"I hate this generation...." Berkeley muttered to herself. With her elbows propped onto her desk, she massaged her temples, as her head began to throb. Glancing at the bottom right-hand corner of her computer screen, she saw that it was only 3:30. She still had an hour and a half on the clock. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she picked her phone up again, and continued browsing through TikTok, searching for the next phenomenal talent.

"Knock, knock!" A voice rang out. Berkeley looked up to find Delaney standing in the doorway with a Styrofoam cup in each hand. "I come bearing a mid-afternoon pick me up!" Delaney smiled, waltzing into the room, her long flowing, auburn hair bouncing side-to-side.

"You are a Godsend!" Berkley exclaimed. The familiar smell of her favorite black and white latte wafted through the air as Delaney placed the cups down on the desk.

"Oh my gosh, I cannot thank you enough for this," Berkeley said, picking up the cup that Delaney had set directly in front of her. Taking a sip of her latte, the steaming liquid coated her tongue with the rich flavors of Colombian coffee, dark and white chocolate, and the rich, creamy smoothness of oat milk. The coffee warmed her insides, like a comforting hug, and she could begin to feel the pounding in her head dissipate.

"I was over at Lavender's and figured you might want a black and white," Delaney replied.

"I can Venmo you."

Delaney dismissively waved a wand and shook her head. "Don't even worry about it. Besides, you look like you need it."

Berkeley frowned. "Geeze, I look that rough?"

"No," Delaney shook her head. "But you do look irritated."

"It's ‘cause I am," Berkeley responded.

"What's up?" Delaney asked her, scooting toward the edge of her chair.

Berkeley picked up her phone and displayed the screen to Delaney. "I'm supposed to find the next big thing from TikTok... TikTok!"

"Oh boy," Delaney rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, exactly," Berkeley agreed. "I could get on board with YouTube, I thought that was actually a great way to find talent. But then came Instagram, and Vine, and all these other platforms, and now it seems like people are just making up things to go viral!"

"I am so glad I don't have your job right now!" Delaney said, taking a sip of her own drink.

Berkeley pouted. "I never thought I'd envy data and analytics." She hated math. Loathed it. She almost flunked stats in college, but with the way her day was going, she wouldn't mind trading places with Delaney. "Not to sound ungrateful. I love my job. I busted my ass for this position, and to prove that I'm more than just Rashaad Hamilton's daughter."

"You are more than just Rashaad Hamilton's daughter," Delaney reminded her.

Berkeley offered her an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Del." Even though she'd been with the company for almost fourteen years now, working her way up from interning for two summers in college, and then starting out as an administrative assistant in Strategic Development post-grad, eventually working her way up to becoming an A&R manager. Still, with all the work she'd put in for almost a decade and a half, there were still whispers and accusations of nepotism, because after all, her father was CEO and President of the label. "I just... Worldwide Records needs a new artist. One that's talented as hell, can sell records, and has the IT-factor, and I'm just not finding that in these wannabe social media influencers!"

"Yeah, everyone just wants to be famous these days," Delaney said.

"You know what I want?" Berkeley asked. "I want to find someone who makes me feel something. Like the way I felt when I first heard The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill! I don't want the next Dixie D'Amelio or Addison Rae! I want the next Prince! The next Michael Jackson! The next Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Tupac or Mariah Carey! I need to find someone real."

"I hate to break it to ya Burke," Delaney frowned. "But I think you're in the wrong era. Those days are gone."

"Ughhh... I think you might be right," Berkeley groaned. "And please do not take this the wrong way Del, and again, thank you for the coffee. But may I ask why you're in here? Don't get me wrong, I desperately need the company, or I'm gonna go crazy, but did you come in here to tell me something?"

"No," Delaney shook her head. "My work is done for the day, and based on your texts, I figured you could use a little morale boost."

"I so appreciate it" Berkeley smiled, before turning her attention to her computer.  

"What do you have planned for the rest of the day?" Delaney asked her.

"Fuuuuuccck..." Berkeley groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. When she logged into her email account, she was immediately alerted of the invite in her calendar.

"What's up?" Delaney asked, curiously.

"I forgot that my sister invited me to this thing." The only thing Berkeley wanted at that moment was to go home, whip off her bra, wiggle out of her pencil skirt, soak in the tub until fingertips wrinkled, and then crawl into bed with a glass of Merlot while watching The Sopranos.

"What thing?"

"It's this," Berkeley clicked on the event, and squinted her eyes. "This Ojai Playwrights Conference thing. Some writers are showcasing their work, performing scenes from plays and singing songs from musicals."

"Ojai?" Delaney crinkled her nose. "That's over an hour away- not counting traffic."

"I know, but Blair is driving, so I don't mind," Berkeley replied. "I mean it shouldn't be too bad, but I'm just not in the mood today."

"So don't go," Delaney said. "Tell her you're not up to it. Besides, why would you go to a playwright's conference?"

"Because Blair is on the Board of Directors, and this is really important to her. Plus, I promised her I'd go like a month ago, and I don't wanna disappoint her by flaking just hours before. And they are raising money to help make art accessible for kids, and I just can't say no to that!"

"You're a good sister," Delaney mused, draining the contents of her cup. "Couldn't be me. I could not sit through showtunes"

"How do you work in the music industry, but hate musicals?" Berkeley chuckled.

"Easy," Delaney said standing up. "This is the music industry, not Broadway!"

"One of these days, I will introduce you to a musical that you will fall in love with," Berkeley promised her.

"Eh, if it hasn't happened in 33 years, I doubt it will," she said as she walked toward the door.

"You still haven't seen In the Heights!" Berkeley called.

"And I likely never will," Delaney teased, as she tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash bin by the door. On her way out she turned to face Berkeley, and wiggled her fingers, making jazz hands. "And ya can't make me!"

"I will make you love musical Delaney Willis, if it's the last thing I do!" Berkeley joked.

"Ha! Good luck with that. The day I start belting out showtunes is the day you become a Marvel fan!" Delaney quipped.

"Yeah, nooo," Berkeley frowned.

"That's what I thought," Delaney said, lingering at the door. "Anyway, I better get going. I have a date tonight."

Berkeley's jaw dropped. "With who?"

"Some guy I matched with on Raya," Delaney answered. "He's a lawyer."

Deciding to keep her unfavorable opinions on dating apps to herself, Berkeley simply smiled. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Delaney frowned. "Well damn, that means I can't do anything!"

Berkeley gasped and reached for her legal pad. After ripping out a blank sheet of paper, she wadded it up and tossed it at Delaney, who ducked just in time. The yellow ball of paper hit the door then landed onto the floor. "I resent that comment!"

"You know it's true!" Delaney giggled. "Anyway, I really should be going. But try to loosen up and have fun tonight. I'm sure it won't be that bad."

"Thanks Del, it probably won't," Berkeley said feigning optimism. "Let me know how the date goes."

"Of course," Delaney replied. "Bye, doll."

"Bye," Berkeley waved, as she watched her friend and colleague disappear down the hall. Once again, she decided to switch focus and respond to some emails. Glancing down at the clock on her computer screen she realized it was only four o'clock. Only thirty minutes had passed by. "Nooo..." She groaned, laying her head down on her desk. "I just need for this damn day to be over already!"

*~*~*~*

"Thanks so much for coming with me," Blair whispered to Berkeley as they settled into their seats in the dimly lit theatre.

"No problem, B," Berkeley replied. As it turned out, being out of the office, and getting a little food in her system did wonders. She was far less stressed and irritated than she had been at work.

"Everyone else bailed on me," Blair said to her. "Brian and Braxton both promised they'd be here and then texted me last night to tell me they had other plans," she explained.

