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Weatherby swung his gaze to me, sucking his teeth to show his irritation. “I don’t wait for bands. They come to me. Either someone gets me backstage or I’m walking. I don’t have all night.”

This guy was an ass, and I almost wanted him to walk away, but I didn’t want to ruin the band’s chance at meeting with a label. Maybe the scout was only their first point of contact. They could get a manager who was a lot more friendly.

“I can text them, have them come out to see you. They’re getting ready, so it might be a few minutes.”

Weatherby studied me, his eyes trailing up and down like he was sizing me up. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend of the band,” I answered casually. I didn’t want to say I was dating Hendrix when I didn’t know how Hendrix wanted to approach that. He might want to keep our relationship quiet for all I knew. We hadn’t really discussed it.

He gave me another once over before making an irritated sound. “Make it quick. I’ve got places to be.”

He turned his back to me while I shot off a text to Hendrix. I didn’t get a reply right away, but I didn’t really expect to. They were usually busy before a show, getting ready and tuning their instruments. That kind of thing. I didn't expect him to drop everything to check his messages the second I texted him.

While we waited for him to respond, I tried looking up information on the label Weatherby mentioned. They represented some big names, but I couldn’t get a list of the managers and there were some concerning articles about bands going to court after dropping their contracts. It made me nervous, and I checked my messages again to see if Hendrix replied.

Luckily, he got the message, but he said he needed a few minutes. I was going to update Weatherby, but he got a phone call before I could. He moved toward the back hallway where the bathrooms were, his phone pressed against his ear. I didn’t know what possessed me to do it, but I followed him, staying out of sight while I eavesdropped on his phone call.

“What? No. I’m signing another band tonight.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, ignoring the no smoking signs right in front of his face. “Should be. They’ll take what I give them. No one else will hire a bunch of freaks. They’ll be grateful for the contract or I’ll walk.”

An uneasy feeling swept over me. I took a few steps back, pulling out my phone to text Hendrix again. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but it made me nervous. It sounded like the guy was going to lowball them because he thought they wouldn’t get a better offer. I knew this band, and I had full faith they could get any label they wanted once they got the attention of the right people.

“Art?”

Spinning around, I let out a sigh of relief. “Hey. Can we talk for a second?”

His brows drew together, and he looked around with a frown. “Sure. I thought you said the scout was here?”

I waved my hand towards the hallway. “He’s on the phone. Did he already give you a contract?”

He nodded slowly. “He gave one to Zion when they met. Zion looked over it. He said it was a good deal. It’s exciting, isn’t it? A real label is asking to sign us.”

He looked giddy, and I hated even thinking about taking that away from him. Still, I didn't want him getting into something he couldn’t come back from. “Can I look at the contract? I’m good with numbers. I can check it over for you.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Sure. That sounds good. Lemme go grab it.”

He headed backstage again while I stayed put, frozen between the hallway where the scout was still talking and the stage. I wanted to check the contract before Hendrix met with the man, but Weatherby came back out of the hallway right as Hendrix approached me with the contract. His entire demeanor changed, smiling as he came to join us.

“You’re Hendrix, right? Leader of Children of Myth?”

Hendrix’s eyes lit up, and he stepped around me to shake the man’s hand. “Yep. Are you Mr. Weatherby?”

I hovered, unwilling to let Hendrix sign up for anything without someone watching his back. Luckily, he texted the band to come out and introduce themselves, giving me a few minutes to look over the contract. The longer I studied it, the deeper my frown got. While the rest of the band shook hands with Weatherby, I tugged Hendrix’s shirt to draw his attention.

“Can we talk for a second?”

He looked concerned about the look on my face and bobbed his head, leading me with a hand on my back to the hallway that led backstage. The walls muffled the band on stage enough that I didn’t have to shout when talking to Hendrix.

“Did you look at this contract?”

“Uh, not myself, no. Zion said he looked at it. I was going to look it over after we met with the guy.”

I shook my head quickly. “That’s not what he thinks. He thinks you’re signing tonight.”

The eagerness that passed over Hendrix’s face killed me. I put up my hand, guilt and determination at war in my stomach, making me feel nauseous.

“Look, Hendrix, I know you’re excited about a label, but I looked over the contract. They’re setting you up to fail.”

His face fell and his eyes dropped to the contract in my hand. “What do you mean?”