Lifting Gibson, I twisted her around so she could ride on my shoulders. Usually when I did this, she grabbed my hair and used it like reins, but I had a lot less hair now. “This is weird. I like your old hair,” she told me. She timidly patted my Denny-hair like it was some bizarre animal that might bite her.
“I know,” I sighed.
Mom barked an order from the kitchen to help her with dinner, so Gibson and I headed that way. I recited lines to her while I walked. “Kiki, I know we had a thing once, but it’s time to move on. The band comes first.” I pointed up at Gibson. “Now you say, “But Ace…besides bass, you’re my only love.”
“Ace bass.” She giggled.
I shrugged. “Close enough.”
Mom pointed to a bowl of potatoes when I got to the kitchen, so I moved to the counter to help her peel them. Anna stepped close to my side. “So…Harold showed me the pilot. Have you seen it?”
Shaking my head, I told her, “Nah, I was too busy promoting that stupid album.” A flash of something painful washed over me—that “stupid album” was releasing soon. Without me. I shook my head harder to shake out the feelings I shouldn’t be having. Didn’t matter what the D-Bags were doing. Gibson giggled as she wrapped her arms around my head to hold on. “Why? Is it awesome?”
“Um…well…” As I looked over at Anna, she was worrying her lip. I didn’t take that as a good sign. “It got picked up for prime time…so it must be good, right? I mean, they wouldn’t put a bad show on the air.” She said it like she was both trying to convince herself and encourage me. She was failing at both.
With a sniff, I grabbed a peeler and started peeling. “Nope, they wouldn’t. And besides, nothing that I’m involved with could ever be considered bad. Just look at us.” I flashed her a charming smile, but Anna only gave me a halfhearted grin in return.
Chapter 13
Welcome to Awesometown, Population: Me
It took an entire week, but eventually the four of us did find somewhere to rent. And just to show Anna that everything was going to be fine, I found a place that was even bigger than our home in Seattle. From what the real estate chick told me, one of the Spellings owned it; it was luxurious to the max, and it came with a monthly price tag that was close to what the average person made in a year. It was ridiculous, even I could admit that, but it was a statement I needed to make. We were headed for greatness.
Anna wasn’t so sure. “This is too much, Griffin, even for us.” She looked around our new foyer with wide eyes—everything was marble. “And we’ll have to hire half a dozen people just to maintain this place…”
“Already taken care of,” I told her with a smile. “We have three housekeepers, one for each floor, two cooks, a butler…to do whatever butlers do…three yard guys, a pool guy, and two drivers. Oh, and two nannies, one for each girl.” I gave her a You’re welcome wink. She wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Once again, I was back at awesome husband status.
She didn’t seem as pleased about my lineup as I thought she would be. “We can’t afford that many people, Griffin. And I don’t mind doing stuff around the house.”
“Yes, we can. We’re rich, babe. And you shouldn’t have to do anything around the house. That’s the benefit of being rich.”
She took a calming breath. “We did well off the two D-Bag albums, and hopefully the third, but that won’t last long if we—”
Swishing my hand, I blurted out, “No, I signed off on the third when Denny gave me the papers. I won’t get anything from it.”
Anna was stunned; in a heartbeat, her skin seemed to lose all its color. “You…what? But you were a part of creating that album, you deserve a cut. How could you sign it away? And why would they ask you to do that? It’s not right.”
As Anna wondered how the guys could screw me over like that, indignant anger twisted her features. But she had it wrong. The guys hadn’t asked. I had. Denny and Abby hadn’t been happy with me when I’d told them I didn’t want a dime from the D-Bags, but seeing as how I was giving them more money and letting the guys keep the band’s name, they shouldn’t complain about anything when it came to me. “They didn’t ask. I told Denny to add it to the paperwork. I don’t want their fucking money…and I don’t need it.”
I had also signed off on residuals from the first two albums, but I didn’t think now was the right time to mention that. Anna might actually have a heart attack. Abby and Denny had spent over an hour trying to talk me out of my decision, but nothing they said could erase what Matt had screamed at me—You’re dead to me. Maybe it had been a rash decision, but if I was dead, then I shouldn’t be paid. Plain and simple. And if I hadn’t contributed to the band like they’d all unanimously decided, then I shouldn’t be paid. Maybe I was being stubborn and prideful, but their words had left deep gashes in me, gashes that couldn’t be filled with money. And besides, I didn’t need their pity paychecks anyway; I was about to cash in on a much bigger one.
Anna’s anger at the band evaporated, and unabashed fear took its place. She looked around our new place with horror in her eyes. “Griffin…how much are you making on the show?”
I wasn’t so stupid that I couldn’t hear the warning bells ringing in my ears. Anna was trying to be supportive, yes, but her mood had turned pessimistic since she’d watched the pilot. Personally, I didn’t see what was wrong with it. I’d watched it and I thought we all looked great. Well, I looked great. My castmates were a little dry and the script was cheesier than a 1960s horror movie, but whatever. I would carry the show to success.