"Brian and Brax both had totally legit reasons for not showing up tonight," Berkeley replied, referring to their older twin brothers. "You can't blame Brax for getting called into the OR last night."

"Yeah, well I guess spinal cord injuries are pretty urgent," Blair groaned.

"B nice B!" Berkeley hissed, nudging her sister. "And it's not like Charlotte got sick at camp on purpose. You can't fault Brian for being super dad."

"That is true," Blair conceded, letting out a heavy sigh.

"And I mean come one, he is doing it alone," Berkeley added.

"Fine, fine," Blair nodded. "But still, Brynn could've at least showed up! That brat had no excuse."

"Brynn is a rising college Freshmen. Do you think she really wants to spend the last days of her summer with us. Two old ladies?!"

"We are not old!" Blair retorted. "Take it back!"

"Well, I'm not," Berkeley said. "But you're forty!" She teased, putting extra emphasis on the word forty.

"Shut up, you're not that far behind!"

"Thirty-five is not old, you're almost middle aged," Berkeley argued.

"You're only thirty-five for another month. You're officially closer to forty than you are thirty," Blair replied.

"Can we drop this conversation?"

"Doesn't feel so good, does it?" Blair glared at her. "Besides, theatre is an all-ages event."

"I happen to agree with you, but Brynn is a teenager after all, and hanging with her friends is more important," Berkeley replied. "You remember what it was like at that age."

"Yeah..." Blair muttered. "Sue me if all I wanted was a night out with all my siblings."

"Well, we're officially all adults now, and life is pulling us in different directions," Berkeley stated.

"That just sounds so sad," said Blair. "Speaking of family, did Bubbe text you about Shabbat?"

"No," Berkeley shook her head. "She's not speaking with me right now."

"What?" Blair asked incredulously. "Why?"

"She's still upset about me breaking things off with David," Berkeley explained. "He was a nice Jewish boy, and I was her only hope, since Brian and Brax married out, and you and Aaron are no longer together. Now she's banking on Brynn to meet a nice Jewish boy at UCLA and marry him. And I mean, we're not even really Jewish!"

"I mean, technically we are, because ya know, matrilineally. Bubbe's Jewish, so therefore Mom is Jewish-well Blewish- so therefore we're Jewish," Blair clarified

"Blewish?"

"Yeah, ya know, Black and Jewish," Blair explained.

"Blai-"

"I mean we're more Black than we are Jewish, so I don't know why Bubbe's so upset," Blair interrupted. "I mean she's the one that married out when she married grandpa!"

"Yeah, but grandpa did convert for her. And I mean I can understand why she's upset. Preserving a Jewish legacy is important." Berkeley loved her Bubbe, and she loved being (a quarter) Jewish. However, they weren't raised as practicing Jews, and she couldn't see spending the rest of her life with someone just to make her grandmother- who realistically only had a few years left in her- happy. "I love Bubbe, and I hate disappointing her, but David and I had absolutely no future. He's an amazing man, and he deserves a nice Jewish wife, and I can't give him that."

"You did the right thing," Blair told her. "Take it from me, you do not wanna get married for the wrong reasons. Divorce isn't something I'd wish on anyone."

After watching both Blair and Brian go through brutal divorces and custody battles, she knew that was something she wanted to avoid at all costs. Perhaps it was why she was so cautious when it came to dating. She wanted to marry once, and once only. She wasn't willing to settle or compromise, for the sake of being married, even if she was (almost) thirty-six.

"What time is it?" Berkeley asked, changing the subject. Talking about their family drama was killing the mood.

Blair checked the time on her phone. "7:50. We still have ten more minutes."

"Can I see your program?" Berkeley asked. "I forgot to grab one."

"Here," Blair said, handing her sister a program. "I accidentally grabbed an extra on the way in."

"Thanks," Berkeley replied, reviewing the program. "So, these are all pieces written by the interns?"

"Some, yes," Blair answered. "Some of the playwrights are acting in their work, while others have actors performing their work."

"Ahhh, okay," Berkeley nodded, as she flipped the program over.

"There's this one artist who is particularly incredible! He let me sit on rehearsals and-"

"Shit!" Berkeley shrieked, attracting attention from the crowd around them.

"Shhh!" Blair shushed her. "Burke, what's wrong with you? Are you out of your mind?!"

"B! This says JC Chasez!" Berkeley exclaimed, pointing to the bottom of the program.

"I know, I have eyes," Blair said flatly.

"This is thee JC Chasez? Oh, who am I kidding? Who else on earth has the name JC Chasez, but JC Chasez!" She looked around the venue, her heart racing. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"He's working on a new musical, apparently," Blair responded.

"And you didn't tell me?" Berkeley scoffed. Had she known she'd be seeing JC Chasez, she would've been a lot more eager to come!

"I didn't think it was important?" Blair said, her statement sounding more like a question.

"B! You know how much I loved *Nsync as a kid!" Growing up with a supermodel mother, and a record executive father, and now working in the industry herself, it was rare that Berkeley ever got starstruck. However, there was one moment in her life where she'd been so awestruck in the presence of pop superstardom. She was twelve years old, it was the summer before eighth grade, when her father surprised her by taking her to see *Nsync at Madison Square Garden. She still remembered the meet and greet like it was yesterday.  

"Hey honey, what's your name?" JC asked as he signed her copy of No Strings Attached.

"B-b-b-" she stuttered, having been too stunned to speak.

She'd been so embarrassed, she spent her teen years convinced she'd never be able to live it down. But as they say, time heals all wounds, and now she can look at that picture of her frizzy-haired, brace faced, preteen self with the five pop superstars with much fondness.

"B! It's JC from *Nsync! Here! Singing!" she exclaimed, squeezing her sister's arm. "I can't believe you're not like totally freaking out right now!"

"Eh... you know I was a Backstreet girl," Blair said dismissively.

Berkeley glared at her sister. They'd always been extremely close, but the one thing that threatened to tear them apart was a boyband rivalry. It was intense when they were kids, and the teen pop phenomenon of the late 90's and early 2000's was at its peak. But every now and again, the dividing line would rear its ugly head. "So, he is singing, right?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he is," Blair nodded.

Just as Berkeley was about to bombard her sister with questions, the houselights dimmed, and the emcee stepped onstage.

"Good evening, everyone." An older man with a bald head, and grey beard addressed the audience. "Tonight, I want to welcome you to the Ojai Playwrights Conference." There was applause from the audience, and he continued to give a brief history of the organization and an overview of the performances.

 As the show started, Berkeley shifted anxiously in her seat. Her mind was racing. It was the year 2023, and she was about to see JC-freakin'-Chasez?! Yes, the artists she was about to watch, she was sure were all talented, and worked very hard. She respected them and their craft. That was all good and well, but JC being last felt like torture. But she understood they had to save the best for last.

Sitting at the edge of her seat, her eyes fixed on the stage as each playwright's workshopped material came to life. As the show progressed, she forced herself to focus, and pay attention to all the hard work that every artist put in to showcasing their scenes. Yet, amidst the captivating performances, her attention kept drifting to the corner of the stage, her impatience growing with each passing act. Her foot tapped a restless rhythm on the floor as she discreetly checked her phone, silently urging time to move faster. Her excitement was almost palpable in the air.

As the second to last act drew to a close, Berkeley's focus sharpened, her eyes fixed on the wing of the stage, her anticipation reaching its peak. As playwright, Madeline Sayer exited stage left, the emcee walked on stage right. "Once again ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm round of applause to our writer-in-residence, Madeline Sayer!"

As the audience applauded, Berkley reached over and grabbed her sister's arm. "This is it, B!" she whispered. "This is it!"

