you’re not leaving that thing with me.” She waved in Mitten’s general direction. The cat hissed at her. I cuddled her closer to calm her. Which really annoyed her.
“And how was work?”
Suzie shot me a grin. It was the evil kind. “You’ll see.”
I blew out a sigh. “Tell me.”
Suzie leaned against the doorjamb. “You haven’t been checking your messages, have you?”
“I was on vacation.”
“You’ve been on vacation before. You always checked in.”
I flushed. “There was no service.” Probably a lie, but I couldn’t be sure. Because I hadn’t checked in. Not once.
“Long story short?”
“Um, okay.” Long stories in our business were always bad news.
“Harlan wants you back.”
“What?” I almost lost my hold on Mitten. She yowled as I overcompensated and hugged her too tight. “That is not going to happen. Not.” He was dead to me. Well, he was in my book.
Suzie ignored me. She did that. “I gave him to Sandy after your snit—”
“Snit?” It had hardly been a snit. More like a cataclysmic rampage. Then, “Seriously? You gave him to Sandy?” Sandy, who wouldn’t take shit from Santa Claus?
An inky brow winged up. “I thought it was poetic justice.”
I barked a laugh. Harlan and Sandy. She’d chew him a new one. Several.
“He’s begging to have you back as his rep.”
“No.”
“They’re threatening to pull the contract.”
My heart plummeted. The contract wasn’t just with Harlan Rivers; it was with every artist on that label. “Can they do that?”
Suzie shrugged. “Apparently. And there’s more.”
“More?”
Awesome.
“A harness broke during one of Raptor Villain’s shows and Naughty Nan took a tumble.”
“Is she okay?” I grappled with Mitten, who was suddenly possessed of the urge to wriggle free.
“She broke three ribs and can’t sing.”
“Shit.” Yeah. Hitting said fan.
“We have to reschedule the tour and redo all the promo.”
“All of it?”
“Every last interview. Each and every VIP event. All the releases. I already pulled the ads.”
Thank God for small favors. I blew out a sigh. It riffled Mitten’s fur and she growled in her throat. “Well, I better get my baby home.”
Suzie snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. And Paige?”
“Yeah?”
“Welcome back.”
And so it began.
I was busy, crazy, more overwhelmed than I had ever been.
Between meetings with Harlan’s people and the work required to get Raptor Villain back on track and dealing with the elephant that escaped during the Moose Knuckle photo shoot—and crapped all over the $6,000 soundboard—I was wiped.
My malaise certainly didn’t stem from the gnawing suspicion that there was something missing from my life, that something was terribly wrong with my existence.
But I couldn’t shake the notion that what had once filled and fulfilled me now just felt like—filler.
Cotton candy when I really wanted chocolate cake. Or truffles.
Being busy was a blessing in its way. I was certainly too busy to call Marlee, which was awfully rude, since she’d lent me her house and her pool and her gigolo and all. I was also too busy to return her many messages. And after a while, they thinned to a trickle.
I knew I was being a truffle turd, but I couldn’t help it. I would think about meeting her, about laughing and chatting nonchalantly over coffee and croissants, or perhaps vanilla-flavored French toast, and I’d lose it. No matter where I was. In the sleek offices of B&B Publicity, in the elevator, in the bathroom. In the paprika aisle at the grocery store.
Wherever.
I’d just break down and sob.
I wasn’t in love with him. That was crazy talk. Besides, love didn’t happen that way, over massages and good Merlot and giggled late-night conversations about how Harlan could possibly meet his maker.
I wasn’t in love. But I was obsessed. And, if I am honest, and I do try to be honest, I was feeling guilty. Feeling guilty about having feelings for
“And how was work?”
Suzie shot me a grin. It was the evil kind. “You’ll see.”
I blew out a sigh. “Tell me.”
Suzie leaned against the doorjamb. “You haven’t been checking your messages, have you?”
“I was on vacation.”
“You’ve been on vacation before. You always checked in.”
I flushed. “There was no service.” Probably a lie, but I couldn’t be sure. Because I hadn’t checked in. Not once.
“Long story short?”
“Um, okay.” Long stories in our business were always bad news.
“Harlan wants you back.”
“What?” I almost lost my hold on Mitten. She yowled as I overcompensated and hugged her too tight. “That is not going to happen. Not.” He was dead to me. Well, he was in my book.
Suzie ignored me. She did that. “I gave him to Sandy after your snit—”
“Snit?” It had hardly been a snit. More like a cataclysmic rampage. Then, “Seriously? You gave him to Sandy?” Sandy, who wouldn’t take shit from Santa Claus?
An inky brow winged up. “I thought it was poetic justice.”
I barked a laugh. Harlan and Sandy. She’d chew him a new one. Several.
“He’s begging to have you back as his rep.”
“No.”
“They’re threatening to pull the contract.”
My heart plummeted. The contract wasn’t just with Harlan Rivers; it was with every artist on that label. “Can they do that?”
Suzie shrugged. “Apparently. And there’s more.”
“More?”
Awesome.
“A harness broke during one of Raptor Villain’s shows and Naughty Nan took a tumble.”
“Is she okay?” I grappled with Mitten, who was suddenly possessed of the urge to wriggle free.
“She broke three ribs and can’t sing.”
“Shit.” Yeah. Hitting said fan.
“We have to reschedule the tour and redo all the promo.”
“All of it?”
“Every last interview. Each and every VIP event. All the releases. I already pulled the ads.”
Thank God for small favors. I blew out a sigh. It riffled Mitten’s fur and she growled in her throat. “Well, I better get my baby home.”
Suzie snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. And Paige?”
“Yeah?”
“Welcome back.”
And so it began.
I was busy, crazy, more overwhelmed than I had ever been.
Between meetings with Harlan’s people and the work required to get Raptor Villain back on track and dealing with the elephant that escaped during the Moose Knuckle photo shoot—and crapped all over the $6,000 soundboard—I was wiped.
My malaise certainly didn’t stem from the gnawing suspicion that there was something missing from my life, that something was terribly wrong with my existence.
But I couldn’t shake the notion that what had once filled and fulfilled me now just felt like—filler.
Cotton candy when I really wanted chocolate cake. Or truffles.
Being busy was a blessing in its way. I was certainly too busy to call Marlee, which was awfully rude, since she’d lent me her house and her pool and her gigolo and all. I was also too busy to return her many messages. And after a while, they thinned to a trickle.
I knew I was being a truffle turd, but I couldn’t help it. I would think about meeting her, about laughing and chatting nonchalantly over coffee and croissants, or perhaps vanilla-flavored French toast, and I’d lose it. No matter where I was. In the sleek offices of B&B Publicity, in the elevator, in the bathroom. In the paprika aisle at the grocery store.
Wherever.
I’d just break down and sob.
I wasn’t in love with him. That was crazy talk. Besides, love didn’t happen that way, over massages and good Merlot and giggled late-night conversations about how Harlan could possibly meet his maker.
I wasn’t in love. But I was obsessed. And, if I am honest, and I do try to be honest, I was feeling guilty. Feeling guilty about having feelings for
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