“Time still matters, though, Ben,” says Jane. “Most of us don’t have day jobs. If this is going to take a few months, that’s time without a chunk of income for most of us.”

“Which would have been the case during Meryton’s remodel, too,” I say, hoping to combat the group’s stubborn practicality with some of my own. “Could we produce the show somewhere else for a while?”

“If you’re willing to trek to Astoria, the club Momma works out of has nights free,” Ming offers. “And I know Darlene would give us a night or two out in Bushwick, but I’d hate to ask. She’s doing her own thing out there, and I don’t want to cut into that, y’know?”

I nod. “Understood.”

Chloe tugs at the neck of her shirt, a nervous habit she’s had since we were kids, and I brace myself. “I don’t want to be a spoilsport, Lizard. If all this works out, great. Perfect, really. It would be a huge opportunity for a lot of people . . .”

Gales places one of his big hands over hers and nods. “But as it stands, it’s uneven ground for us to pin our futures on.”

“I get it.” It stings, but I do. “But outside of all that, say Charles and Andrea luck onto a property and we could get this off the ground in a reasonable amount of time. Or,” I add, desperate, “Darcy and his uncle find out some legal way to get Meryton back to us. He’s with lawyers right now, looking through my work to see if there’s a way to link my stuff to what Wickham stole. If that pans out, there’s a chance Wickham won’t be able to keep the club. That’s two scenarios where we’re still together.”

I’m losing them, though I don’t think I ever had them in the first place. And I don’t blame them. I’ve been here before. Again, the feeling of falling threatens to knock me from my seat.

Jane’s gaze is too pitying for me to hold. “Meryton was a reliable gig, but gigs come and go, Ben—”

“What if it was more than a gig?” I ask without thinking, but there’s something to it. The conversation I had with Ming and Chloe, Ming’s thoughts on scouting . . . “What if it was something you had a stake in? Not the property, but the concept.” A new hope ignites in my chest, burning brighter than before. It’s like Friday’s moment of inspiration with Chloe at Pemberley: this is it. “What if we all did?”

Tonic looks up from her thumb-chewing. “All of us?”

Andrea eyes me, tapping the base of her champagne flute. “What’s going on in that clever head of yours, kitty cat?”