The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,73
here, all over me, and I didn’t know what kind of shit show it was going to be.
It had been three days since Sloan told me she wanted to break up when I left. We had thirteen days until my tour and every minute counted now. I didn’t want to be here without her, wearing this monkey suit, waiting for Lola. I wanted to be in my underwear, tucked in bed with my girlfriend, watching TV. The fact that Sloan couldn’t be here with me and the knowledge that Lola was to blame for that infuriated me. Not to mention this was a whole day away from Sloan when our time together was almost up—and that was Lola’s fault too.
I wasn’t doing well.
I hadn’t been doing well since Sloan preemptively broke up with me. I couldn’t fucking sleep, and I didn’t feel like eating.
All of my wildest dreams were coming true. I was standing on a red carpet with superstars, promoting a major motion picture set to my music. I was about to leave on a massive worldwide tour. I was achieving all my career goals, and somehow I was about to end up losing the one thing that suddenly mattered the most to me. I actually resented my success now, wished I could just fucking walk away from it or take less of it in exchange for her.
I didn’t care what Sloan said about not wanting me to wait for her—I wasn’t dating other people during our split. I couldn’t. The fact that she maybe could fucking killed me. I was trying not to think about it. And now I was here, wasting the precious time I had left with her dealing with Lola.
I looked moodily at her on her bike. She wore four-inch red heels and shiny black pleather skinny pants. Her nipples pressed into the red ribbon of fabric that she considered a shirt. She’d actually ridden here in that shit.
She took off her helmet and her red hair tumbled out to the screams of fans behind the line stanchions followed by a strobe light of camera flashes.
I let out a controlled breath, making sure to keep my face neutral.
Pia put a hand on my arm. “Ready?”
“I will do as I’m told,” I said unenthusiastically, looking away from my nemesis posing on her Harley.
Pia had coached me extensively on today. She knew all about my issues with Lola. My relationship with my publicist was a little like a relationship with a doctor or lawyer. I had to be honest, or she couldn’t help me.
“Just remember to be diplomatic,” Pia said discreetly. “You can’t undo photos. If she touches you, don’t react. Smile and look relaxed. Don’t give them anything to speculate with. And don’t let her work you up.”
I nodded, my clenched fists the only thing revealing my mood.
Ernie finished his phone call and made his way back over. He was beaming. “Do you love me? Tell me you love me.” He rubbed his hands together.
“What,” I mumbled, watching Lola climb off her bike with a shaky coordination that told me I was not witnessing a moment of sobriety.
“I just got off the phone with your record label.”
My head snapped.
“She’s off the ticket.”
It took me a second to process what I was hearing. “What? What does that mean? She’s out?”
“I made the argument that she causes you undue stress and you’d be out with a stomach ulcer two weeks into it if they forced her on you. I may have also suggested that I’d hit her with trespassing for coming onto my property uninvited the other night if they wanted to push the subject. She’s already knee deep in Kanye fallout and they need her to stay out of jail.”
I stared at him for a solid ten seconds before I started to laugh. I couldn’t even fucking believe it. It was the best news I’d had in years. I hugged him and he slapped my back.
“But listen,” he said, putting an arm around me, his voice low. “And I need you to pay attention because there’s stipulations. They said as long as you put asses in seats you can go it solo. But I had to agree that if you’re struggling, they get to bring her in, no complaints from you, no questions asked. And I couldn’t get them to bend on the fog machine and pyrotechnics. Those guys really like fireworks.”