"Take your claws out of my skin you wildebeest!" Blair hissed, snatching her arm away.

Undeterred, Berkeley rolled her eyes, and focused her attention on the stage.

"Please give a very warm welcome to singer-songwriter, and music producer, JC Chasez!"

As JC stepped onto the stage, he was met with thunderous applause from the crowd, and even a few screams. Berkeley's eyes remained locked onto JC as he stood under the spotlight, a mix of admiration and awe etched across her face. Her heart raced, and a dreamlike sense of disbelief washed over her- the man whose music had been the soundtrack to her childhood was now standing before her.

As the emcee continued to engage JC in conversation, Berkeley gradually shifted her attention from her own excitement to the words being exchanged on stage.

"Yeah, so, when he was like ‘would you say something about arts education and how important it is to you? And I'm... a living thing from it, right? I started singing when I was 11 or 12 years old, and found my people around that time, and that's pretty lucky, actually, pretty early. But you know, we talked about you know, what it- what it does, you know? And it's, what it is, is you're cultivating, and you're inspiring people to be themselves, and be those creative thinkers, those thinkers."

JC's charismatic presence commanded the stage, and Berkeley found herself hanging on to every word, every nuance of his expression. Her fingers tapping restlessly now clutched the armrest of her seat, grounding her in the reality of the experience. His words resonated deeply, bridging the gap between artist and audience. She was in awe of him as he continued to speak.

"And it's incredibly important- I think it's incredibly important anyway- for people to have a mind and to be, to be creative. You're gonna have to think on your toes in life. And uh- so um... and all along the way people are writing these stories to find connections in our humanity, these stories are finding connections- different ways- painters, or songwriters, or whatever, they're finding a way to be- to express their humanity, and uh, and yet no one is going to see any of that, without the help of someone else. Because everyone along the way has gotten help from somewhere. Maybe not making the thing, but saying ‘hey, you know what? I see something in you, I believe in you, I can do this, to give you the opportunity to better what you're doing, and to share that humanity with the world, so we can all have conversations about it, and reflect.' And so, that's why things like this to me are important. It gives us the opportunity to embrace these young people- or old people like me who have been doing this forever! You know, because I'm trying something for the first time, right? And it's fun. But you know it's also, I'm a very fortunate person, because I've been fortunate in life. But along the way, I had help. I had someone believe in me. You know, just by stepping up. And so, I think it's great that everybody's here and stepping up for these young people, and everybody's who's trying to put their heart on their sleeve and connect."

As the interview drew to a close, Berkeley joined the audience in another round of enthusiastic applause. "Well JC Chasez just told you what to do, so if you haven't hit that QR code, please do!" The emcee quipped, and JC let out a full bellied laugh.

Berkeley made a mental note to donate to the cause. She would have even if JC Chasez wasn't there, but his speech definitely lit a fire under her, and reminded her just how important it was to give back if you were privileged enough to do so. And she was certainly privileged. So much so, that she often felt guilty about it. The sound of the emcee's voice cut through her thoughts, capturing her attention once again.

"Well, without further ado, JC Chasez everyone." He gestured toward JC, before swiftly exiting the stage.

The audience applauded once again, and JC adjusted the microphone stand in front of him. "How's everyone doing tonight?" He asked. The crowd whooped and hollered, and JC flashed a dazzling smile. "This first song is one of four that I'll be singing, from a musical I helped write that's currently being workshopped. It's called Playing with Fire, and it's based off the story of Frankenstein. This one's called ‘How Do You Sleep'."

The anticipation in the theatre reached a crescendo as the crowd's cheers gradually faded into hushed murmurs. Berkely's heart skipped a beat as the atmosphere shifted, the room growing still and quiet. Her breath caught in her throat and a sense of reverence washed over her as she waited in breathless anticipation for JC to begin singing.

The spotlight cast a soft glow on JC, his poised figure exuding a magnetic aura. The first few notes of the piano reverberated through the air, gentle and haunting, setting the tone for the emotional journey about to unfold. Berkeley's gave remained unwavering, her eyes fixed on JC as his voice, rich and soulful filled the space.

Time seemed to stand still as JC's voice wove a tapestry of emotions through the poignant lyrics. Berkeley was captivated by the vulnerability in his performance, each word a brushstroke painting a vivid picture. As the chorus approached, Berkely felt a swell of emotion within her. The raw sincerity of JC's delivery tugged at her heart, making her feel as if he were singing directly to her. She was moved, not just by the melody, but by the depth of the connection she felt to the song and its performer.

This, she thought. This is art! This is what she'd meant when she said she was searching for something that moved her. Something that would move masses of people. Something- someone- who could evoke emotion, who could captivate an audience. Someone who was real and sincere, and passionate about his craft.

As the final note hung in the air, a stunned silence enveloped the theater, followed by an eruption of applause that reverberated like thunder. Berkeley's hands joined the applause. She was deeply moved, her heart touched by the vulnerability and artistry that JC had bared on that stage. For far too long his remarkable talent, his once-in-a-lifetime gift had been hidden in the shadows, hidden from the spotlight that should have embraced him long ago. His voice, his art, were a rarity, a treasure that had remained obscured, unappreciated by the masses.

As the applause continued, Berkeley's mind raced, thoughts spinning like a whirlwind. She was stunned by the sheer magnitude of what she'd just witnessed. The raw emotion, the undiluted passion had stirred something within her, igniting a spark of determination that glowed brighter than ever before.

"Blair," Berkeley whispered, her voice a fervent plea amidst the continued clapping and cheers.

"That was amazing, wasn't it?" Blair replied.

"Yes!" Berkeley exclaimed. "I need a favor. A huge one."

"What's that?" Blair asked, obliviously.

"I need you to introduce me to JC," Berkely requested.

"Why, so you can ask him for a selfie?" Blair teased.

"No," Berkely said, shaking her head. "So I can get him signed."

That next morning, JC sat at his island, nursing a cup of coffee while scrolling through his phone. He'd been pleased with his performance the night before and was excited that his original work from Playing with Fire had been well received. Mostly, he was happy about the funds being raised to help young artists. He'd greatly benefited from arts education in his life, and he felt blessed to be in a position to give back to the next generation. Overall, it was a great night, save for one minor inconvenience. Just as he started to replay the interaction from the night before, he was alerted of a new text message.

Podwall

Have you talked to her yet?

As he read the message from his manager, Eric, JC heaved a frustrated sigh. He'd agreed to perform at the Ojai Playwrights Conference for two reasons, and they were to first and foremost, raise money for young artists, and second, to showcase and promote the musical. It was supposed to be a lowkey event, and he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. It was about the kids, not him. However, his attempts at flying under the radar had proved futile, as almost immediately after the show, he was approached by an A&R rep.

At first, he'd mistakenly assumed she was a fan, wanting a picture. Then it dawned on him that she looked familiar. With her tawny skin, sandy brown hair, light green eyes, and freckles that decorated her face, he knew he'd seen her before, but he couldn't quite place her. It wasn't until she formally introduced herself, that he'd realized she was Rashaad Hamilton's party, and he'd seen her around over the years at various events and industry parties.

"Hi," she greeted, extending her hand. "I'm Berkeley Wright Hamilton, A&R manager for Worldwide Records."

"Hi," he'd replied, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"JC, that was a phenomenal performance," she said. "Would you be interested in meeting with me?"

She was polite, yet direct, not beating around the bush. JC had received numerous offers over the years from different labels, but none that interested him. However, he was quite taken aback in the moment, as he hadn't expected for performance to garner much attention. "I- thank you. I appreciate that, I really do. But I'm not looking for a record deal."

