The Star Project

Disclaimer: I do not own any Big Time Rush characters.

Chapter 1: The Record Company

"You wanted to see me?" I ask, shutting the door to my dad's office. I have no idea what this is about. My dad, Gustavo Rocque, world famous producer, is sitting behind his desk. His assistant, Kelly Wainwright, is standing next to him behind the desk. I've never seen his office, but I'm sure it is never this disorganized or he wouldn't have so many "stars"; papers are strewn everywhere, CDs from the best and worst of bands he's produced are all over the floor, the posters of said bands missing from the walls.

I look around, then look at my dad. He looks more angry than usual—the few times I've ever seen him being "usual", but he always looks pissed—his lips are pursed tightly, his two index fingers pressed against them in a steeple.

My dad and I are estranged; of course super busy uber famous producer Gustavo Rocque never has time for his only child. In fact, it's not exactly common knowledge that I am his child, but I'm sure if the media had found out at any point they would have had a field day. We haven't spoken or seen each other in years, me watching his rise—and subsequent fall when his last few artists failed—from afar.

Kelly elbows Gustavo (I figure I shouldn't call him "my dad" even in my head anymore, because even though he donated the sperm he's never been my dad) and he clears his throat.

"Keagan, I don't know how to say this..." Kelly elbows him again. "So I'm just going to say it. Rocque Records... is yours."

I'm pretty sure my mouth literally dropped to the floor. "You want to run that by me again?"

"Listen," Gustavo says, the familiar gravel back in his voice, "I've run into some trouble—"

Before he can continue, I interrupt, "What kind of trouble?" because I know he wasn't actually going to tell me.

"That's none of your—" Kelly elbows him again, but I have a plan anyway.

"None of my business? You expect me, a seventeen year old to take over your entire company and it's none of my business? And anyway Gustavo, you haven't cared about me for over 16 years. Why should I care about your 'trouble' anyway? Why should I take the business? Let Kelly do it, I'm sure she has experience from working with you all these years."

Both Gustavo and Kelly look taken aback at my suggestion.

"Look, Keagan," Kelly finally speaks up, and I raise my eyebrows. "Your dad's having some money problems right now—"

"Kelly!" Gustavo yells, but obviously she is used to his snappy, hot-tempered personality, because she continues undaunted.

"And you're the only hope for Rocque Records. Your age can be an advantage; you can manage and shape new stars into what teenage girls love and make us money, until he can pay those people back."

"What people?" I fold my arms over my chest. I'm still not going for this. How many times did I wish my dad would reach out to me because I hated my life with my mom? But he never did. How many times did I tell myself I was going to run away and never look back? That I would rather be anywhere but with her? But seeing him here, now, in his swanky red and white studio with plaques upon plaques I hate my dad more than I even hate her. At least she attempted—terribly, but still—to be a parent to me. For all I knew, he never even wrote me on birthdays or Christmas. He acted like I never existed, and two can play that game.

"Some—" Kelly starts, but as has been the pattern this whole time Gustavo cuts her off.

"We'll get to that in good time," he says in his angry tone. I'm about to point out once again that if he expects me to take over this business—which I'm not going to anyway—he'd better explain what is going on. But he continues, so I let him. "We're going to have to move out of this place; it's too expensive right now, Griffin's on my back, and I've found the perfect place cheap. You can live there too. And Hawk CANNOT find out about this!" He yells this part, and I wonder only briefly who this Hawk is. And Griffin for that matter. "Not a word," he points to me.

I lift up my hands in a surrender type gesture. "Hey, I don't even know this Hawk you speak of."

"Hawk is a rival record—"

"KELLY!" Gustavo cuts her off again, and I feel so sorry for her; if I were her I'd've quit the day I started.

"And why can't you just move out of this nice place you have here but still stay in charge of Rocque Records?" I go on. "Frankly, Gustavo"—I will not call him dad—"I'm shocked you'd even dream of letting someone else take over. We may be related by blood, but as far as I'm concerned all you are is a sperm donor. I wouldn't dream of running Rocque Records no matter how much you paid me"—okay, the money might do it, but I'd never tell him that—"so let Kelly do it. Later."

I turn and walk out of his office, through the rest of Rocque Records, all red and white checkered, surprisingly bare of the usual boyband—because that's all he produces, and like I would everdream of taking on a boyband. They are so dead—posters.

I'm walking out of Rocque Records, only to hear someone singing loudly outside. I stop right outside the door. There are four boys, standing right there, I'm sure, in hopes that Gustavo Rocque will hear and make them the next big thing. Or at least the one singing. He's tall, the tallest of the four, brunette, tan, and muscular. He's singing a Smokey Robinson song, and he actually has a really nice voice. Gorgeous voice, in fact, though he could use some training to perfect it.

He stops when all three of the other boys elbow and poke him because they've noticed me; he was singing with his eyes squeezed shut.

He looks at me and instantly a slow and seductive smile slides across his face. "Why hello there. I'm James Diamond."

"No, you're leaving," I say impatiently. Yeah, all of them are super gorgeous, but Gustavo's certainly not going to like this, what with the transition taking place within Rocque Records, since he's going to have to find someone to take over. Probably owes a lot of money to some thugs and is scared for his life so he's resigning, that's my main theory. "Go on," I say, annoyed. "Go find some Hawk guy, I'm sure he'll sign you a record deal in a heartbeat."

They know I'm being sarcastic. "But, Gustavo Rocque," James Diamond starts, but I interrupt.

"Is not interested at the moment."

"Come on, James," the Hispanic one wearing a black helmet says, clapping his hand on James' shoulder.

"No, I did not come all the way to L.A. for nothing. I'm going in there and demanding Gustavo Rocque—"

"Is there some sort of problem?" Gustavo's booming voice comes from the doorway, and he's outside now too.

"No sir," another brunette with dark semi-spiked hair, not very tall, quickly says. "We were just leaving. Come on, James," he says out of the side of his mouth.

They walk away, dejected, James still looking like he's about to throw a fit. The only blonde one, tall but not as tall as James, with sparkling green eyes and dimples, looks back and his eyes linger on me. I'm tempted to give a sarcastic wave to make him turn back around, but I'm too distracted by his eyes. Get a grip, Keagan, I tell myself.

"Well, well, well," a voice says after those four boys are gone, "if it isn't Gustavo Rocque, just the man I wanted to see. You wouldn't happen to have my money yet," he says sweetly, but the undertone is dangerous, "would you, Gustavo?"