Page 34 of Layla

John

The Friday morning band meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago, but half the band is still missing. I keep my eyes trained on the door, waiting. I knew I should have insisted on walking Layla down from her room myself. Where in the hell is she?

Dylan appears in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room. “Where’s the pizza?”

“What pizza?” James asks.

“I was promised that I would be fed if I dragged myself to this pointless meeting,” Dylan explains.

“No one promised you that,” Louis tells him, not looking up from his phone.

Dylan collapses into a chair, groaning loudly. “But I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Lance points out.

I tune them out, pulling out my phone. No messages from Layla, or from the rest of the team. She had Haylee with her, but that’s not going to do her a hell of a lot of good if shit goes down. Sean was supposed to walk them downstairs and if he flaked out, heads are going to roll. Just when I’m about to go find her myself, the two girls walk into the room, arm in arm, Sean right behind them.

“So glad you could join us, princesses,” Dylan says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lance throws an empty water bottle at him. “Dude, you literally just walked into the room.”

“We were having girl time,” Haylee says, taking a seat.

Dylan’s eyebrows go up. “If that doesn’t include half-naked pillow fights, don’t tell me. I’m going to enjoy this fantasy.”

Layla smacks him on the head as she passes and I can’t help but grin a little. God, I like that she doesn’t take anyone’s shit.

“You werealllate,” Louis says, setting his phone down. “Except for James.”

The room erupts in a chorus of coughs that sound an awful lot like the word “nerd.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Let’s get started.”

“I, for one, can hardly wait,” Lance says, sarcasm rolling off him.

Louis ignores him, passing a stack of paper to each band member. “Modified schedule for the rest of the week,” he says. “We have a few additions.”

“Of course we do,” Haylee mutters, glaring down at the papers.

“The label wants to ramp up your visibility as we’re approaching the new single release,” Louis explains. “Let’s start on page one.”

But James is already flicking through his papers. “What the hell is this?” he asks, sounding pissed. “We’re doing a nightclub opening in Miami?”

“We’ll get to that,” Louis starts, and James throws his itinerary down.

“Louis, are we seriously still doing these fucking club promos?” He looks pissed. “I thought the entire point of selling all those albums was so that we didn’t have to do this hack bullshit anymore.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “This hack bullshit means you get paid a shit ton of money to go and have a few drinks, James. Forgive me if I don’t feel very sorry for you.”

“Yeah, but—”

Louis raises a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t think I need to remind you that label support is fickle,” he says. “I’m pretty sure we all remember how you get treated when you’re not bringing in money for the suits.”

“So, you want to pimp us out so they’ll keep putting us up in fancy hotel rooms,” James says darkly.

“I want you bringing in money so the next time we ask for recording time they’ll be on board,” Louis snaps. “But I really appreciate you constantly doubting my motives.” There’s a sharpness to his voice that I don’t usually hear, and my eyes immediately drift to Layla. Her gaze meets mine and I know she’s thinking the same thing that I am—Louis is stressed out about this club appearance. And I’d bet all the money in my bank account it has nothing to do with James’s reaction to it and everything to do with what happened the last time they all went to a club together.

James must hear the same sharpness in the manager’s voice because he drops his complaint. James rarely drops a complaint—a fact that’s obvious to me even after only knowing him a few weeks.