Read Online Back To The Viper by Antara Mann - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Antara Mann
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together since the previous winter, despite the persistent rumor that he was gay. He also read there was a world tour planned for him, but it hadn’t been confirmed yet. He couldn’t find a lot of information about his manager apart from his name – K. Baumann.
The next morning, he was woken up by the shrill ring of his cell phone. Still half-awake, he looked for it among his things. Who was calling him at this ungodly hour? He looked at his watch; it was seven. Chad never got up earlier than ten.
“Hello,” he answered angrily, but heard the fresh and cheerful tone of a man on the other side.
“Did I wake you, sleepyhead? Get out of bed. We have work to do at eight thirty on 1446 E Washington Blvd.”
“God!” Chad exclaimed. “Who is this?”
The voice on the other end laughed loudly.
“Nice try, buddy, but I want you in front of BOXeight at eight thirty. Don’t be late.” With this the call ended. Chad stared at the screen of his phone – he saw the name Kevin Baumann as well as a picture of him. He remembered that his manager had the same surname and that, according to his girlfriend, he had called the day before. He smiled at the thought of having a girlfriend. Speaking of which, where was she? He went out of the room and saw several doors along the corridor. The first led to the kitchen and the next to the bathroom. In the third room, he saw a bed and a woman sleeping in it. Chad recognized Rebecca by the color of her hair. On going out, he quietly closed the door. He had breakfast, took a shower, and was ready to go. He reached the agreed place in his Ferrari. BOXeight was an art, music, and design studio in Los Angeles. Chad immediately spotted several photographers and cameramen smoking out front. He glanced at his watch – it was eight twenty. He wondered where his manager, who had interrupted his sweet dreams, was. He was about to come closer to his fellow photographers when suddenly paparazzi and photojournalists jumped out of nowhere and surrounded him.
“Mr. Keeney, what are your plans for an international tour? When does it begin?”
“Will you confirm the rumor you’ve recorded a duet with Beyoncé?”
“Is it true your girlfriend is pregnant by another man?” an obnoxious person asked him, sneering.
Chad felt a compelling desire to punch the impudent reporter, but he managed to control himself.
“And how would you comment on the persistent rumors that you’re actually gay and your girlfriend is just a cover?” another reporter said.
“People, leave me alone! Don’t you have at least a bit of humility and mercy?” He turned his back to them, but they didn’t give up – they kept throwing questions at him and taking photos. At some point, however, the reporters drew back from him. Chad was wondering what the reason was when one of them exclaimed:
“Kevin Baumann!”
Chad turned around. He saw a stumpy, well-built man in his forties getting out of a BMW.
“Mr. Baumann, what are your plans regarding Chad Keeney’s international tour?”
“Are there any set dates yet? Where are you going to start from?” another reporter asked.
Baumann gave them a disparaging look. “No comment,” he snapped and quickly went to Chad. “What’s up, buddy? Let’s get into the studio!”
Most of the paparazzi had already gone. Just a few of them were walking a short distance from them, hoping to catch some bit of confidential information.
“I’ve arranged a video in support of UNICEF’s campaign. We need to take care of your image,” Baumann explained as they walked down the corridor.
“And how about the international tour?” Chad asked tentatively. He was terrified by the thought that the paparazzi knew more about him than he did.
“Why are you asking me again?” Baumann paused. His lips drew into a smile. “I thought we discussed it already? Or have you changed your mind?” The producer stared at him.
“No, no,” Chad laughed nervously. “It’s just, how should
The next morning, he was woken up by the shrill ring of his cell phone. Still half-awake, he looked for it among his things. Who was calling him at this ungodly hour? He looked at his watch; it was seven. Chad never got up earlier than ten.
“Hello,” he answered angrily, but heard the fresh and cheerful tone of a man on the other side.
“Did I wake you, sleepyhead? Get out of bed. We have work to do at eight thirty on 1446 E Washington Blvd.”
“God!” Chad exclaimed. “Who is this?”
The voice on the other end laughed loudly.
“Nice try, buddy, but I want you in front of BOXeight at eight thirty. Don’t be late.” With this the call ended. Chad stared at the screen of his phone – he saw the name Kevin Baumann as well as a picture of him. He remembered that his manager had the same surname and that, according to his girlfriend, he had called the day before. He smiled at the thought of having a girlfriend. Speaking of which, where was she? He went out of the room and saw several doors along the corridor. The first led to the kitchen and the next to the bathroom. In the third room, he saw a bed and a woman sleeping in it. Chad recognized Rebecca by the color of her hair. On going out, he quietly closed the door. He had breakfast, took a shower, and was ready to go. He reached the agreed place in his Ferrari. BOXeight was an art, music, and design studio in Los Angeles. Chad immediately spotted several photographers and cameramen smoking out front. He glanced at his watch – it was eight twenty. He wondered where his manager, who had interrupted his sweet dreams, was. He was about to come closer to his fellow photographers when suddenly paparazzi and photojournalists jumped out of nowhere and surrounded him.
“Mr. Keeney, what are your plans for an international tour? When does it begin?”
“Will you confirm the rumor you’ve recorded a duet with Beyoncé?”
“Is it true your girlfriend is pregnant by another man?” an obnoxious person asked him, sneering.
Chad felt a compelling desire to punch the impudent reporter, but he managed to control himself.
“And how would you comment on the persistent rumors that you’re actually gay and your girlfriend is just a cover?” another reporter said.
“People, leave me alone! Don’t you have at least a bit of humility and mercy?” He turned his back to them, but they didn’t give up – they kept throwing questions at him and taking photos. At some point, however, the reporters drew back from him. Chad was wondering what the reason was when one of them exclaimed:
“Kevin Baumann!”
Chad turned around. He saw a stumpy, well-built man in his forties getting out of a BMW.
“Mr. Baumann, what are your plans regarding Chad Keeney’s international tour?”
“Are there any set dates yet? Where are you going to start from?” another reporter asked.
Baumann gave them a disparaging look. “No comment,” he snapped and quickly went to Chad. “What’s up, buddy? Let’s get into the studio!”
Most of the paparazzi had already gone. Just a few of them were walking a short distance from them, hoping to catch some bit of confidential information.
“I’ve arranged a video in support of UNICEF’s campaign. We need to take care of your image,” Baumann explained as they walked down the corridor.
“And how about the international tour?” Chad asked tentatively. He was terrified by the thought that the paparazzi knew more about him than he did.
“Why are you asking me again?” Baumann paused. His lips drew into a smile. “I thought we discussed it already? Or have you changed your mind?” The producer stared at him.
“No, no,” Chad laughed nervously. “It’s just, how should
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