𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄.

chapter 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞.

ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖⁱᵉ

˚₊‧꒰ა 🎤 ‧₊˚

[ rockfield farm ]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. Freddie was twenty minutes late, annoyance hinting their fidgety movements. Roger glanced back at you and all you could do was shrug, offering an empathetic wince. 

The room was silent as Ray Foster sighed, and Jim Beach, the band's lawyer, and the man you had been assisting for the past three years, looked around the room. He was a kind man, taking you in when no other law firm would, and offering you guidance and real work experience in a mostly male dominated workforce. You had recommended him to the band, stating that he wasn't like other blood-sucking lawyers, and both parties were eager to work together, upon your request. 

The office door suddenly opened, and in walked Freddie with a flourish. "Hello," he greeted, shutting the door. 

"You're late," John stated the obvious. 

"Am I?"

"We saved you a seat," Paul said. 

"Lovely."

"Okay, so, now that we're all here, Jim, this is Ray Foster. Ray, this is the band's lawyer, Jim Beach."

"And the girl?" Ray questioned, eyes focusing on you. 

"She's my assistant," Jim smiled. 

"And an important figure to the band," Freddie added. 

"Very important," Roger emphasized. 

"Oh, but we must stop calling him that." You looked over at Freddie, finding him lighting a cigarette and glancing over towards Jim. 

"That's his name," John exasperated. 

"No, we cannot keep calling him 'Jim Beach'. No, that's absurd, not to mention unspeakably boring." Your jaw dropped a little, and you softly rubbed Jim's arm, mouthing an apology, to which he smiled thankfully. "Miami," Freddie suddenly suggested, and Brian let out a chuckle. "From now on, I dub thee 'Miami Beach.'"

The boys laughed a little, and Jim nodded, "The sun always sets behind you, doesn't it? On Miami Beach."

You pursed your lips, slightly embarrassed at his 'joke', which went noticed and not-laughed-at by the others in the room. "Hmm. Right," Ray hummed. "Now that everybody's got an acceptable name, let's get to it. Look, we just really need something special. More hits. Like 'Killer Queen', only bigger."

As Freddie stood up, slowly wandering towards Ray's record player, Roger huffed, "It's not bloody widgets we're making. We can't just reproduce 'Killer Queen'."

"No," Freddie voiced, and everyone looked over to him as he placed the stylus down on a vinyl he had picked. "We can do better."