can’t find them.”

“For the love of—” Adair howls when Carly jabs him in the side with her elbow. “What? He’s incompetent, and this is the person we’re trusting the future of Amaryllis Studios to?”

“Actually,” Mira stands up, interrupting the melodramatic monologue coming from Adair, “I think I might know where they are.” She gives a sweet smile and bounces out of the room, returning just as with a stack of papers in her arms, handing them to Travis who is obviously dumbfounded.

“Where… How…”

“I had all of Carly’s business in order for the day and couldn’t stand looking at the leaning tower of papers on your desk when I walked by. I just organized them and filed them all in your drawers under the appropriate labeling system,” she says with a proud smile that suddenly gives way to a frown. “I hope I didn’t cross any lines by helping.”

He shakes his head and thumbs through the papers in his hands. “No, not at all.”

“Oh, I also put the original copy in the safe in your studio.”

“How did you get the key to the safe?” he squeaks.

“Seriously?” she says with a smirk. “Your hiding place for the key isn’t that great. You might want to change that before you start letting a bunch of new faces in here.”

His face morphs into a deadpan expression before he shrugs it off, handing out our copies of the contracts for what will soon become the new face of “Amaryllis Studios—Listen and Live in Full Bloom?” I ask, studying the proposed branding.

He smiles, proudly. “I came up with that.”“I like it,” I admit. My phone buzzes in my pocket, causing my heart to skip a beat. I grab it out of my pocket and check the notifications. My mood sinks when I realize it’s not from her. I swallow my growing nerves and try to ignore the sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. Did I take things too far? I hope I didn’t scare her away already.