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Chapter One
The moment Theresa stepped out of her car and headed toward her lawyer’s office, the cameras started clicking away, and the paparazzi closed in around her. Even after two and a half years, this sort of intrusion still took her by surprise. She should’ve found a way into the building through the back … while wearing a hazmat suit. Did hazmat suits come in plus sizes?
“Theresa, when will your divorce be final?” someone shouted.
“Can you tell us more about why you two called it quits?” another man holding a camera asked.
“Is it true your husband broke up with his girlfriend?” another guy yelled. “Any chance you two will reconcile?”
“What about the rumors your husband is using drugs?” yet another called out.
Good thing there were only a handful rather than a horde. She did her best to ignore them. How did these parasites know where she’d be and when she’d be there? Her phone began to ring and vibrate in her purse. She fished it out and checked the caller ID—her manager, Mary McCormick. She hit accept and held her hand over one ear, pressing her phone to the other. “Hey, Mary.”
“I hear a lot of noise. Where are you?”
“I’m about to meet with David and our lawyers. I’m walking down the sidewalk in Santa Barbara, surrounded by bottom feeders fishing for information about my personal life.” Her eyes stung, and she blinked the tears away. “This is not shaping up to be a pleasant morning.”
“I see. Well, there’s nothing we can do about the paparazzi, but the divorce? This too shall pass. Believe me; I know this from experience.” Mary sighed. “Listen, I called because I have exciting news.”
“Oh?” Theresa pressed her hip against the automatic door opener and slipped inside the building. Thankfully, none of the gossip mongers followed. She crossed the lobby to the elevators and pressed the up button. “What’s the news?”
“You and your band have been invited to perform at the fifteenth anniversary celebration of Star Launch. You’ll be on national TV again. This is huge.”
“Wow.” Theresa tried really hard to sound excited when all she wanted at this moment was a private life that was actually … private.
“I’ve accepted on your behalf, but we’re still negotiating the money part of the deal. It’s being held in November of next year, and it won’t interfere with your touring schedule.”
“That’s great.” She bit her lip as anxiety churned through her. It was the beginning of May now. Maybe by the fall of next year she’d be somebody else, somebody free of anxiety and debilitating insecurity. “Thanks, Mary.”
“You’re welcome. I’ve contacted Caleb. He’ll inform the rest of the band members, so you can begin discussing which song to perform.” Mary paused. “The anniversary show would be a great opportunity to debut something brand new, don’t you think?”
Meaning Theresa should start producing new songs. She’d won Star Launch with a piece she’d written, and Mary had been putting gentle pressure on her to start writing again. She’d tried, but she hadn’t been able to come up with anything for months and months. All the stress she’d been under had squeezed the creative juices right out of her. “Sure,” she muttered. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside, grateful that no one else was there to join her.
“Well, I’ll let you go. I’ll get back to you with the final figures once I have them.”
“Okay. Thanks again, Mary.” Theresa ended the call and stepped out of the elevator on the third floor. She headed for Gusman, Smith & Associates. Sonya Gusman had been recommended to her by Mary. The lawyer had a reputation for championing women’s issues, and she was sharp and ruthless on behalf of her clients.
“Good morning, Mrs. Rhodes,” the receptionist said. “Your meeting is taking place in conference room two. It’s on the left down that hallway.” She indicated the direction.
“Thanks.” Theresa hadn’t seen her soon-to-be-ex in person for three months, and she had no desire to see him now. Filled with dread, she entered the designated conference room and took a seat. An assistant swept in and set a tray holding a pitcher of ice water and glasses at the center of the oblong conference table.
Theresa’s lawyer entered a moment later. As always, Sonya was impeccably dressed in a dove-gray pencil-skirt with a white silk T-shirt beneath a matching bolero-style jacket. She wore her silver-streaked dark hair in a perfect bob, and her makeup had been faultlessly applied. No smudges dared appear on this woman’s face.
Average in height and slender, Sonya was put together in a way Theresa had no hope of achieving without the help of professionals. She glanced down at the Stella McCartney multi-colored A-line shift she wore—the sixteen-hundred-dollar dress she’d talked herself into believing hid her love bumpers. It didn’t.
“How are you doing, Theresa?” Sonya asked as she set a file folder and pen on the table and took the seat beside her.
“I’m nervous and worried about my boys.” Charlie would turn eight this coming winter, and Jeremy had just turned five last month. She did her best to keep them out of the spotlight. She wanted their childhood to be as close to normal as possible, especially now that she and their dad were divorcing.
She glanced at the door. “I wish we’d arranged this without my having to meet with David in person.” Her relationship with her husband had never been what she’d call ecstatically happy. Still, before winning the televised singing competition—and as long as she’d kept the peace—she’d been content with her life as a mother and a middle school music teacher.
“Don’t worry.” Sonya arched a brow. “You have the upper hand here.”
Worrying nonetheless, Theresa nodded and stared out the window at the palm trees lining the Santa Barbara Boulevard. The sound of footsteps approaching set her heart pounding, and she held her breath as the doorknob turned. David Rhodes, the father of her two precious children, walked through the door followed by his lawyer.
David gave her a onceover, his expression derisive. “Jesus, Theresa. Looks like you’ve put on another twenty pounds since the last time I saw you. You’ve really let yourself go since we split.”
Heat surged to her face. Was he drunk? High? He had to be. He usually only uttered putdowns like that when there weren’t any witnesses around to call him out on his disrespect. She bit her tongue. Replying would only send him off on a rant, especially if he was high.