Her face faltered for a second, but she remained undeterred. "I understand. I'm not asking for an immediate answer, but I at least want to give you my card," she told him.

He watched as she dug around in her purse, before pulling out a business card. "Just think about it and call me. Even if it is a no."

Before he could respond, she'd walked away, disappearing into the crowd. "That is Rashaad Hamilton's daughter!" Eric exclaimed, walking up to JC. "What did she say?"

"She's an A&R rep," JC said.

"Dude, I know that!" Eric replied. "What did she say?"

JC handed the card over to Eric. "She gave me her card, she wants to set up a meeting."

A few minutes after receiving the text, JC's phone rang, and Eric's name appeared on the screen. He hit the answer icon, and before he could even say hello, Eric had already started in.

"JC-"

"Eric-" JC cut him off. "Before you even start, we've already discussed this. I'm not interested."

"Worldwide Records. This could be huge," said Eric. "This could be it. This could be your chance at a comeback!"

JC sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was already done with this conversation. "I already told you, Eric. I'm not looking for a comeback. I like my life the way it is. I'm financially comfortable, and I'm content. I just wanna music, and that's it."

"You're killin' me here Jace," Eric sighed.

JC could practically see him with his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Eric." He wasn't. "But I'm gonna have to pass on this."

"Fine," Eric conceded. "I'll drop it."

"Thank you," JC replied.

"Well, in other news, Red Velvet's management reached out to me. They're recording a new album and they really want you to write and produce for them," Eric informed him.

"Okay, sounds great," JC perked up. Behind the scenes is where he thrived, and over the last few years he'd really found his niche in writing and producing for K-Pop and J-Pop groups. It was a specific sound that he really enjoyed tapping into. "Set up a meeting with their management team."

"You know, while you're writing for them, it wouldn't hurt to write for yourself," Eric urged.

JC rolled his eyes. "I am writing for myself. Does last night ring a bell?"

"You know what I mean," Eric said.

"Let it go Eric," JC begged.

"Fine, fine!" Eric relented. "I won't say another word about it."

"Finally, thank you." JC replied.

 "But I will say that JC Chasez- you- are one stubborn motherfucker!"

*~*~*~*~*

Meanwhile, across town, Berkeley sat in a meeting listening to her boss discuss plans for their current roster of artists and concept ideas for the remainder of the year and going into January. While Ethan continued to give his presentation, Berkeley did her best to pay attention, though it proved to be too difficult a task, when she was constantly checking her phone and email, making sure she hadn't missed JC. She couldn't stop thinking about the events of the previous night, and just how incredible JC's performance was. He had such an indescribable quality that she couldn't quite understand how she felt about it. Simply put, he had it, and she'd made up her mind that her number one goal was to get him signed.

"Burke!"

Ethan's voice cut through her thoughts, startling her to attention. "Sorry!" She blushed. "What?"

"An update," Ethan repeated. "Can you give us an update on new talent."

"Oh, sure!" She scrambled, opening up her iPad pro. She could practically feel her skin burning under everyone's gaze. Despite having been at the label for almost fourteen years, she was always paranoid that everyone thought she was just another nepotism hire, with no actual skill or discernment for talent. And she was sure that spacing out in front of the boss did nothing to help dispel those assumptions. "I came across a really interesting girl on TikTok," she said as she opened the app. "Her name is Ellie Jay and she's got a hundred thousand followers, 1.2 million likes, her views and likes are decent, and she's got pretty good engagement. But most importantly, she's talented! She's seventeen, and she writes and produces her own music. She's already released a few singles on Spotify and Soundcloud. She's unsigned and doesn't have a manager."

Berkeley slid her iPad across the table for Ethan to see. She watched as he picked it up and scrolled through the TikTok page. She was an anxious bundle of nerves, watching his face as he perused through the page. He finally selected a clip, and the notes of an acoustic guitar poured out into the room, followed by a light and sweet, yet earthy voice.

"No," Ethan said, immediately pausing the video.

"Uh-" Berkeley stammered. "What's wrong with her?"

"Well for one, we don't need another iteration of Jewel. Or Shawn Colvin. Or Natalie Merchant. Or Meredith Brooks. Or Lisa Loeb. Or any of those Lillith Fair artists. It's been done, and besides Taylor Swift has monopoly on the white girl with guitar schtick." Ethan explained. "No one is rivaling Taylor Swift."

Berkeley fought hard not to roll her eyes. "But she's got a hundred thousand followers! There's something there! She has a following!"

"She doesn't have a million," Ethan replied. "And you know better than anybody that a social media following doesn't guarantee streams and sales."

Then why the fuck do you have me scourging social media for acts?! She wanted to scream.

"I'm not risking signing a high schooler from Bumfuck, Idaho for her to flop," Ethan continued.

"She's from Toronto," Berkeley muttered.

"Great! Then let a Canadian label sign her," Ethan said, handing the iPad back to Berkeley. "Alright Asher, give me an update. And please for the love of God, let it be someone we can sign."

Biting her tongue, Berkeley slid her iPad back into its case, and sat back in her chair, not uttering a word for the rest of the meeting.

"Ethan Carmichael is such a dick!" Berkeley fumed. After the meeting, Delaney caught her storming down the hall, and suggested they go out for lunch for some fresh air and a much-needed break from the office. Now, as they sat outside at Salad Farm, Berkely ranted to Delaney about how horrible the meeting had gone.

"Well, you could always report him to your dad," Delaney shrugged.

"Del, you know I won't do that," Berkeley replied before taking a sip of her iced green tea. "People already think I had my job handed to me as it is. I just have to suck it up."

"You know, I think he's harder on you than anyone else because you are the President's daughter, and because he knows how serious you are about your career and your reputation, so he knows you won't say anything," Delaney theorized.

"Dammit, I think you're right," Berkeley sighed. "Do you think I should leave the company?"

Delaney gave her a concerned look. "No! Why would you do that?"

"Because Del, I've been busting my ass since I was sixteen years old. From getting co-op credits in high school for working in the mailroom at Worldwide, to interning in the summers during college, to starting out as a receptionist, and then working my way up to administrative assistant in Digital Marketing and Commerce to finally getting my foot in the door with the A&R division as an assistant, to now, working as an A&R manager. Don't get me wrong, I'm very aware of how privileged I am, and that I already had a leg up in getting my start. But I feel like over the past twenty years, I've tried my best to work my butt off, and not rely too much on my dad. It's just... I love this business so much... well not exactly the business, but I love music. I love artists and discovering them and investing in them. I just wanna be taken seriously. And I want people to know I take my job seriously. And dammit! I wanna be the A&R director!"

"Well... that was a movie worthy monologue," said Delaney. "Like that climactic moment in a coming-of-age story when the main character finally wakes up and realizes her worth!"

"Del-"

"No! Sorry, not trying to make a joke out of this, I swear. "And I totally understand where you're coming from. But, like you said, you have worked your ass off, and I've witnessed it. I don't think you should leave the label, but I do think you should start demanding a little more respect. Just because your dad owns the label, that doesn't mean asking to be respected is you acting entitled. Being respected is literally the bare minimum. For any job."

