in the car, Clay.”
* * *
We pull into the lot of SunCoast Records fifteen minutes early. Trina slams the door with her bony hip and pulls out a cigarette, lights it, taking a long drag, and leans back against her outrageous banana-yellow convertible.
“I thought you quit.” Fitz Jacoby lumbers over from where he’s parked his crotch rocket and tugs the stick from between her lips. He stomps it out with his boot, and she glares but doesn’t protest. Trina might have said Fitz was on her shit list, but she’d never hold to it. No one could.
“I did, but then Clay happened. He’s fixing to kill me and my career. I wish I’d never agreed to manage you guys.”
“Aw, now, Trina, that ain’t true. You love us.” Fitz pulls some kind of fudgy granola bar from his pocket and hands it to her. “Have some breakfast. Have you even taken a second for yourself today? I bet not,” he croons. “Probably been up since dawn fielding phone calls and emails. You take five right here. Have a bite, find your chi or whatever. I’ll make sure Boy Wonder here makes it up to the office, and we’ll see you there.”
Before she can protest, he silences her with a look and a waggle of his rusty brows and grabs my arm, tugging me along. “One, two, three, four…,” he mutters.
“Clay needs a clean shirt!” Trina yells, and Fitz holds up a plastic shopping bag without even turning.
“How the hell did you have time to stop for a shirt?”
“I have spares,” he says, his jaw ticking.
I blow out a breath, trying to shrug out of his grip. He doesn’t let go, just keeps dragging me to the glass doors of the lobby. “It wasn’t as bad as they made it sound.”
Fitz doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leads me straight past the security desk to a men’s room. He checks the stalls before locking the door and shoves the plastic bag at my chest. “There’s deodorant and a toothbrush in there. I suggest you use them.”
I remove my hat and glasses and pull my bloodstained T-shirt over my head before leaning over the sink. I turn on the cold full blast, splashing my face and rubbing the sticky grime and sweat from my neck. Fitz hands me a small hand towel, and I pat my skin dry. I use the deodorant—my usual brand—and brush my teeth. Twice.
“I like the shirt,” I say.
“You should. You own three of them already.”
“I have a contract.”
Fitz laughs, but it’s without humor. “Man, I don’t care about your contract. You could’ve been seriously hurt. You could’ve been shot. You could’ve got in a car accident. You did get in a fistfight like some kid.”
“He started it,” I say, but Fitz is already holding up a calloused hand in front of his face, cutting me off.
“We don’t have time for this. We’re going up there, and you aren’t gonna say shit in your defense. You’re gonna say ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and you’re gonna eat whatever crow they throw in your face and pray to God Almighty they don’t sue you for breach of contract. Do you hear me?”
I sprint to the toilet. The coffee burns as it comes up.
“Christ,” Fitz is saying when I come back to the sink, but he doesn’t seem as mad. I splash more water and brush my teeth again, and then he holds the door open for me. As I pass, he grips my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.
Time to face the music.
* * *
I “yes, sir” my way through twenty solid minutes of lecturing done by three men in meticulous black suits. I manage not to throw up again. I manage to keep my contract. For now.
“Under one condition,” the CEO, Chuck Porter, a balding man with wire frames says. “We have a little side job for you.”
“Okay?”
“We’ve had our eye on your opening act for several months now. She’s been giving us the cold shoulder, but we thought if we sent you in…”
I slump back in my seat, relieved. “You want me to convince some singer to come on my tour?” Piece of cake. Last year, my tour grossed higher than any other country act across the nation. Who wouldn’t want in on that? It’s the chance of a lifetime. “Who?”
“Annie Mathers.”
A phone vibrates somewhere. Trina inhales softly. Fitz uncrosses his legs, sitting up.
I laugh. “You’re serious?”
Chuck Porter’s smile is all lips. “Perfectly. She’s been hiding out in Michigan