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I threw myself into my career.
Making a career in the music industry in a city like Nashville isn't as easy as it sounds. There are hundreds of girls just like me out here trying to do the same thing. And unlike me, a lot of them aren't curvy. We may live in an age of body positivity but record execs don't always see it the same way. They want a pretty face and a body that matches.
I refuse to change mine just to fit a mold that artists like Cami Reynolds have been trying so hard to break. I'm not trying to be a supermodel. I'm trying to be a singer. My voice and my songs should be enough. If they aren't, then I figure that label probably isn't where I belong in the first place. But it's been a steep hill to climb.
"How long do you have before you have to be back in there?"
"Depends on how long it takes the band to get their portion laid down. We're laying one more track today."
He jerks his chin in a nod. "We've got time to talk then. They usually take a while to get it right."
"You've worked with musicians before."
"A few times," he says with a grimace.
"I take it we're not your favorite clients."
"Politicians are my favorite."
"Really?" I laugh, surprised by the answer. "Why?"
"Everyone hates them. It makes them paranoid. They're far more likely to listen to what the fuck I have to say as a result. I can protect people who listen. I can't protect people who don't listen." His gaze slides across my face. "Which are you going to be, Kenna?"
"I haven't hired you yet, Gideon."
"You need me."
"Says you."
"Says the dead bird that arrived on your doorstep," he counters. "Whoever sent it isn't fucking around, Sparrow. They're dangerous, and they know where you live. That's pretty fucking serious."
"I know," I whisper, shoving my hands behind my back to hide the way they tremble. He's not telling me anything I haven't thought about obsessively since I opened that damn box and found the bird. The dead flowers, I could write off. They were in my dressing room. Anyone could have slipped backstage at a show and put them in there. The poem has had me looking over my shoulder since I got it. But the bird? It showed up at my front door. I can't stop thinking about that fact.
Coupled with the poem telling me that someone is watching me from the shadows, it's all I've been able to think about. I've been staying with Kane and Maya ever since it was delivered. I'm afraid to go home. I'm afraid to be alone. I'm afraid, period. And I hate that.
I'm not someone who scares easily. I'm not intimidated often. Nothing slows me down for long. I've been chasing my dreams since I was sixteen, and I haven't stopped once. I want this more than I've ever wanted anything. But now that it's right here in front of me, I feel like it's one stiff wind from blowing away.
"I can keep you safe, Sparrow," Gideon says. "But you have to let me do it. Your fans aren't your friends right now. Until we find out who is behind this, you have to keep them at a distance. Everyone in your life is a suspect."
"My family wouldn't do this," I argue, adamant on this point. "Kane and Maya and my mom would never do something like this. Ever."
"I can agree on that point," he concedes. "Your brother wouldn't do it. I don't know his wife or your mom, but I think we can probably rule them out, too. What about your band? Manager? Assistant? Friends?"
"My friends wouldn't do this either. They've always supported me. My manager is the one who got me the record deal, and he wanted me to go to the police about all of this. I don't have an assistant. And my band stands to lose as much as I do."
"Exes?"
My cheeks heat. "No."
"No? You can't be sure, Sparrow. One may hold a grudge. I'm going to need names so I can check into them."
"I mean, no, it can't be an ex because there are no names, Gideon. I don't have any exes. I've never dated."
"Never?" His brow rises.
"Don't you dare judge me. I've been busy!"
"I'm not judging. I'm fucking impressed." He holds up his hands, his expression full of sincerity. "Figured men were beating down your door for a chance with you." His gaze rakes over me, that same intensity from earlier searing me. "I would have been."
