Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,24

thing he is and threw it back in his face because I couldn’t handle the truth he forces me to confront. The truth that’s been so painfully obvious since before he came into my life. The truth that just exploded in that conference room and ripped away everything I thought I was and everything they need me to be.

You are an imposter.

“Genevieve?”

Just his voice sends waves of relief through my body. I collapse against the metal wall, struggling to pull in air through the sobs. Just enough to get the words out. That’s all I need. He’s right there. I have to reach him!

“Genevieve, what is it? Are you okay?”

I shake my head, the tears breaking free and soaking my lips with their salty bite. No! I cry out, but the word won’t come. Nothing will when I open my mouth. My throat is closed, crushing my shattered screams.

“You’re scaring me, Gen. Did you call me by mistake?”

Never! Just don’t leave. Please don’t leave. My shirt collar is warm and wet. If he were here. If he could see. Ah! Why can’t I get the words out? I choke through another torrent of emotion.

“I…” Finally, a word. Thank god! It sounds so broken, but I keep fighting through the pain. Fighting through the pressure in my chest to get to him. “I need…”

“What? I’m here. What can I do?” His voice is the opposite of mine. Strong. Gentle. Confident.

“I…”

“Genevieve, I’m here. What do you need?”

A sob rushes out, breaking the boundary between us.

“A friend. I need you.”

Oliver talks me down and promises to be waiting for me at my house when I get back. With his soothing voice in my head, I manage to pull myself together enough to reattempt the meeting. After splashing cold water on my face, I practice several smiles and expressions in the mirror that will explain my lengthy absence. Mild food poisoning. No big deal.

I reenter the meeting poised and confident. Assure them I’m fine. Stocker doesn’t know me well enough to read differently. My parents will believe any lie that preserves their narrative. Only Sam gives a more intense appraisal that concerns me, and when she calls me aside after we wrap, I brace myself for her unapologetic honesty and keen insight. There’s a reason she’s the best in the biz and we hired her. Right now? Kind of wish we hadn’t.

“What’s going on, Gen?” Sam asks, pulling me into an alcove just outside of the conference room. She follows my gaze through the neighboring glass wall to where my parents still chat with Stocker and some of the other meeting attendees. “Do you want to schedule a time to talk privately?” Her voice softens with concern.

“I’m fine. The tour news just caught me off guard.” It’s not even a lie, really. Well, maybe the fine part, but not the tour part. “A new song from Julie Sanchez, wow. I bet it’s great. Can’t wait to hear it.”

Her eyes probe me with careful intensity. She’s not buying it.

“You’re on edge,” she says. “I noticed it the other day at the Chicago show when we saw each other. Talk to me, Genevieve. It’s my job to manage your problems but you have to give them to me to fix for you.” She adds a smile that I instinctively return. Her eyes, so sincere and worried, search my face in the tense silence. Would she understand? How could she when I don’t even understand what’s going on with me? How can she fix the girl who doesn’t exist?

My parents must have finished their conversation, and I glance up just in time to catch my mother’s look through the window. She lifts a thumbs-up and adds a giant grin. Good news, apparently. My heart is already pounding in dread.

“I’m sure it’s just stress,” I say, forcing another smile. “Thanks for looking out for me. Send over the new song as soon as you get it, and I’ll start learning it!”

My parents aren’t happy that I turn down their invitation to “celebrate” in favor of heading home. Hadley is concerned as well and tries to pry on the drive back to the house, but I’m not interested in talking as my knee picks up more and more speed in its aggressive bounce against the leather seat. Hadley switches to a monologue of recapping the meeting and my upcoming schedule, which only sends my knee into a more furious rhythm. My fingers wring in tight knots on my lap,