Berkeley thought for a moment about what Delaney said. She was right. In all of her fourteen years as an employee at Worldwide, she'd never felt respected. Despite the fact that many of the people working there had parents who were high powered entertainment lawyers, and Fortune 500 CEOs, and Grammy and Oscar winning music composers who more often than not got their kids into Ivy Leagues by making hefty donations. She wasn't ignorant to the fact that her dad being the Rashaad Hamilton more than likely played a factor into her getting accepted into Belmont, but she did in fact keep a 4.0 GPA all four years of high school, scored a 1590 on her SATs, made sure to stay involved in many extracurriculars, spent her weekends volunteering, and had a superb audition and admissions essay. She wanted to get accepted to colleges because she was intelligent, well rounded, talented, and a hard worker. Not who her dad was. From an early age she realized that she'd always have to work twice as hard to get half as much as everyone else because 1.) she was black, 2.) she was a woman, and 3.) Having famous and influential parents meant that people would undermine everything she did. And now, she was just so incredibly frustrated and fed up because it felt like no matter what she did, no matter how hard she worked, no matter how many amazing artists she'd discovered and brought to the label, it didn't matter. All of her hard work would always be overshadowed by the fact that her parents are Rashaad Hamilton and Aviva Parker.

"You're right," she finally said. "Respect is the bare minimum. And I should start speaking up for myself." It was ironic because in her personal life, she absolutely had no problem giving people a piece of her mind. But professionally, her initial reaction was to always just grin and bear it. "But I think it's time for me to start planning my next moves."

"You're next moves?" Delaney asked.

Berkeley nodded. "Mmmhmm. I'm actually processing this in real time, but I'm realizing that if I ever want to make a name for myself in this industry, then I can't stay at Worldwide."

Delaney's eyes widened. "You're actually thinking about leaving Worldwide?"

"Yeah," Berkeley replied. "Maybe even LA. I mean, I still have tons of connections in Nashville. And I've always loved New York. I love Worldwide. It's in my blood. But I need to start thinking about longevity. And as long as I stay at Worldwide, I'll forever be in the shadow of my father."

"Wow," Delaney said, letting out a heavy sigh. "I mean I'm gonna miss working with you, but I fully support you. You gotta do what's best for you. Do you have a timeline on when you're thinking of leaving?"

"I don't know," Berkeley answered honestly. "But I do know that I can't leave until I get JC Chasez signed. That'll be my final move. My mic drop moment."

Later that night, Berkeley sat up in with her laptop in her propped up in her lap. She knew she should probably turn off her work brain and relax for the night, but she wouldn't be able to sleep knowing she still had a few emails to get out. When she opened her inbox, she noticed an email with the name Eric Podwall. Eric... Podwall... Eric... Shit! That's JC's manager! As she hovered over the email with her cursor, her heart rate sped up. She'd been waiting to hear back from his management all day! With trembling fingers, she quickly clicked on the email and opened it up.

Dear Miss Hamilton,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing on behalf of JC Chasez. It was a pleasure meeting you last night, and we appreciate your offer. However, I regret to inform you that my client has chosen to decline your offer. Thank you for your time.

Eric Podwall

Berkeley read over the email a few times before it sunk in. JC declined her offer. "Shit!" She shrieked. "Fuck! No!" She couldn't believe it. Well, yes, she could. JC Chasez was a notoriously private person. For years, fans had begged him to release new material of his own, only for him to continue to brush off the fact that he had a dedicated audience, patiently (and not so patiently) waiting to his voice again. However, after watching his performance last night, she'd hoped that maybe this time would be different. She'd hoped that he'd at least entertain the offer. When she asked him to at least think about it before giving her an answer, and she didn't wake up to any emails or phone calls from his camp, she was optimistic that he was really considering it.

JC Chasez had been the golden voice of *Nsync. Yes, all five guys were extremely talented, but JC was exceptional. He had the voice; the most incredible four-octave vocal range. He had the moves; his dance ability was unrivaled, and when he performed, he was simply electric. He had showmanship, star quality, and charisma that couldn't be denied. When he was on a stage, all eyes gravitated to him. Not only that, but he was an artist; he had musicianship. He was a songwriter, producer, composer, and multi-instrumentalist. He was the total package, and it was like there wasn't anything he couldn't do. Hell, he could even act his ass off! And yet, it was like he was determined to remain in the shadows. While he didn't owe anything to anyone, she felt it would be a great tragedy if the world didn't get to experience his talent. After all, he did deserve the praise. He deserved the accolades. And yet, he wanted none of it. The man was an enigma.

Berkeley could understand why he wouldn't want to be famous. The price of fame was costly, and she'd witnessed it her whole life. She understood and respected the fact that he created art for the love pf it, and not for the sake of being famous. But even so, he was too damn talented to just be relegated to the past of teenybop stardom. He deserved better than that.

Drumming her fingers against the side of her laptop, Berkeley thought about how to respond to Eric. After a few minutes, she decided to type out a short and sweet response:

Hi Eric, I appreciate your response, and thank you for letting me know. Just to let you know, if your client changes his mind, my offer still stands. You have my information, and you know how to reach me.

Berkeley Wright Hamilton

She hit send, and offered up a small prayer that the message would be relayed to JC, and that he would consider it further. After checking a few more emails, she closed her laptop, and set it on her nightstand. She couldn't sleep now. No, her mind was now racing, brainstorming ways to she could get JC to agree to meet with her. If there was one thing Berkeley didn't do, it was take ‘no' for an answer. She needed this. And JC needed this, whether he realized it or not. Being the one responsible for orchestrating JC Chasez's big comeback would be a slam dunk for her career, and the win that she needed. And JC having a successful comeback would ensure that he got the appreciation and recognition that he so rightfully deserved. She couldn't just let this go. She had to do this. She would bring JC Chasez back into the spotlight if it was the last thing she did. Berkeley would make sure he got his flowers, or she would die trying. If she had anything to say about it, JC Chasez would not remain unsung. She was going to get justice for JC.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, B?" Berkeley asked, turning to her sister. It was Friday evening, and she was sitting in the passenger seat of Blair's car, with a box of black and white cookies in her lap. They'd been in Bubbe's driveway for five minutes, as Blair tried to convince her sister that everything would be fine.

"Burke, it's a family dinner! You're family! What's Bubbe gonna do? Kick you out? Tell you to leave?"

Berkeley gave her sister a pointed stare. "B, it's Bubbe! Of course she would!"

Blair sighed and rolled her eyes, resting her head on the head rest. "Oh my gosh! You guys just need to get over this, already!"

"You guys?" Berkeley scoffed. "I'm over it! I was never the one upset! This is all Bubbe!"

"Wait, why's Bubbe mad at you again?" Skylar chimed in from the backseat.

"Because Aunt Burke broke things off with Uncle David, and Bubbe's not happy about that. She wanted them to get married," Brielle replied.

Blair turned around to face her two daughters in the backseat. "Girls, this is grown folks' business. Stay out of it."

"And please don't call him Uncle David!" Berkeley begged. "Especially not in front of Bubbe."

"Fine, whatever!" Brielle sighed and rolled her eyes. "But can we go in now, I'm starving!"

"Brielle Marie!" Blair snapped. "Do not disrespect your aunt young lady! And if you roll your eyes one more damn time, so help me God, I will knock them out of your skull!"

"Oooh! You're in trouble!" Skylar giggled.

"Shut up!" Brielle yelled, punching her sister's arm.

"Ow!" Skylar cried. "Mommy!"

"Brielle, do not hit your sister!" Blair scolded.

Berkeley's gaze shifted from the girls in the backseat, to Blair, who looked like she wanted to rip her hair out. She felt bad for her sister; she knew it wasn't easy being a single mom to an eight- and twelve-year-old, while going through a nasty divorce and custody battle. It was bad enough that Brielle, on the brink of being a teenager, was going through puberty and a rebellious stage. The divorce didn't help, and only exacerbated her already bratty behavior.

"Hey, girls, why do you go in ahead of us? I wanna talk to your mom." Berkeley asked, in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"Pfffttt... You don't have to ask me twice," Brielle mumbled, unbuckling her seat belt, opening her door and hopping out of the Land Rover. Skylar did the same, and Berkeley watched as the girls walked up the driveway and let themselves into the house.  

