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  “No, I don’t think I should drink before my interview. What if I mess up?”

  “Darlin’, it’s not an interview. You already have a contract. It might take the edge off.” He pushed it in my direction.

  “I guess I do have a few hours.” I twisted the top off and took a big gulp. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a beer in the morning, probably never. But this one tasted good.

  “Isn’t this perfect?” He smiled.

  “Yeah, it is.” I relaxed in my seat. Scott’s hand rested on my knee. My line was in the water, and we were alone. It was completely perfect.

  * * *

  I had changed outfits three times. I finally settled on a black skirt and a sleeveless button-up blue top. I thought it combined a professional and stylish look, even if it wasn’t like anything I usually wore. Scott kept reminding me it wasn’t an interview, but it felt like it. I was meeting Reagan James, my favorite singer. I still couldn’t believe she was interested in singing my first three songs.

  After the pond fishing this morning, I took a shower and focused on the meeting. I knew Scott would keep distracting me if I let him, but this was one moment in my life I knew it was ok to let the butterflies take hold. My first song deal wasn’t something I could skim over and pretend was part of everyday life. It was my life. It was a dream materializing after years of hard work. Butterflies were a good reminder of what I had accomplished.

  Scott said he needed to prep for his new agent meeting. I finally convinced him I was fine, and he left me alone to get ready and prepare.

  Without him there, the bathroom seemed even larger than last night. I wasn’t sure I knew how to work all the shower buttons. After accidentally turning on music, then lights, I figured out how to start the water. This was a far cry from setting the seven-minute kitchen timer at home. Scott said to let the water run as long as I wanted.

  Thirty minutes later, I emerged with flushed skin and pruney fingertips. It felt wonderful.

  After dabbing on the last bits of mascara, I took a deep breath and headed downstairs. Scott said someone named Bud on his security detail was going to take me to the meeting. I popped my head in his office before going to meet my escort.

  “Hey, I’m getting ready to leave.”

  Scott looked distracted. I wasn’t sure I had seen his forehead furrowed before. There was an intensity surrounding him that was unfamiliar.

  He stood from the desk and walked around to meet me. “Tell Dalton I said hey. I need to catch up with him while I’m in town. Tell him I’ll give him a call for lunch or a beer.”

  “Ok, I’ll tell him.” I turned to leave.

  “Wait, hold on.” He grabbed my arm. “You’re not getting out of here like that.”

  Before I knew it, Scott had dipped me toward the floor and his lips were firmly planted on mine. To hell with lip gloss. I felt the warmth of his mouth and sighed as he stood me upright.

  “Umm, thanks?” I laughed. I ran my fingers along my bottom lip, feeling the prickling sensation turn to numbness from his kiss.

  “Good luck, but you don’t need it. They are going to love you and the contract is a done deal, so stop worrying.” He walked back toward the monstrous leather chair on the other side of his desk. “Call me when you’re on your way back.”

  “Ok. I will. Bye.” I left him rifling through a stack of folders. I didn’t know what had him in such a distracted state, but this was a Scott I hadn’t seen before: slightly distant, quieter, and intent on a pile of papers.

  * * *

  Bud seemed like a nice guy. He had a Stetson that covered the top half of his head and a smile just as big. The entire drive to the Blue Steel office, I twisted my hands in my lap. Bud insisted I sit in the backseat, where the windows were tinted dark enough the press wouldn’t see me when we left the ranch. The only problem was that I could still see out.

  There were rows of them. Microphones, tripods, cameras scattered through the crowd. As soon as Bud turned onto the Texas highway, a smattering of flashes bounced off the car. I realized they didn’t know who was in the backseat, but it didn’t calm the queasiness I felt under their scrutiny.

  The roads in Texas were much wider than what I was used to. On the island, I could see the sound on one side, and the ocean on the other. Wide-open hill country was different. As the miles rolled passed, the fences and ranch gates became less frequent, and buildings started to pop up.

  Bud steered us into the heart of downtown and pulled up alongside a tan brick building.

  I pressed my palms into my legs for the tenth time since we left the house. I reminded myself what Scott said. Nothing to worry about. This was a done deal. Then why did it feel like my career was hanging on this moment?

  Bud opened the door for me. “Want me to walk in with you?” he offered.

  “Oh, no thank you. I think I’ll be fine.” I scanned the sidewalk for any sign that the press from the ranch might have followed us.

  “I’ll be sitting right here, then.”

  “Thanks, Bud.”

  I walked through the double doors of Blue Steel Records and headed straight for the receptionist seated in a semicircle desk.

  “May I help you?” She pulled a headset off to address me.

  “Yes. I’m Avery Davenport and I have an appointment with Dalton Edwards.” I tried to keep my fidgeting to a minimum. I belonged here, and the last thing I wanted to do was act nervous in front of Dalton or Reagan.

  “His office is on the third floor. I’ll let his assistant know you’re here.” She pointed to a set of elevator doors on my right.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have a nice day.” She smiled in return before settling back into her phone duties.

