Free Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3) by A. Meredith Walters

for Best New Artist.
    He was rumored to have the magic touch. He understood the industry and knew how to turn shit into gold. And he was committed to doing the same for Generation Rejects.
    The whole thing was still so unbelievable.
    “You nervous?” Jose asked arching what should have been eyebrow if he had any. I had seen him shave them off meticulously every other day. It was fucking weird.
    I scoffed at his question. “Hell no,” I snorted.
    Jose stared at me again.
    “Good. That’s the attitude I like to see,” he said shortly.
    I picked at the black nail polish on my pinkie finger. Vivian had thought it would be cute. And she had been naked with her tits in my face so I had let her paint my nails. Now I could admit it looked ridiculous.
    What can I say; I was weak when it came to Vivian’s boobs.
    And the rest of her.
    “So what sort of questions will there be?” I asked, flicking the black flakes onto the floor.
    Jose shrugged. “The standard stuff I’m sure. How do you write your music? Stuff about your upcoming album. What are some crazy stories from the road? But fair warning, you’re being interviewed by some female DJ who originally only wanted you there. So don’t be surprised if she asks you if you have a girlfriend or some trite shit.”
    That shocked me.
    “She only wanted me there?” I asked incredulously, feeling extremely flattered by that. Not that I would have ever done an interview without the other guys, but my ego needed the little boost. Particularly since the fact that Vivian still hadn’t returned my text was making it all to obvious she was ignoring me.
    Jose was doing that staring thing again. He shut his laptop, crossed his arms over top of it, and leaned forward.
    “I think you’ve come to realize in the last few months that I don’t bullshit people. Am I right, Cole?” he asked.
    “Well, yeah,” I agreed. Because it was the truth. Jose chewed up bullshit and spit it out.
    “Then listen to me when I tell you that while Generation Rejects is a good band and your music is catchy, you are the one who will be selling records. It’s your image as the bad boy rocker that will have chicks clamoring to your shows. And their boyfriends will tag along because aside from being a pretty face you can fucking sing.”
    Jose pointed at me. “ You are the face of Generation Rejects. Not Garrett. Not Mitch. Not even Jordan, though he has his own appeal. But he’s not at the front fucking the crowd every night. He’s not the one bleeding his soul as he sings. That’s you, Cole. And that’s what will send you to the top.”
    Not you guys.
    Just you.
    I instantly picked up on that subtle difference.
    I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to squeal like a little bitch. This was the validation I had always wanted. Sure, I played the part of egomaniac, but I still liked to know that I was fucking awesome.
    And even though Jose was saying some pretty fantastic stuff, it seemed as though he was about to drop a hammer on my unsuspecting head.
    “Which is why you should think about going out on your own. You’d kill it as a solo act. The record companies would be all over you.” And there it was, the big ole hammer. Jose dropped his words nonchalantly and then opened up his laptop again like he hadn’t just blown my world up.
    “What did you just say?” I asked, my mouth dropping open.
    Jose shrugged, not bothering to look at me. “Don’t play dumbass with me, Cole. Because you aren’t stupid. You had to have thought about it.”
    “Actually, no I haven’t,” I said angrily and truthfully. I never in a million years ever contemplated a musical future without my bandmates. But even still, the suggestion was traitorously appealing.
    “Then you are an idiot. Because you’re great as a frontman, but you’d be even greater with only your name up on the marquee. You don’t need to share the limelight with anyone. You should let me help you be great, Cole. Otherwise you’ll