"I am so sorry about that!" Blair said, giving her sister an apologetic look.

"Hey! No need to apologize. We were all twelve once," Berkeley said, reaching out to place a hand on her sister's shoulder.

"I know, I know," Blair sighed. "But she's been so disrespectful lately, and it's not okay." There was a pregnant pause until Blair spoke again. "I feel like she hates me."  

"B, Brielle does not hate you. She's just moody, and angsty, and all of these changes are being thrown at her all at once; She gets her first period, then all of a sudden, she starts growing boobs and hips, and boys are now taking notice. You Aaron file for separation, and then divorce, and now she's living in a new house and going to a new school. And she's in the weird space, where she's not a little kid anymore, but not quite a teenager either, and she's figuring out who she is, and what her place is in the world. It's just a lot for her right now, and she doesn't know how to process and properly deal with it all," Berkeley explained.

Blair turned to her and smiled. "You'd make an amazing mom, you know that Burke?"

"This isn't about me, this is about you," Berkeley said, ignoring Blair's comment.

"Thank you," Blair replied. "I appreciate you so much."

"If things are ever... too much, I'm here. You know that right?" Berkeley asked her.

Blair let out an exasperated sigh. "I know that. And thank you, but everything's fine."

"It's okay if it's not though," Berkeley reminded her. "If Brielle ever gives you too much trouble, she can come stay with me for a bit. I wouldn't mind having her around. I can even bring her to the office with me. Put her lil' ass to work!"

"I really appreciate that," Blair said, her voice wavering. "I just... I feel like such a bad mom!"

"B! You are not a bad mom," Berkeley said firmly. "You're just going through a lot right now!"

"It's like I don't even know my own kid anymore!" Blair sniffed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I love her, I do! With all of my heart! But she's being such a little... Bitch! And I hate saying that, but she is! I don't know how else to describe it! She's completely out of control. She's like this little monster, and I don't know how to deal with her anymore. And it doesn't help that Aaron totally spoils her. I think he does it just to spite me, so then I always look like the villain! And she chopped her hair off and dyed it fuckin' green! I hate it! I hate it so much! I'd rather her shave it bald! Arrgggh!!!"

Berkeley watched in horror as her sister banged her head against the steering wheel. "B! B!" She yelled. "Stop it! Look at me!" When she finally had her sister's attention, their eyes connected. "Breathe. Deep breaths." Blair did as she was instructed. "Listen to me; everything is going to be okay. It takes a village to raise a child, and I am your village. Mom and Dad are your village. Brax is your village. He's gone through exactly what you're going through right now. Have you talked to him about it?"

"No," Blair answered.

"And why not?"

"Because-" Blaire stammered. "I just... I'm so used to having everything together. Being on top of everything. I feel like if I were to admit that I'm drowning, that everyone will think I'm a failure. I couldn't keep my marriage from falling apart-"

"No B, you and Aaron just weren't right for each other. You said so yourself!" One of the main reasons why she was dreading tonight, and had been avoiding Bubbe, was because of situations like this. Bubbe had never been happy with the fact that their mother didn't marry a Jewish man or raise her children up in Judaism. Their grandfather wasn't Jewish, but he converted to marry their grandmother. Initially, Bubbe didn't mind that their father was a black man, after all, their grandfather was black. As long as he converted, that was all that mattered. Except Rashaad Hamilton made it clear that he would under no circumstances be converting to Judaism. And this began the decades long family rift. By the time Berkeley and her siblings came along, Bubbe's mission was to make sure that her grandchildren were as Jewish as possible. Taking them to her Orthodox synagogue on Saturdays when they spent weekends with her and their grandfather, against their parents wishes, and then swearing the kids to secrecy.

When Aviva found out that Bubbe had her children keeping secrets from her, all hell broke loose. They didn't speak for almost a year, and in that time, the kids weren't allowed to see their maternal grandparents. Berkeley didn't mind. While she did always enjoyed Shabbat dinners, Passover Seders, Channukah, and playing with the other kids at the Jewish Community Center, she didn't particularly like having to give up her Saturday mornings for Synagogue services, and then turn around and give up her Sunday mornings for church services with her parents. Being with her dad's parents was so much easier. She loved it when they'd spend a few weeks every summer in Alabama with them. Her Grandma Hattie was always so warm, nurturing and accepting of them. Whereas with Bubbe, she always felt like she couldn't meet her expectations. Like she could never be Jewish enough for her, and that her love was conditional upon how Jewish they could be. It hurt.

Blair, being the people pleaser of the siblings, and always striving for external validation and approval, was clearly Bubbe's favorite, and she made it known. Blair was her golden grandchild, and she'd do anything to stay in Bubbe's good graces- whether it was locking herself in her room to learn Hebrew or having a bat mitzvah. She'd do it all to be the perfect granddaughter. Which is how she ended up with Aaron.

During her junior year of college at Stanford, when so many of her sorority sisters had begun to get engaged, Bubbe started to worry because Blair had never had a boyfriend. So, Bubbe decided to take matters into her own hands, by enlisting the help of a Jewish matchmaking service. Before Blair knew it, one thing led to another, and the next thing she knew she was on a first date with Aaron. Bubbe loved and adored Aaron so much that when he proposed to Blair a little over a year later, right before graduation, Blair felt like she couldn't say no, even if she wasn't ready to get married. She'd tried to stretch the engagement out as long as possible. That is until Bubbe became involved in the wedding planning process, and Bubbe wasn't a fan of long engagements.

Everything had happened so fast, and Blair just went with it, because that's what Blair always did. She didn't know how to set boundaries or advocate for herself, which is why the night before the wedding, she found herself crying hysterically in Berkeley's bed, and having a panic attack.

"You don't have to do this, B!" Berkley told her.

"You don't understand!" Blair sobbed, gasping for air.

She was a mess. A total and utter wreck. She was underweight due to a combination of all the stress she was under, The Fen-Phen she was taking, and the diet she'd been on to fit into her dress. Her hair looked like a rat's nest, and her eyes were all puffy and swollen from crying, and she had dark circles under her eyes from a lack of sleep.

"I may be only eighteen, but I think I know enough to know that you cannot marry Aaron tomorrow! It'll be a total disaster and sham of a marriage! You don't love him!"

"I do love him! I care for Aaron... a lot!"

"Yes, but you're not in love with him, B. He's not your person! Get out now while you still can. Call of the wedding," Berkeley urged. "No vows have been recited!"

"But we already have our marriage certificate!" Blair sniffed. "We are married in the eyes of the law!"

"But not yet in the eyes of HaShem!" Berkeley reminded her. "Call off the wedding and get an annulment. You wouldn't be the first person or the last. Save yourself a lifetime of misery."

"But Rabbi Hadani flew all this way, and the money! So much money spent! My dress, the catering, the chuppah! The gifts! And Bubbe loves him! He's perfect; He's Jewish, in med school, comes from a good family! I'm in way too deep Burke!"

Berkeley would never forget that dreaded wedding day as long as she lived. Standing there in the synagogue as Blair's maid of honor, watching as she recited vows that she didn't mean, Berkeley had a sinking feeling in her stomach the entire time. Blair and Aaron's seventeen-year marriage was incredibly tumultuous and riddled with strife. The only times they were truly happy and got along was when the girls were born. But as Brielle and Skylar grew, so did the tension between Blair and Aaron. Their biggest fight started when Blair wanted to get Brielle baptized. Even though she'd gone through all of the motions of Judaism, she'd never quite connected to it, and she wanted her kids to grow up in the faith she grew up in- Presbyterian. This of course, would not fly with Aaron, an Orthodox Jew, nor would it fly with Bubbe. It was the first time Blair had ever truly disappointed her. His family was appalled and incredibly offended, and of course, Bubbe took his side. As time went on, they had even more disagreements, and despite trying their best to work through them, they'd finally come to the decision a year and a half ago that they just couldn't make it work, and it did more harm to the girls than good by staying together. Bubbe of course, was devastated. But at that point, Aaron was family, and she'd always consider him a grandson.