  The elevator opened into a small lobby. A row of multicolored guitars hung on the walls. As I walked closer, I noticed they had all been signed. My jaw almost hit the floor at the names I was reading. I was so preoccupied that I was startled when a husky woman with dark hair and glasses tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Are you Avery?”

  “Y-y-yes.” I stuttered, embarrassed that she caught me drooling over the collection.

  “Jennifer called from downstairs. Mr. Edwards and Miss James are in the conference room. I’ll show you the way.”

  I followed her along the corridor, my eyes widening with each framed silver, gold, and platinum record we passed. Blue Steel wasn’t the largest label, but it was selective about its artists and even more selective about what songs it produced. That approach seemed to work. The label had more hits and sales than I had realized. It was becoming more and more difficult for me to play it cool.

  I could hear the faint sound of a piano and guitar coming from the end of the hall.

  “Here you go.” The assistant pushed open a door and ushered me into a conference room.

  I was so stunned to see Reagan James sitting at the table that I forgot to thank her for escorting me.

  “Avery!” Dalton Edwards stood to greet me, his deep voice filling the room.

  “Mr. Edwards, it’s so nice to finally be here.” I focused on shaking his hand, trying to keep myself from fangirling over Reagan.

  “I thought we had that settled. I’m Dalton. And this is Reagan.”

  She was even more beautiful in person than she looked in her music videos. She flipped her long blond hair from one shoulder as she rose and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m already a big fan of your songs.”

  I felt my cheeks flush a deep crimson. I was the one who was supposed to say that.

  “You don’t know what that means to me. I love everything you’ve ever sung or written.”

  “Sit, sit.” Dalton motioned to us. “How’s Scott doing? Saw in the paper he made it back with you last night.”

  “Oh.” I froze. It was strange that Dalton already knew the details of our trip and that we were in town together. Being a part of the news was uncomfortable.

  “If I know Scott, he probably went straight to
his fishing hole, right?” Reagan smiled. “He loves that place, but I can’t get over the bugs. You know what I mean?”

  My star-struck giddiness was immediately darkened by a cloud of jealousy. I did my best not to bore holes in Reagan’s forehead, but how in the hell did she know about the fishing hole? That was supposed to be his secret spot. This morning I thought I was the only person he had taken there, but that was only an assumption. He hadn’t actually told me that.

  I stumbled through the fog that enveloped my mood and mustered a response. “Scott’s doing great. He’s busy at the ranch this morning.”

  “I bet.” Dalton smiled. “He’s been gone a few months. Hadn’t heard from him until his agent called about your songs.”

  “He said to tell you hello and he’d like to get a beer sometime.” I tried to remember if there was more to the message than that, but right now that was all I could recall. My palms had stopped sweating, but my mouth was barely working. I was trying not to picture Scott and Reagan at the fishing pond. Damn it. Their rhyming names even made them sound like a couple from some sickly-sweet country song.

  “I’ll have to give him a call.” Dalton smiled. I tried to imagine him as one of Scott’s college football teammates. Anything to distract my mind.

  “Is he really going to do Love & Bondage?” Reagan piped in. “He would be incredible. Can you imagine?”

  “I-uh-I don’t know.” Somehow, the conversation had become all about Scott.

  Dalton opened a folder in front of him. “Love & Bondage? Yeah, my girlfriend read that entire series. He’s thinking about that one?” He chuckled. “So, let’s get things moving. I have another meeting in about twenty minutes.”

  I was relieved the focus had shifted back to the real reason for the meeting.

  “Sounds good to me, Dalton. I’ve got studio time booked for the afternoon.” Reagan placed her phone next to her on the table.

  “Avery, here’s the thing. We love the songs. We’ve been looking for something that could bring in the female audience.” Dalton spread a few charts on the table.

  Reagan rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, the radio is dominated by guys right now. It needs more women like us.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.” I was cautious with my response.

  “The female side of the story. That’s what’s not being written right now, and it’s definitely not getting played on the radio.” Reagan sounded impassioned.

  “Oh, ok.”

  “I think what Reagan is trying to say is that Blue Steel is trying to make a push to bring the female demographic back into play. We can’t put that all on her shoulders. She needs help, and your songs seem like the starting ground to bring someone else in who can write about what women want to hear without pushing away the male fan base. Our research team has some great numbers on the market trends.” He pointed to the charts on display in front of him.

  I had never thought about my songs as girly or female-centered. They were the words that hit me in the shower or when I was working behind the cash register. They were just my words. My feelings. There was never an intention to reach a demographic. It was always only about the lyrics.

  Dalton continued. “What do you think about you and Reagan teaming up to give Blue Steel this edge? Really push the girl power or whatever you want to call it?”

  “We’re not calling it girl power, Dalton.” Reagan giggled. “But seriously, Avery. I think you and I are coming from the same place. We could do this. Give the guys a run for their money.” She winked.

  I nodded, still confused. “Sure, absolutely. Sounds great.” I had a sinking feeling that I was swimming in waters that were way over my head. I knew nothing about numbers, fan reach, or radio stats. This was supposed to be about the lyrics.

