JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys(2)

Once the three of us are in my private room, I toss my sweaty tee shirt aside and put on a new one. I grab my duffel bag and throw in my headphones, and then slide my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Jack, don’t you want to hear the news?” Kirby asks.

“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry. I’m focused on getting some motherfucking food,” I tell him, setting down my bag, trying to focus.

“It’s so typical that you don’t even care,” Ashley says. “Kirby came all this way for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You done?”

She rolls her eyes, arms crossed, and we both turn to Kirby. Man, Ashley is seriously grating on my last fucking nerve.

I’ve given her a year, a year of blowout fights as we’ve crisscrossed the globe on our own tours. She thought if we both took a break from tour dates, spent six months in Vegas, together, our problems would be solved. But it’s only been a month and I swear to God it’s worse than ever.

Looking at her now, with her resting bitch face and agenda, I blow the air out of my cheeks, determined to focus on my agent.

“Sorry, Kirbs, what did Kendrick say? Did he stay around?” I ask.

“It’s big news; maybe we should go out and be with your crew for the big reveal,” Kirby suggests.

“No, it’s cool. I don’t want to make a scene. Just tell me.”

“Ohhh, we can do a champagne toast. I mean, the offer is good, right?” she asks Kirby, grabbing my arm in excitement. I swear, she sees the magazine spread before the moment has even happened. Her life is viewed through a fucking filter, and I don’t want to be in any of her shots.

Which is problematic considering we’re together.

“No champagne. And no paparazzi,” I add, the corners of my mouth turning down.

Kirby points a finger at me. “KMG is offering you a ten year, one hundred million, contract.”

“No fucking way,” Ashley screeches. “That’s more than Kanye got.”

I take a deep breath. One hundred million bones. And ten years of my life. “I’m sure there are some pretty intense stipulations. And isn’t Kanye like fifty million in debt?”

Kirby shrugs. “Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet. And, look, I don’t have the details but I’m sure it’s standard. Still, you hold all the power here. You can call all the shots.”

I smirk, knowing this businessman is gonna tell me everything I want to hear. Kirby’s cut in this would set him up for life. Twenty percent of one hundred mill is no joke.

“Aren’t you going to smile at least?” Ashley asks. “This is huge.”

I run my hand over my jaw but don’t say anything. I know it’s huge, but it’s also a huge amount of pressure. Ten years is a long time to be bound to anything.

Looking at Ashley, I’m reminded that even one year can be way too fucking long.

“Look,” Kirby says, sensing my mood. “It’s late. You’re hungry. Nothing needs to be decided tonight. I’m going to head back to LA in the morning and I’ll get the contract from KMG in the next few weeks. After that, we’ll have a month or so to decide what we want. What you want.”

After he leaves, Ashley turns to me, her mouth hanging open.

“Are you fucking kidding me with that, Jack? What the hell? One hundred million dollars? I mean ... this is the dream. Right now, what you are living, this is the dream.”

I can’t hold back my opinion, even though I know it will piss her off. “Your dream, Ash. Not mine. I never wanted all of this.” I look around the lavish dressing room. The floor to ceiling mirrors, the stripper pole installed—just in case—the bar stocked better than the lounge out front.

And it’s just for me, ready for me when I do a show here, what? Once, maybe twice a month? It’s over the top.

But mostly, it isn’t me. I started playing music for the love of it. Not so I could be a fucking sell out. I’m a man, not a fucking puppet on parade.

“It can be our dream,” Ashley persists, reaching for my hand. “We can make it our dream, together. With my Grammy and your contract, we’re the couple of the decade. And now we have a decade’s worth of money to fund whatever we want to do next.”

“You don’t get it. The money comes with a contract that will tell me exactly what I’ll be doing for the next ten years, I wouldn’t have a choice.”

“You’re being so dramatic, Jack. I think you’re right, you just need some food. You’re being so moody.”

Listening to her, I realize something I’ve known for a long time, but just didn’t want to deal with.