“You did what?” I couldn’t believe Jose had taken it upon himself to do that shit! Who the hell did he think he was? I had never said that was the direction I wanted to go in! I didn’t appreciate anyone, let alone Jose fucking Suarez, handling my life for me.
“It’ll just be a matter of signing some papers and then it’s over. I’m sure you’ll get the bad little boy scolding. But who gives a fuck? You’re moving on to bigger and better things, my friend,” Jose was saying, but I barely heard him.
“So they want to dissolve the contract?” I clarified. Damn it! The guys were going into this blind. I had to tell them what was going on. This shit wasn’t cool.
“You didn’t think Pirate Records would want to keep an unknown band on after the drama you’ve had on the tour? Apparently Primal Terror has been pretty vocal about your infighting. And Pirate is a young company. They don’t want to be attached to such an unpredictable act. But it’s no skin off your nose. You’ll come up smelling like roses.”
“And what about Garrett, Jordan, and Mitch?” I asked, interrupting him.
“What about them?” Jose seemed confused.
“Where does that leave them?”
“I don’t know. But they’re not my concern. Making you bigger than Jesus is,” Jose grinned and it chilled me to the bone.
I didn’t say anything else. The wheels in my head were turning a million miles a minute. We finally pulled up almost an hour later, in front of the non-descript stone building that housed Pirate Records headquarters. It definitely wasn’t the fancy glass skyscraper one would expect to see when going to a record label. It was squished between a hairdresser and a dry cleaner.
I got out of the car and Jose made to follow me. I held my hand out, stopping him.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I told him, reaching into the backseat and grabbing my bag. I rolled the new contract up in my hand and smacked my knee with it.
“I’m your fucking manager, of course I’m coming with you. I’ve got to make sure things go the way they’re supposed to. Then afterwards we can go over that new contract.”
“No, we’re not,” I stated, handing him the rolled up paperwork.
“What the hell are you doing, Cole?” Jose narrowed his eyes at me.
“I’m giving you your shitty contract back and I’m telling you to go fuck yourself.” I grinned a little maniacally and started to open the door.
“You stupid little shit. Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re throwing away everything. You think you’ll get anywhere without me?” he sneered.
I shrugged. “I don’t really care. I just know I’d rather live in the fucking streets than sign those papers. You were supposed to be the manager for Generation Rejects. You’re a backstabbing, calculating, cunt and you’re definitely not the sort of person I want representing me. I’d say it was nice knowing you. But then I’d be talking out of my ass.”
I didn’t give Jose a chance to respond. I climbed out of his car and shut the door. I flipped him the bird and walked up the sidewalk.
Damn, that felt good.
The sound of Jose’s squealing tires as he pulled away was the best thing I had heard so far today.
One down, one to go.
I had to wait for a while once I found my way to the label’s reception room. The other guys weren’t there yet and the longer I sat by myself, the more I started to question the sanity of my decision.
I had just fired Jose. I had just flushed my great opportunity down the fucking toilet.
I was throwing everything into the ring for guys who may not want me in the band anymore.
Whatever the risk, I couldn’t have done it any other way.
Finally Jordan, Mitch, and Garrett showed up. They saw me in the corner and came over to join me.
“Where’s Jose?” Mitch asked.
“Gone,” I said shortly.
“Gone? What do you mean he’s gone? He’s supposed to be here!” Jordan demanded, sounding a little panicky.
“I fired him. We don’t need him here, guys. We’ve got this. And we definitely don’t need someone like Jose running the show. That guy’s a snake.”