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Renee folded her arms across her chest. “I need to add more to your calendar. You’ve been avoiding anything PR-related for a while. We need you to start getting some publicity. You have an album coming out and then the tour. Tell me about this girlfriend. Is she a celebrity—someone I can turn into media hype?”
“Definitely not. She’s very private, and I’d like to keep it that way. She’s not big on crowds or attention.”
Renee shook her head. “So of course, the logical choice for her is to date a musician who plays to sold-out stadiums and draws a crowd by stepping outside.”
I sighed. “Can you clear me a few days? I really need to get out of here for a while to spend time with her.”
Renee’s eyes roamed my face. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”
I nodded. “She’s special.”
The coffeepot beeped, and Renee turned and reached up to the cabinet where I kept the mugs. Filling two, she sat at the table across from me and slid one steaming mug to my side. “Let’s negotiate. When do you need to leave? Can we get a few public appearances in before then and schedule a few late-night TV appearances for when you get back?”
“I’m in Vancouver tomorrow for the music festival. But I can do whatever you need the day after that. Can we do your PR stuff in one day?”
She frowned. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
I smiled from ear to ear, knowing that was her way of saying yes. “You’re the best, Renee.”
She wagged a finger at me. “You’re giving me a full day. I want one or two good-doer deeds that I can leak to the paps, and then you’re going to have lunch someplace outdoors and sign stuff for fans. Kiss some babies and let the teenagers take selfies with you and follow you into a few stores.”
“I can do that.”
“You’re going to have double the work when you get back. You can’t complain about it, either.”
“Yes, ma’am. No complaining. I got it.” A thought popped into my head. I scratched at the stubble on my chin. “Can I pick the good deeds and where I go shopping?”
“What do you have in mind?”
I grinned. “Something to make Luca enjoy the tabloids a little more next time.”“You could’ve picked a place that smelled better.” Renee held her nose while she sidestepped to avoid a giant pile of shit.
“I told you it was a farm. What the heck did you wear those heels for?”
“You said it was a sanctuary. I figured you’d be doing a photo op with some cute little animals roaming rolling green hills, not doing hard labor and shoveling crap on a dilapidated pig farm.”
I’d driven past Charlotte & Wilbur’s Farm once and remembered the sign outside asking for volunteers. When I’d called and explained who I was and that I’d like to donate some time, bring a few photogs to help raise awareness of the cause, and make a sizable donation, the owners were thrilled. Working at a pig sanctuary wasn’t exactly a fashionable celebrity cause. I wiped my brow and looked around. This place was really run-down. The rickety old fence that lined the property needed replacing, and the barn looked like a good gust of wind could lift the caving roof right off. But the struggling farm housed eighty rescued miniature and potbellied pigs. The little porkers were pretty damn cute—and smart, too. Charlotte, the older woman who ran the place, said that in the late eighties, pigs had become popular pets, and at one time they had over two hundred abandoned animals. Apparently people brought them home not realizing how big and messy the pigs could get, and there was nowhere safe for people to bring them. This farm was the only no-kill shelter in the area.
I’d gotten here bright and early this morning and helped out the entire day before the paparazzi showed up. Then I posed for a boatload of pictures with various pigs. Wearing a red bandanna and some dirty, torn jeans, I looked more like one of the farmhands than a guest donor. But Renee had made me hold one of the little miniature pigs in one arm and use the other to lift my shirt and wipe sweat off my forehead, which of course exposed my abs. The paparazzi ate that shit up.
“You ready to go?” Renee said. “I hope you’re planning on showering before your little shopping excursion.”
I opened my arms wide and grinned, walking toward her. “Have I thanked you for rearranging my schedule for me? Come here, give me a big hug.”
She held her hand out. “Touch me smelling like that, and you’ll be booked on two dozen teenybopper shows by sundown. You won’t have time to see your little girlfriend for months.”
