Page 8 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Callum

“ N othing like nailing it in Vegas!” Hiram Hardin slams his hand down on the table with a shit eating grin as he looks around the table before his eyes lock on Avery and I sitting at the other end.

He’s happy about the signing of Lil Chaos. Not because he likes the music or even the kid for that matter. I am sure his choppy, bleached hair and face tattoo pissed the old man off. But he is happy about the dollar signs this kid promises and both Avery and I know that.

“So, what’s next?” he asks us.

I sit up straight in my chair. “We piggyback him on the Diversity tour along with Moxie Hazel–”

“Who?” he asks.

“The artist we signed last month,” I drill out impatiently.

Nothing. The man’s face is an unused whiteboard.

“The girl with the space buns and the black lipstick,” Avery adds, taking a sip of coffee that smells like it’s more than coffee.

Sounds about right for an AM meeting with our father.

He used to rule with an iron fist, but that fist has gotten softer over the years, and a lot of the authority has slid to us.

As long as the artists we sign eventually top charts and our name is behind it, he couldn’t care less who they are.

The man doesn’t listen to anyone but Bob Dylan anyways.

“If my sons think we’re heading in the right direction, I trust your judgement. After all, Callum and Avery are the future face of Hardin records.”

Jesus Christ, here we go again. Mind you, these are not the words of a proud father.

As oblivious as he seems now, our father was once a god in this industry.

But time, the evolution of his ear for a good song has slipped between the cracks.

He’s not necessarily senile, but his health has definitely declined in the past five years.

And with that downward slope, he’s made moves in other directions on the chessboard that is Hardin Records.

In short, he’s preparing to hand it off.

But the passing of the baton can’t be a simple process. Where Hiram Hardin is concerned, nothing is ever, and I mean ever a simple process.

Once the meeting has dispersed, Avery and I stay put.

The room empties and our father makes his way to the liquor cabinet.

One thing can be said about Hardin men– they like their alcohol.

I appreciate the poison, but I haven’t made a habit of adding whiskey to my morning coffee. Or in my father’s case, Schnapps.

“So how do we really feel about this new kid?” he asks, making his way back to the table that Avery hasn’t moved from.

I am pacing the room behind him. I can’t hold still.

I have a new writer starting today and I’m really hoping to get right into it.

Lil Chaos and Moxy are great artists, but their current song lists leave something to be desired.

“We signed him, didn’t we?” I ask, glancing at my phone.

“But why did we sign him?” Hiram asks.

“Because he does that weird thing kids are doing where they don’t enunciate? That shit sells.” Avery points out.

“Please tell me there is a better reason than that.” Hiram sits down, grunting as he does. The man is seventy-three. And while you’d take him for being mid-sixties, there are days I can’t believe he is still at the helm of it all.

“Didn’t we go over all of this in Vegas?” I cut in impatiently. “I mean shit, you met the kid. He’s a carbon copy of the artist topping the charts right now. Pretty sure that guy–”

“Dez Murano,” Avery names the artist for me before I go on.

“Yes. Dez Murano is supposedly in consideration for the fucking Super Bowl Half Time show. And if you ask me, our boy is way more talented.”

“Too bad the Super Bowl didn’t ask you,” our Dad jokes, making Avery snort and making me annoyed. “But if you two like him, I’ll run with it. After all, you’re going to be sitting in my chair soon. One of you anyways.”

Avery laughs again, giving me a can you believe this guy look before turning back to our dad who is lighting up a cigar now. “What do you mean ‘one of us’?”

“You can’t both run Hardin Records when I’m gone,” he scoffs as if the idea is insane.

“No offense, Pops,” Avery starts in. “But I don’t know if you’re aware…we’re the same age. You don’t have an elder to pass the chair down to.”

He takes a puff of his cigar and lets it out before casually going on. “Maybe not. But two owners sounds messy to me. No, no. One of you will take the reins and the other keep watch. Like a co-pilot if you will. Businesses like ours need a face. A powerful one at that, with a good jawline.”

“And you don’t think two faces are better than one?” Avery asks. While there is concern in his voice, he also has a tone that tells me he is intrigued by the challenge of only one ruler.

“Not when those faces are constantly at each other’s throats,” he laughs.

