I close my eyes. “No more baking videos for a while, okay?”
He groans. “Okay.”
I move to grab his hand. He lets me. “I know. It’s just until the heat dies down.”
“Yeah.” His words are agreement, but his dejected tone is like a knife to my gut. He shakes his head. “Maybe you should have let it all go public. I don’t need a pack of royalty. I just need love.”
Love. That’s a strong word. A dangerous one. And we’ve not been using it.
So I pivot around it. “It’s better this way. You can release the information when you and we are ready.”
Kellen nods, and then inhales sharply and jumps off the bed. “Onward with the day, then.”
I rise off the bed too and stand watch while Prince Kellen Hale carries on with his day like nothing at all happened. I don’t have it in me to rein him in today.
If that’s the path he wants to take, let him take it so long as he’s safe.
And still in my pack.
CHAPTER 13
Piper
The wallshere are lined with sound-proofing foam. It never really works. You can still hear the desperate echoes of musical ambition long after a person’s left the booth. If I believed in ghosts, I’d say Reverie Rest’s studio was haunted by a parade of pop girls just like me—each of us dead on arrival, still wriggling and smiling.
Goodness. I need a break.
Nolan sits silently in the sound booth with one leg kicked up on the other thigh. He’s not usually in the booth with me, but we’ve had new protocols since the fan stampede. He looks up from whatever horror story he’s doomscrolling. “Are you okay?”
If he meansam I about to run, then no, he’s got me well-caged. But if he meansdo I have enough coffee and snacks, also no.
“I’m dying, Nolan,” I croak, then thump my forehead on the microphone before me. “This is torture. This album is not coming out of me—because it’s being forced.”
He quickly glances at the door. “You’ll strike gold, Piper. Just need to let the inspiration strike.”
My lips form a thin line. “The only thing striking right now is my willpower.”
Nolan’s lips fight a smile.
“I’m serious!” I pick up my pen and point at him. “I could write a hundred more songs and they’d all sound like variations on a mid-2000s gum commercial. And that’s what Raelynn wants. But it’s not what I want.”
Nolan crosses his arms. “Why don’t you just write the gum jingle, then? Cash the check and move on.”
He’s got a point—and I hate it. If I didn’t care so much about what I put out to my fans, then I’d already be free of my contract with Reverie Rest. But Idocare about my music and my career, so here I am.
I sigh. “You’re right.” I should stop complaining and just enjoy the fact I made it in this industry.
Nolan’s expression softens. “I didn’t say anything. Only giving you an option.”
I glare at the microphone before me. “There’s onlyoneoption.”
I go to say more, but the air changes. Like a thunderstorm, you can pretty much always sense Raelynn’s approach and where her lightning will strike.
“Brace yourself,” Nolan mutters.
The studio door opens and a few clicks of designer heels sound before Raelynn appears. She’s dressed in an ultra-tailored high-end suit with bright red shoes to match her bob.
“Piper!” Raelynn exclaims, like she’s delighted I still exist.
