𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

As if matters couldn't get any worse, Ezra's phone buzzes as he exits the building and makes his way back towards his own personal hell. A phone call from Faye, his publicist, is never a good sign. She hadn't called him with good news for the last two years, which only means he fucked up one way or another.

The male contemplates letting it go to voicemail but knows better than to do so. Faye had been a sisterly figure to Ezra since she began working for him during the start of his career. She was always honest and held him accountable, which were things he valued once. Now, he'd prefer if she'd just blow smoke up his ass like the rest of his management team. Though, there's something endearing about the way she chews him out.

"What did I do now?" He groans into the phone, bypassing the perfunctory greetings.

"Nothing that I know of," the femme replies with a chuckle, "but while I've got you on the line, care to admit to anything that is in need of damage control?"

"I'm on probation."

"And what a blessing that is for me. But you know why I'm really calling. Madison's team sent over the song."

He's happy to be alone in the elevator, features going blank and complexion turning white at the mention of his ex. Faintly, the male can still feel a pang in his chest.

"I already told you, I don't want to hear it."

He can hear her draw in a breath on the other end of the line. "You know I don't care if you listen to the actual song," she reminds for what feels like the thousandth time, "but the voicemail at the end —"

"Yeah," he interrupts, "I'm not a fucking idiot. I know that's what you want me to listen to, and, again, the answer is no."

"Then don't. Just ask her to take it off, I'm sure we could work something out with —"

"She can do whatever the fuck she likes with the voicemail. I don't care."

"I think if you heard it, then you would."

"And I don't think you're hearing me, Faye." His words carry a tone he doesn't usually pull with the femme, which immediately makes him regret it. After a short pause, the male lets out a shaky breath. "I can't," he mumbles, attention turning to the elevator doors as they open to his floor.

"Just think about it, okay? You don't have to look like the bad guy here, Ezra. I know it's easy to paint you as one, but, frankly, I think it's a cheap shot when she knows you're already down."

"Well, at least she hasn't changed," he offers with a short huff, keycard scanning against the door as he slips past a few security guards manning the entrance. "I'm not going to beg her to do me a favor. It's just her way of getting me to grovel."

As he enters the suite, he's surprised to see Jude strumming away on one the guitars he always has lying around. "I gotta go," he adds quickly before his publicist can respond, hanging up the phone and slipping it back in his pocket. "Thought you'd be at the gym by now."

"Aw," Jude coos, "He still remembers my schedule." For a moment, it looks as if the guitarist is contemplating his next words very carefully. "Was that Faye?"

"Yeah," he runs his hands through his hair before palming at his face. "Just another day in paradise."

"I assume it's about Madison," he offers nonchalantly, while Ezra moves towards the kitchen and out of the male's direct line of sight.

"How'd you guess?" He questions, back turning towards the countertop where he unravels a small baggie from his pocket.

"Because you haven't done anything yet this week ... and you only get that look on your face when it has to do with her."

Ezra lets out a short, humorless laugh before dry swallowing a few white pills. "Yet," he repeats while completely ignoring his latter statement, "Good one." His hands move quickly to shove the baggie back into his pocket.

Jude tilts his head to get a better view of the male, while Ezra is already turned in his direction once more. "What does she want?"

"Same thing she always wants: attention." Ezra presses his eyes shut momentarily, hoping to god those pills hit his bloodstream quickly.

"Don't let her get under your skin," Jude warns softly, attention focusing back to his guitar. The soft strum of the chords does nothing but irritate Ezra. He's had enough music for today, between Billie's singing and Madison's next hit.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ezra warns with an impatient tone, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

It seems as if everyone had an opinion on how to deal with Madison since their breakup. Though it had officially been over for two years, there was no denying that Ezra had momentary lapses in judgement. Her and him were on and off more times than he could count until they permanently separated a little over a year ago.

His mind isn't allowed to wander too far towards the night that changed everything between them, since Jude still remains apt on sharing his opinions. "She's not good for you," he reminds, causing Ezra's eyes to nearly roll into the back of his head. "I'm serious, man. I know you don't like talking about that night, but —"

Ezra has grown quite good at interrupting people over the years. So, it's almost second nature to cut the male off before he can say anything that'll cause any serious damage. "You're right. I don't," he affirms, tone warning the male to drop it. By now, he barely realizes the way his hands grip at the countertop as his eyes pierce into Jude's. "And rehashing it is only going to help her achieve her goal of pissing me off."

"I don't think she wants to piss you off," Jude offers. His eyes reveal a kind of worry and sadness that Ezra hasn't seen for about a year. "I think she wants to break you beyond repair."

Ezra pauses for a moment, letting the words sink in. It's the most sense Jude has made in quite some time, which causes his shoulders to slump slightly. "She's putting the voicemail in her album. And once it comes out, you know what that means for me."

Now, it's Jude's turn to go pale. His strumming stops and the silence is nearly deafening. Ezra isn't sure if the noise or this is worse. "You have to tell her to take it off."

"Why?" he scoffs, shrug rolling from his shoulders, "If she doesn't do something with it now, then she'll do something with it later." Suddenly, the male begins to find the humor in it all. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, euphoria already sinking in.

"What could you possibly find funny about this?" The guitarist questions with furrowed brows.

"I think she already broke me beyond repair," he admits slowly, a twisted smile etched upon his face. "And that voicemail won't change a damn thing about it, will it?"