“I mean hell. You two boys aren’t exactly known for your comradery.

You can hardly agree on the best way to grill a steak, let alone how to run a music empire.

One man on the top rung, the other a step down.

Half a rung if you can get along well enough to make it work. ”

We both stare at our father who just might be insane. Twin rivalry or not, I think Avery would agree with me that we have always assumed we’d be running this together. Even if it meant duking things out from time to time.

With that, I can actually feel the question Avery is about to ask. As much as I hate to admit it, the twin thing is a real thing. I can practically predict his moves before he makes them. Knee-jerk comments and all.

“So, who’s on top?”

“That’s for you two to figure out.”

This time I’m the one snorting out an amused laugh. “What? You want us to rock, paper, scissors for it? No offence, Dad, but this is a multi-million-dollar business we are talking about. Not the last slice of pizza.”

“You know, I figured you’d say that,” he points at me with his cigar hanging from his lip at a forty-five-degree angle. “Which is why I came up with a legal way to handle it.”

“And that is…?” I draw the question out. I don’t have time for this.

He stares at us with only a hint of a grin in the corners of his mouth. “Whoever gets married first will inherit Hardin records?”

My eyes narrow and teeth grit in my mouth. “What?”

“You're joking right?” Avery asks and I’m wondering the same thing. But while Hiram Hardin is a lot of things, a jokester is not one of them.

“If there is anything I have learned over the years, boys, it’s that a good company, a great company, needs two things: A strong man.

And a woman driving that man. I know firsthand what it’s like to do this job alone.

Your mother, if she were still around, would tell you that I am not an easy man to work with.

It’s honestly probably why she bailed. But a successful man always has a good woman at his side.

And for a family company like Hardin, an heir isn’t a second-tier necessity. Which is another reason for matrimony.”

Our father shoves up from the desk with more effort than it should take and exits the room, cigar in hand, leaving me alone with my angry thoughts and irritating brother.

“The old man is losing it,” Avery shakes his head, helping himself to the whiskey cabinet.

“He’s already lost it,” I state.

Avery seems amused. Unbothered. I, on the other hand, am fuming.

“He’s making a joke out of this whole thing,” I say. “That should concern you.”

Avery takes his time looking over at me. “I suppose I would be concerned. If I were single…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I bark.

“Zoe and I have been going pretty strong,” he leans back against the table, crossing his feet at the ankles.

Looking Avery in the eyes has always felt like rubbing sandpaper across my skin.

We look alike, obviously. We’re twins. While we are fraternal twins, people often mistake us for identical.

If I am being honest, I can see it. We have the same eyes.

The same lips, though his is usually stretched into a cocky, jokerlike grin and I tend to keep mine at a flat line.

His face is more slender too, sharper. My jaw is more square.

And his hairline is receding, though somehow he’s evaded the gray.

Dye, probably. Avery is a pretty boy. And on that note–

“I wouldn’t go proposing to a girl just because you’ve fucked her more times than the other girls you’re fucking.”

“That’s funny,” Avery says without laughing. “But I’m not fucking anyone else. Currently. Zoe and I have been more or less monogamous for a few months now.”

“More or less?”

Avery offers a nonchalant shrug. “What happens in Vegas, right? Either way, I might propose.”

That earns a smile and a nod from me. But it’s not a happy one. More like I am trying to keep myself from breaking my hand on his pretty face. “This is a joke to you, isn’t it?”

That seems to get him because his grin wavers in a twitch. “Being the CEO of Hardin Records when we modify our father’s mansion to a one-man nursing home is hardly a joke. The prerequisites are a bit of a turn-off but not enough to make me back down. Zoe’s hot, she’s committed, and it makes sense.”

“It makes sense to you to tie the knot with a woman you hardly know in a shitty attempt to get ahead of me?” I ask, standing in front of him, looking down at him.

But Avery stands up, squares his shoulders and we are eye level. “I don’t have to get married to get ahead of you, brother.”

I almost laugh at that.

But before I can say anything, my phone buzzes. It’s the secretary.

My new hire is here.

I give Avery a hard glare before dismissing myself. I’m not backing down, and this sure as fuck isn’t over.

But I don’t feel like bloodying up a new shirt.

And I have shit to do.