And that's why Berkeley broke up with David. She'd seen what her sister had gone through over the course of two decades, and she just couldn't do that to herself. Being with David was the first time she ever really felt true acceptance from Bubbe, like the barrier that had always existed between them had finally been broken. Bubbe had been over the moon elated when she found out that not only was David an Orthodox Jew, but that his family attended her same synagogue. When Berkeley had started dating again, she wasn't specifically looking for a Jewish man, David just happened to be Jewish. Things were great in the beginning. David was nice, kind, caring, funny, considerate, compassionate, and HOT! He was so hot! Dreamy! The most gorgeous man she'd ever been with. He checked all her boxes, they shared the same morals and values, and agreed on all of the fundamental things, except for one. As their relationship grew more serious, and they began to talk about getting engaged, David made it extremely clear that he wanted a Jewish wife, and to raise his children Jewish.

"I mean, you're already Jewish, so you wouldn't need to convert." David told her.

"Yeah, but I'm not practicing," she replied. "I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

"That's okay, the synagogue offers adult education classes," he replied.

Sitting across from him at the table, and seeing how genuinely excited he was, she realized she needed to be honest with him. He was a good man, and he deserved transparency. She knew this conversation was bound to happened, she just didn't expect it to happen at Nobu of all places. "That's not it." She took a deep breath to calm herself before saying what she was about to say. "David, I'm not Jewish."

"But you are Jewish. You're mother's Jewish, and you're grandmother's Jewish. You're a Jew. You can never not be one."

"No, I know that. I'm ethnically and culturally Jewish, and I'm proud of that! I love my heritage! But I'll never be a practicing Jew," she said apologetically. The look in his eyes broke her heart. She knew in that moment, that it was over between them.

That was six months ago, and communication with Bubbe had been very touch and go. Berkeley would often have to go through her grandfather if she wanted to relay something to her. So now, as she sat in the passenger seat of Blair's car outside of her grandparents' house, her anxiety was on ten.

"Thanks for the talk sis," Blair said, cutting through Berkeley's thoughts.

Berkeley offered her a smile. "Don't thank me. That's what sisters are for!"

"Well, I guess we better get in there," Blair said, nodding toward the house. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Berkeley sighed. If her sister could spend her life living to please Bubbe, resulting in a messy divorce, all the while dealing with a hormonal pre-teen, then she could surely put on her big girl breeches and put up with her melodramatic grandmother for a few hours. "Let's just hope Bubbe doesn't turn me away," she said as she got out of the car.

Walking around the car, Blair joined her on the other side. "You brought her favorite cookies, trust me, she won't turn you away!"

*~*~*~*~*

Seated comfortably behind the mixing board, JC's focused gazed fixed on the computer screen displaying the intricate soundwaves of the track he was working on for Red Velvet. His production partner, Jimmy Harry, leaned in beside him, both of them wearing identical expressions of concentration. The air is thick with the pulsating rhythm and melodic layers that fill the room.

As the track plays, JC's fingers dance across the control knobs, making subtle adjustments with a touch that only comes from years of experience. His ears are finely attuned to every nuance, every beat, and every harmony. A small nod from Jimmy confirms their unspoken synchronization.

"Sounds great," JC finally said, pausing the track. His fingers hover momentarily over the console, his mind already working on the next step. "But I feel like it's missing something."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Jimmy replied. "It needs some sort of accent, to really make the beat pop."

"Maybe we should try adding a synth in the chorus," JC suggested.

"That could work," Jimmy nodded.

JC, in his swivel chair, slid over to the sleek synthesizer that was plugged into the computer. His fingers hovered over the keys, as the track played in his mind. He heard the chorus and began to play around on the synthesizer until he came up with an uptempo stab. "Something like that."

"I love it," Jimmy replied. "I think that could really work."

"Can you play the track?" JC asked him.

"Sure thing." Jimmy rolled over in his chair, to the large computer screen, where JC had just been moments before. "Let me know when you're ready," he said, with his hand on the mouse.

"Ready," JC said. When Jimmy hit play, and the sounds of the melodic tack piano intro filled the room, followed by the aggressive kickdrum. As the first section of the track played, followed by what JC had sectioned out as the pre-chorus, he prepared to play the synth stabs with the chorus.

The rhythmic pulse of the bass sent a pulsating wave that blared from the speakers, and JC joined in, playing the keys. A chorus of electronic synths joined the mix, their crystalline tones dancing like beams of sunlight. When the chorus came to an end, JC turned to look back at Jimmy. "How'd that sound?"

Jimmy paused the track, and then slid back over to his spot. "That's just what it needed. Let's record it!" Just as Jimmy was adding a new track to the session, they were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open.

Eric stepped into the bustling studio, his presence commanding attention amidst the sea of musical equipment. JC and Jimmy stopped what they were doing, and JC swiveled around in his chair to face Eric. "What's up?" JC asked, greeting him.

Eric settled into an empty chair, his expression a mix of professional demeanor and underlying urgency. "How's the song coming along?" he inquired, his gaze shifting between JC and Jimmy.

"Great," JC replied, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "We're moving much faster than anticipated."

"Nice, nice," Eric responded, his tone appreciative. "And you're still on for Annie Rose's listening party tomorrow night?"

"I will be there," JC nodded. "Did you need anything else?" JC asked, sensing there was an underlying reason his manager had dropped in unannounced.

"I heard back from Berkeley," Eric announced, his words direct and to the point.

JC's expression tightened with a mix of annoyance and apprehension. "Okay," he said cautiously, a sense of uncertainty creeping into the room.

"She said her offer still stands if you change your mind," Eric revealed, his voice carrying an undercurrent of expectation.

"Berkeley?" Jimmy chimed in, his brows furrowing in thought as he processed the information.

"Yeah, Rashaad Hamilton's daughter," Eric clarified, his gaze shifting between JC and Jimmy. "She's an A&R rep for Worldwide. She wants to sign JC."

The room fell momentarily silent as the weight of Eric's words settled in. Jimmy's eyes flickered with intrigue, and JC's expression remained guarded.

"You didn't tell me that," Jimmy remarked, his voice carrying a note of surprise as he looked to JC.

JC's lips pressed into a thin line as he considered a response. "Because there's nothing to tell," he finally replied, his tone measured yet firm. His comfort zone was within these studio walls, where his creativity thrived, and the prospect of stepping back into the spotlight was not something he wanted to even think about.

Eric leaned forward, trying his best to mask his frustration. "JC, this is a golden opportunity. Berkeley's connections, the exposure and backing of Worldwide- this could be your comeback!"

JC let out a deep, heavy sigh. "Man, I already told you. I don't want a comeback. I'm content with the way things are."

"I think you should at least consider it," Jimmy chimed in.

"Thank you!" Eric said appreciatively.

JC's gaze shifted from Jimmy to Eric, both men staring at him expectantly. "I don't know what else to tell you. But I've been there, done that. I have no interest in being a solo artist or making another album."

The room, once alive with musical energy, had turned incredibly tense. "Fine," Eric conceded, hanging his head. "I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. I just think that this would be an incredible opportunity."

