can wait. I'm here to party, Jake."
"Well, it's just about something slightly concerning that a little birdie told me a few minutes ago."
"And what little birdie would that be, Jake?"
He pulled out his smartphone and held it up to Rick's face. "The kind that goes tweet, tweet. Fuck, Rick, it's all over Twitter! Apparently you told some Entertainment Weekly reporter that you were quitting the band."
Rick shook his head. "I didn't say that. And it was Entertainment Tonight."
"Weekly, Tonight, whatever. Rick, don't kill the cash cow! Let's get this little solo thing out of the way and then we can get back in the studio and start organising the next tour, yeah?"
"There won't be a next tour," Rick sighed. "I'm done writing songs for other people for the time being."
Jake moved in closer, his eyes narrowing. "Those other people are your bandmates, Rick. Don't let your ego get the better of you. After your little vanity project has come to an end, we could make an absolute fortune by reforming the band."
Rick's tone changed. He was starting to get irritated. "My vanity project, as you put it, just netted me three million album sales and a Grammy. Meanwhile, what's your brother written lately? Or is he too busy getting high off my song royalties to put together any new tunes?"
"Rick, you bastard!"
The room audibly gasped as Sean, Jake's brother and the band's lead guitarist, stumbled through the crowd. "Right on cue. Speak of the devil," Rick said, gently moving me behind him. "He's high as a kite, Amy," he whispered. "Just stay back, okay?"
"You son of a bitch. You've just told the world that the band is finished! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you know what that means for my income?"
Jake held his arms between the two men. "Whoa there, gentlemen. Let's all just calm down a little, okay?"
"Keep your brother under control," Rick scowled at Jake. "Written anything lately, Sean?"
"Fuck you!"
"Eloquent as ever," Rick sneered. "You've just reminded me why I write the lyrics."
Sean lunged forward, staggering on unsteady legs. "You're nothing without my hooks. You're just a poor man's John Lennon. All words and no tunes."
"Yeah, no one remembers 'Imagine' or 'Instant Karma', do they? Christ, Sean, what happened to you? You used to be so talented. Now you're just a washed-up junkie."
"I may be washed-up," he growled. "But at least I'm not pissing my career away writing soppy acoustic shit for some bimbo with big tits."
The next thirty seconds were a blur. Rick jumped forward, slamming into his bandmate and crashing through table after table. Drinks and white powder flew through the air, as Jake and several members of security pulled the men off each other. As the dust began to settle and Sean was dragged away and thrown out of the club, one of the bouncers shook Rick's hand. "I'd throw you out as well but luckily for you, you won a Grammy tonight."
"Thanks," he smiled. "Appreciate it."
I walked over to him and wiped some of the mess off his vintage suit. "Are you okay?"
"Never better."
"Well done, Rick. You're going to be on the front page of every entertainment blog on the planet within the next five minutes. Did you see how many people were tweeting photos and videos of you pair?"
Rick looked sheepish. "Damn. There goes my reputation as the housewives favourite."
"Are you kidding?" I laughed. "No publicity is bad publicity. You'll probably sell an extra hundred thousand albums because of this alone."
"Well, that was my intention, obviously."
I kissed him gently. "And here was me thinking you were defending my honour, my knight in shining Hugo Boss."
"Oh I was, absolutely. No one disses my woman and gets away with it."
"My hero," I giggled, fluttering my eyelashes.
"Come on," he replied, grabbing my hand. "Let's get out of this shithole. I've had enough war for one night. Let's go make some love."
Chapter Four
"My God, it's so peaceful up here. You wouldn't believe all that chaos going on
"Well, it's just about something slightly concerning that a little birdie told me a few minutes ago."
"And what little birdie would that be, Jake?"
He pulled out his smartphone and held it up to Rick's face. "The kind that goes tweet, tweet. Fuck, Rick, it's all over Twitter! Apparently you told some Entertainment Weekly reporter that you were quitting the band."
Rick shook his head. "I didn't say that. And it was Entertainment Tonight."
"Weekly, Tonight, whatever. Rick, don't kill the cash cow! Let's get this little solo thing out of the way and then we can get back in the studio and start organising the next tour, yeah?"
"There won't be a next tour," Rick sighed. "I'm done writing songs for other people for the time being."
Jake moved in closer, his eyes narrowing. "Those other people are your bandmates, Rick. Don't let your ego get the better of you. After your little vanity project has come to an end, we could make an absolute fortune by reforming the band."
Rick's tone changed. He was starting to get irritated. "My vanity project, as you put it, just netted me three million album sales and a Grammy. Meanwhile, what's your brother written lately? Or is he too busy getting high off my song royalties to put together any new tunes?"
"Rick, you bastard!"
The room audibly gasped as Sean, Jake's brother and the band's lead guitarist, stumbled through the crowd. "Right on cue. Speak of the devil," Rick said, gently moving me behind him. "He's high as a kite, Amy," he whispered. "Just stay back, okay?"
"You son of a bitch. You've just told the world that the band is finished! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you know what that means for my income?"
Jake held his arms between the two men. "Whoa there, gentlemen. Let's all just calm down a little, okay?"
"Keep your brother under control," Rick scowled at Jake. "Written anything lately, Sean?"
"Fuck you!"
"Eloquent as ever," Rick sneered. "You've just reminded me why I write the lyrics."
Sean lunged forward, staggering on unsteady legs. "You're nothing without my hooks. You're just a poor man's John Lennon. All words and no tunes."
"Yeah, no one remembers 'Imagine' or 'Instant Karma', do they? Christ, Sean, what happened to you? You used to be so talented. Now you're just a washed-up junkie."
"I may be washed-up," he growled. "But at least I'm not pissing my career away writing soppy acoustic shit for some bimbo with big tits."
The next thirty seconds were a blur. Rick jumped forward, slamming into his bandmate and crashing through table after table. Drinks and white powder flew through the air, as Jake and several members of security pulled the men off each other. As the dust began to settle and Sean was dragged away and thrown out of the club, one of the bouncers shook Rick's hand. "I'd throw you out as well but luckily for you, you won a Grammy tonight."
"Thanks," he smiled. "Appreciate it."
I walked over to him and wiped some of the mess off his vintage suit. "Are you okay?"
"Never better."
"Well done, Rick. You're going to be on the front page of every entertainment blog on the planet within the next five minutes. Did you see how many people were tweeting photos and videos of you pair?"
Rick looked sheepish. "Damn. There goes my reputation as the housewives favourite."
"Are you kidding?" I laughed. "No publicity is bad publicity. You'll probably sell an extra hundred thousand albums because of this alone."
"Well, that was my intention, obviously."
I kissed him gently. "And here was me thinking you were defending my honour, my knight in shining Hugo Boss."
"Oh I was, absolutely. No one disses my woman and gets away with it."
"My hero," I giggled, fluttering my eyelashes.
"Come on," he replied, grabbing my hand. "Let's get out of this shithole. I've had enough war for one night. Let's go make some love."
Chapter Four
"My God, it's so peaceful up here. You wouldn't believe all that chaos going on
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