Chapter 2

                                    

                                          
Joshua 
                          
I should pursue a career in music...
                          
I mean, I probably shouldn't since I don't have a musical bone in my body, but I should give it a shot for sure.
                          
I lean in so I can murmur for Markus's ears only, not wanting to interrupt the artist's verse currently going on inside the booth. ''You should go in there,''
                          
My older brother snorts out a laugh. ''And do what? Provide background vocals?''
                          
I'm about to voice a list of suggestions when Kayden's voice rings through the air. ''What are you ladies whispering about over there?''
                          
''Question. Just how much autotune would it require for you to make at least one of us famous?'' I ask instead.
                          
He shakes his head. ''Not enough autotune in the world, dude.''
                          
Bitch-ass.
                          
I wave a hand around the fancy, not so little, studio. The one he- his company- fucking owns. I love to hang around here somedays when I leave others in charge at the gym. ''What's the use of having a rich, famous, best friend if he can't even make me big?''
                          
''Jeff, I'm not feeling this bass.'' he turns to the man in the main desk chair in the middle of the room, in front of all the equipment, instead of answering. The bald, middle-aged man, who's apparently one of the biggest producers in the city, immediately puts his headphones on and starts messing around with the system, trying different tones and sounds.
                          
''Lower the range,'' Kayden instructs. ''It doesn't go with the rhythm at all. Amp it up a little bit.''
                          
Jeff does as he's told, and Kayden keeps the instructions coming, going up behind him and putting on his own set of headphones to clutter around on the sound system as well. And after a few seconds of them doing just that, I gotta admit, it all sounds a fuck-ton better than it did before.
                          
Kayden's gotta be one of the most involved label directors to ever exist. He owns Dom-In- the biggest label company in the state of California- with his parents, but whereas his mom and dad control everything regarding social media, finances, and the little things behind the scenes, Kayden has taken on more of a...technical approach. He's involved in every little thing. All the new artists that need to be signed- which he's very particular about- all the studio sessions, album drops, single drops, everything has to go through him.
                          
And he's fucking good at it too. If you ask him, he'll get all humble and tell you he's just got a solid head on his shoulders and knows what he's doing, but it's definitely more than that. The man has the knack for this music shit. He knows what sounds good. He knows what the people want to hear, and he knows how to execute it all in a way to leave both the artist and their fans happy with what they bring out. 
                          
''Such a dick,'' I mutter to my brother, on the subject of my best friend dismissing me. ''Do you know how much money he could make off me? Look at this face. Just look.''
                          
''I've seen it about every day for the past twenty-three years.'' Markus ripostes. ''I'm good, J.''
                          
I know exactly what this is about. ''Your donkey-lookin'-ass is just jealous I got the superior genes.''
                          
He throws me a dry look. ''Yeah, that's it. I'm fucking devasted I didn't end up looking like Uncle Chris.''
                          
It's true, I did end up looking a bit more like my mother's twin brother instead of either of my parents, but uncle Christian is almost fifty years old and doesn't look a day over thirty so I'm not mad about it or whatever.
                          
''Nathan,'' Kayden calls out to his assistant. ''What time is it?''
                          
The scrawny blonde flicks his wrists to get a better look at his watch. ''One-twenty five,''