"I understand," JC said diplomatically. "And I appreciate that you're always looking out for my best interest, but this just isn't for me man. I'm past that now."

*~*~*~*~*~*

"Brynn, you haven't touched your chicken," Bubbe remarked, her discerning gaze fixed on the untouched food before the eighteen-year-old.

"Bubbe, I'm vegan now," Brynn calmly informed her, spearing a fingerling potato with her fork and taking a bite.

"A vegan?" Bubbe's incredulous tone held a mixture of confusion and skepticism. "What the hell is a vegan?"

"It means she doesn't eat meat mom," Aviva explained. "Or any animal products. No eggs, no dairy."

"You don't eat meat!" Bubbe's appalled squawk reverberated, an exclamation that echoed around the table. "Since when do you not eat meat? I slave over a hot stove all day, and you don't eat meat?"

The night had taken a disappointing turn. At first, Berkeley held a glimmer of hope as Bubbe welcomed her with a warm embrace and accepted the cookies she brought. Yet, the warmth had swiftly evaporated once David was brought up. Bubbe's hope for a reconciliation between them had been met with a firm refusal from Berkeley, a response that had triggered a rapid decline in Bubbe's demeanor, completely souring her mood.

Sitting at the dinner table, Berkeley found herself pushing her potatoes around on her plate, her appetite vanishing under the weight of an evening fraught with guilt and unease. Bubbe's persistent admonishments had cast a dark cloud over the evening.

"And now Berkeley's not eating. You're already so skinny!" Bubbe's reprimand echoed down the table, her voice a sharp reminder of the evening's contentious undertones.

"Esther, leave the poor girl alone. You've been on her all night," her grandfather's voice intervened, a welcomed interruption that carried a note of protection.

Berkeley's gaze shifted to the opposite end of the table, meeting the reassuring eyes of her grandfather, Richard. A fleeting smile of gratitude passed between them.

"Can I have your potatoes Aunt Burke?" Skylar piped up from the opposite side of the table.

"No, dear," Bubbe's head shook disapprovingly. "You're already getting bigger."

"Bubbe!" Blair's exclamation rang out, her voice tinged with disbelief and outrage. "Do not speak to my daughter like that!"

Bubbe's surprise was palpable as she met her granddaughter's gaze, her initial retort silenced by the force of Blair's indignation. "Are you raising your voice at me?" Bubbe's question hung in the air, a tense inquiry that threatened to escalate the situation further.

"Mom!" Aviva pleaded, her voice laced with desperation.

"Esther," Richard's measured tone cut through the tension, a gentle yet firm reprimand that carried a fatherly authority.

A hushed silence descended; the room permeated with an uncomfortable stillness. Berkeley felt like she was suffocating. It was a mistake for her to come tonight. She should've just kept her distance like she'd been doing for the past six months. She should've tagged along with her father to the Sync Summit. But no, she just had to put family first and attempt to build bridges.  

"Anyone want more wine?" Braxton's voice interjected in an attempt to diffuse the tension that lingered in the dining room.

"Can I have some?" Brielle asked, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Blair's eyes bore into her daughter, with a mix of admonishment and exasperation. "Brielle..."

"I for one, could use another glass of wine," Berkeley declared.

"Great, I'll go grab a bottle from the kitchen," Braxton volunteered, scooting his chair back from the table.

"I'll come with!" Berkeley swiftly stood up, a determined glint in her eyes. The prospect of a brief respite from the tense atmosphere was a welcome one, and she followed Braxton towards the kitchen, leaving behind the remnants of a meal marked by familial complexities.

"Oh my gosh! Can you believe that?" Berkeley hissed when they entered the kitchen. "She just fat-shamed her own great-granddaughter!"

Braxton nodded, an understanding glance exchanged. "Yeah, it was kinda hard to miss. I am so glad it is Marissa's weekend with the kids."

"Bubbe is unbelievable! If she's not nagging me about breaking up with David, then she'll find someone else to pick on about something. Skylar's only eight!" Berkeley was fuming. The night was a disaster.

"I wanna say I'm surprised, but I'm not," Braxton said, pulling out his phone to check his messages. "It's Brian," he informed Berkeley, his attention divided.

"With the way everything's going, he'd be much better off not joining us," Berkeley remarked. "I'm sure this is not what he wants to walk into after a fourteen-hour shift."

"I just filled him in on the chaos," Braxton responded, relaying Brian's plans. "He's headed to Selena's."

"Good call. His time would be much better spent with his girlfriend," Berkeley replied.

"I'm sorry Bubbe's been badgering you all night about the breakup," Braxton offered, empathy in his eyes as he put his phone away.

Berkeley waved off his concern with a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about it. We've all had our turn enduring Bubbe's critiques. Tonight, just happened to be mine."

 "When I broke the news about the divorce, she laid on the guilt trip about Sofia and Theo growing up in a ‘broken home.' I felt like the world's worst dad."

"You're an amazing father, Brax," Berkeley reassured him sincerely.

"I know," he grinned. "I've just come to realize that nothing will ever be enough to please Bubbe."

Berkeley observed as Braxton made his way across the kitchen, his destination the wine rack. She sighed, leaning against the island. "Well, this was just the cherry on top of a shit-tastic week," she groaned, the exhaustion evident in her voice.

"At least it's the weekend," Braxton offered, his fingers skimming over the wine selections. "What are you in the mood for, red or white?"

"You know me, Brax."

"Red it is!" Braxton's enthusiasm was contagious. "What'll it be? Cabernet? Merlot? Shiraz?"

"Merlot, as usual," Berkeley replied, her fingers tapping idly on the countertop. She let out a frustrated sigh, her head coming to rest against the cool marble, providing a brief respite for her throbbing temples. "I can't even rest this weekend," she groaned.

"Why not?" Braxton inquired, retrieving wine glasses from the cabinet.

"I have to go to the Annie Rose listening party tomorrow night," Berkeley lamented, already dreading the event. All she wanted was a quiet Saturday night in, rewatching The Fellowship of the Ring.

Braxton moved across the room, balancing two wine glasses in one hand, while the other held a bottle of Merlot and a corkscrew. "Annie Rose?" he asked, a brow arched inquisitively, as he set everything down on the island in front of Berkeley.

"Yeah, she's a new artist on Emblem," Berkeley explained, referring to Worldwide subsidiary. Carmen Ruiz, Emblem's A&R director, had extended a personal invitation, leaving Berkeley with little choice but to accept. Plus, it would be a great networking opportunity, and she didn't want to pass that up. "I'm not exactly thrilled about it, but I'm a woman of my word. Do you have any plans tomorrow night?" she asked, watching as he twisted the corkscrew into the cork.

"Nothing," he replied, pulling out the cork with practiced ease. "Why?"

"Wanna come with?" Berkeley extended the invitation.

"To the listening party?" Braxton clarified, pouring wine into Berkeley's glass, then his own.

Berkeley nodded, her fingers curling around the stem of her glass. "Yeah. I have a plus one, and no date. Besides, I'll have way more fun with my brother. It'll help take the edge off."

Braxton pondered the proposition for a moment. "I guess it could be fun."

Berkeley's smile widened as she was struck with an idea. "You're an eligible bachelor, Brax. There'll be plenty of beautiful and successful women there..."

Braxton raised a hand, a playful protest on his lips. "Hold on. One, you're not setting me up. And two, you don't have to bribe me. If it'll put you at ease, I'll go."

"Thank you," Berkeley said appreciatively, a touch of relief in her voice.

"Now that that's settled, we just need to survive the rest of the night," Braxton remarked. "Ready to head back in there?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the dining room.

Berkeley pouted. "I think I'm gonna need something a lot stronger than this Merlot to get through the rest of the night."