NO STRINGS ATTACHED #Jiminfanfic (COMPLETED)

CHAPTER 3.

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Jimin pov:

Big Mike and I each had our own office and then we had a common office where we met with clients. We had no need to be in the center of the city and space was cheap, so we built for comfort. I'd dragged a decent chair into his office and we were going over monthly bookings.

He sat on a metal folding chair behind his desk as we worked. It was a weird point of pride with him and he'd look at my ergonomic chair with disdain whenever he saw it.

For people outside the industry, musicians and singers were legends. In the industry, people like Mike were the legends. His basic uniform had been the same since the '80s; shorts to his knees, black socks, sneakers, and a Hawaiian shirt. A large man, he'd been terrifying in the day. He'd managed some of the biggest bands in history and was as professional as you could hope for unless he felt you were messing with what he termed "my people".

If he felt you'd ripped off a band somehow, start running. And don't try to hide in hell, 'cause I was pretty sure that Satan was terrified of Big Mike and would give you up in a minute. Have a deal with a site manager and he didn't live up to his obligated percentage of concession sales during a concert? Mike paid him a visit and the situation was rectified immediately. The label playing games? He'd hire the biggest, scariest lawyers you'd ever seen and forensic accountants that would find Namjoon Hoffa just to rifle through his wallet.

Mike was the center of more urban legends .

He was older now and retired from managing bands, but that hadn't mellowed him much. The thing that pissed him off the most? If you let it be known that he was actually the nicest guy you'll ever meet.

There's a local father and daughter duo that played charity gigs around the area. The girl played the violin, the father played pretty much anything else; guitar, another violin, bass, etc. Big Mike was visiting his mom at a senior center they played at when he saw them playing for the residents. They sold CD's after the shows and donated the money to homes for homeless vets.

The quality was crap. Mike had to fix that. He had them in a studio and they were playing as we went over the books. Gratis. He also paid for the engineer and the artist who worked on the cover. His only condition was that they never, ever mention his involvement. He'd disappeared from the studio a number of times over the years for up to two weeks at a time. No word, no notice; just gone. I was the only one who knew it was to take a musician to rehab and stay by their side until they got over the initial hump.

How did I know? I saw the books. Our studio paid for most of it and I was fine with that. I'd be a hypocrite not to be, as Big Mike was the person that picked me up from the gutter and got me into rehab and has been my sponsor ever since.

Glasses on the end of his nose, one hand rubbing his greying beard, Mike spoke up. "Black Soul Records is paying for last week's fucking cleaning. All of it. Aroldis Gomez thought it would be a good idea to try to get some chick's vocals while she was cumming and was banging her on the floor next to the mic. Fucking degenerate. That shit was overplayed when Guns and Roses did it." He paused without looking up. "Don't. I'm telling ya, Jimin, don't fucking touch it."

My finger had been headed towards his little hula-girl statue that he kept on his desk. If you flicked her hips she moved back and forth, grass skirt swaying. He hadn't even glanced my way.

"What?"

"Seriously, don't 'What?' me. Just don't touch her."

Smiling, I went back to my laptop. He preferred using a print-out. We spent another hour going over end-of-month reports and when we were done, he hit a button on a console and the recording session from the father and daughter came on.

"Think you can play something?"

"For them? No, why? The father's got it."

"Yeah, but his name won't sell copies."

I stared at him before speaking. "You know I'm not into that. I don't want my name out there. Just let all that shit die."

"It's been, what, 12 years? Get over it and grow a fucking pair. The money goes to vets, you fucking commie."

My neck and ears were growing hot and I was sure I was turning red. "Look, just make a donation. I'll cover it. It ... You don't know..."

Mike interrupted me, speaking softly, voice laced with anger. "I don't know? Me? I was there, Jimin. Every day and every night. Out of rehab, back in rehab, meeting after meeting after meeting since then. Don't tell me I don't know. It wasn't my family and I respect that, but you don't get to say I wasn't there. You paid your debts. She wouldn't want you to keep hiding. You know that."

Standing, I clenched my fists. "I said no! Leave it be."

♛┈⛧┈┈•༶To be continued༶•┈┈⛧┈♛

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This is all fictional...

And there is no hate at any bts member or any other idol.

   Saranghae💜💜