Page 60 of Off Limits Mogul

This has been a great day so far. It wasn’t over-the-top crazy, but it was fun. And I get to spend it with him.

“I have a question,” he says.

My eyes lift from my pint to meet his.

“I’m all ears.”

“Why Nepal?”

“A few reasons. I’m not sure if you ever get used to the scrutiny of being in the spotlight. Just because you’re a public figure, people think they’re entitled to a piece of you. As if downloading one of your songs or buying one of your albums gives them that right.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t.” I sigh. “Add to that the grim reality of being an artist these days—everyone is a photo away from becoming paparazzi fodder. It was suffocating, but I kept reminding myself it was all part of the fame-game. After the tragedy, I felt trapped living inLondon?—”

“Fucking paparazzi,” Rhys says.

“Yeah, that’s the other reason I fled. A bunch of them became my shadows in the hopes I’d divulge how I was coping with the tragedy by hounding me. Bunch of leeches.”

“Fucking paparazzi,” he says again.

After many failed attempts here in the US, my best friend Chelle (Michelle) Camden and I left LA, determined to secure a spot on Superstardom’s UK show. The number one singing competition television show at the time was turning nobodies into somebodies. Chelle and I desperately wanted that. We both made it to the top ten finalists on the other side of the pond, but the number one spot went to another singer. We figured it was over. We were heart-broken.

When the judge declared the top nine finalists were going to audition for a new girl group, we never thought the two of us would make the cut. Trinity Hughes and Henley Douglas were the other two girls in our group. Chelle and Henley, died in a car accident while they were trying to get away from pestering paparazzi chasing after them a few days after a scandal involving Chelle went viral. The news was devastating.

“The record label allowed little time to mourn,” I say. “They wanted me to get right back on the horse?—”

“But you lost two members of your group, for God’s sake.”

“They felt two weeks was enough. They were ready to turn a girl band of four into a duet.”

Rhys’s jaw drops.

“I couldn’t do it. They kept pushing, reminding me of the contract I signed, but my heart was weeping. I couldn’t sing, let alone perform. Harry Bullard, one of the producers, offered to help me get overthe humpby allowing me to seek comfort all over his dick?—”

“Fucking asshole,” Rhys says, shaking his head.

“That was my breaking point. I had to get the hell out of London. Coming back home wouldn’t stop the paparazzi. As I was desperately trying to find a way out, I remembered you telling me about Jace’s story.”

“You took a page from Beckett’s cousin’s book?”

I nod. “I wasn’t dealing with the reality of leaving rehab on the heel of a successful career as a rock star like Jace was. I needed to disappear, so I followed in his footsteps. Many connecting flights later to trick the press, I ended up in the same monastery he stayed at––the last place on earth anyone would ever think of finding me.”

“That was brave.”

“In hindsight, it was, since I didn’t know anyone there.”

“Did you get the tattoo on your back in London or in Nepal?”

I sigh. “In London. A couple weeks after the funerals.”

He nods. “It’s a great homage. Tattooing the worduniqueis powerful.”

“I think so.”

“I like how it runs down your spine.” The praise from him means a lot.

“Thanks.”

“What’s the flower?”

“A lotus sits like a crown on top of the U. It symbolizes self-regeneration and rebirth.”