  Twenty minutes later, we had agreed on a production start date. Reagan insisted I should be there when she recorded the first track. I would have to stay in the Austin area for at least a month, longer if the songs took off.

  My dad and I had discussed the logistics of moving before I left for Texas. I knew it was a likely outcome of my contract. But I hadn’t brought the subject up with Scott. I had decided on the ferry that I would only commit to a four-day trip. Just forty-eight hours ago we were broken up. We needed time before we talked about what should happen next.

  I slipped into the backseat as Bud held the door open for me. I was glad the drive to the ranch was a long one. I had more to think about now than ever before.

  Five

  Scott

  I didn’t realize so much had been left undone in my absence. But I did take off without an explanation or a plan in place, so I had to take responsibility for the state of my affairs.

  I tossed a stack of bills in my mail bin. There were scripts, contracts, and unsolicited agent resumes cluttering my desk. Word was out that I had fired Daniel, and there were plenty of go-getters brave enough to blindly forward their work history.

  I hoped to God today’s interview would be the first and last. I didn’t have time for this. Things were piling up. They had piled up. I needed someone on the front lines running the show.

  Sometime today, I needed to talk to Erica about the Sullivan Foundation and find out what kind of shape it was in. She was the one person I had complete faith in. My big sister had never let me down.

  Nan stood in the doorway. “Sir, there’s a call from the gate that your three o’clock appointment is here.”

  “Tell them to send him up. You can bring him back here when he arrives, Nan. Thanks.”

  “Certainly.”

  I would know in ten minutes whether I could work with Ryan Matthews. I didn’t consider myself judgmental, but a first impression would be enough for me to know if we worked well together. This wasn’t just any position on my staff. This was the position.

  When I first started in the business, I had a manager and an agent. But it didn’t take me long to figure out that the two had to be completely in sync with each other at all times for anything to get done. The slightest disagreement would end in botched schedules, missed deadlines, and PR issues. I uncomplicated my life when I morphed the two roles into one and hired Daniel. I needed another mega agent who could handle all the managerial parts of my life. And this time I needed someone who deserved my trust.

  “Sir?” Nan poked her head in the door. “He’s here.”

  I placed a set of scripts on my desk and shuffled the files together.

  “Send him in.”

  He walked into the office and offered me a firm handshake. “Ryan Matthews, Mr. Sullivan. Nice to meet you. I appreciate the meeting.”

  “Likewise.” I pointed him to a leather sofa and took the opposite seat. I noticed he had come empty-handed. “So tell me a little about your background. What got you into this business?”

  Ryan cleared his throat. “Well, to be honest, I wanted to be a sports agent.”

  I laughed. “Is that right?” I crossed my legs and settled into the chair.

  “Sure is, but the more I was involved, the more I realized I was promoting the celebrity side of the athletes, so why not go ahead and work with celebrities?”

  “Good point.” I had a few friends in professional sports, and other than their actual time on the field, there wasn’t a lot of difference between what they did and what I did. “I’m sure you’re current on my situation. I’m looking for someone who can handle the press, advise me on what’s happening out there, and mainly keep this shit out of my life.” I held up this morning’s newspaper.

  Ryan nodded. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your media circus. Looks like you have a few problems right now.”

  “Sure do. If I hired you, what would you do about them?”

  He leaned forward on his knees. “Honestly?”

  “Of course. I don’t need anyone else bullshitting me.” I was anxious to hear what he had to say. “I’ve had enough of that already.”

  “It mainly depends on you. Are you in or out of the movie busin
ess?”

  “I’m taking a pause.” That was the best explanation I could give.

  “Well, that’s not going to work.”

  “What do you mean?” I sat up straight.

  “Ambivalence doesn’t help you; it’s only going to hurt. If you want out of the business, you need to retire. We can put together a press conference, whatever you want, but you need to make an official statement saying that you are no longer seeking films and you are riding off into the sunset.” He paused. “Or, you get on this popularity horse and ride it into making your career bigger than you ever dreamed possible. You are the number one talked about male actor right now. That horse is out there waiting for you. The sky’s the limit on how far it can take you.”

  “Are you talking about Love & Bondage?”

  “Yes and every other top-grossing box office script sitting in front of a casting director. You could have your pick of any of them if you commit to Love & Bondage.”

  “But I haven’t talked to a damn soul on that set.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The author endorsed you, and she wrote the screenplay. She wants you. Social media wants you. And from what I’ve heard, Emmy Harper wants you too.”

  I slapped my knee. “Damn it. I need to get away from Emmy, not get back in that trap with her. I knew she wasn’t going to drop this.”

  “Look, I don’t know what your personal story is with her, only what I’ve read. But she’s America’s sweetheart and she spun your love story into something epic. Do you have any idea how many magazine copies her Vogue interview sold?”

  “I don’t care about magazine copies. I care about staying out of them. I value privacy.”

  Ryan smiled. “You realize you’re a movie star, right? A famous mogul?”

  I glared at him harder than I intended. I didn’t need one more person telling me how impossible it was to have both worlds.

  “I don’t care about being in the press.” My words were firm.