Page 1 of Before the Encore

Chapter One

Bonnie

Every fibre in Bonnie’s body warned her this was a bad idea.

She had a sixth sense for impending doom—though Dr Levingworth attributed such intuition to her worsening anxiety disorder instead of any psychic ability. Still, her body didn’t lie. Or her eyes.

Her gaze narrowed on the empty chair ahead of her. Bonnie hated a lot of things about showbiz—the constant scrutiny, the relentless paparazzi, the crippling pressure. But one matter especially irked her: people being late.

Naturally, she’d told Bailey this was a terrible suggestion. But when had her manager ever listened to her? The very idea of someone like Bonnie Bloom collaborating with an alternative rock band was not just absurd; frankly, it was insulting. Especially when that band involved Madison Moore.

That woman was always tangled in some scandal and clearly didn’t respect others’ time keeping. She was the type of person who thought her moody, androgynous vibe allowed her to get away with just about anything.

There was another small, frustrating detail that had burrowed its way under Bonnie’s skin too. Madison’s post about the Grammys.

Now, she was no spring daisy fresh off the bus—she knew better than to scroll through social media comments after her performance—but sometimes, curiosity got the better of her. She was still human, and Madison’s post struck a nerve.

“She’ll be here soon.”

The voice tore Bonnie’s attention from the empty chair and directed it towards the pale man with the patchy goatee sitting across from her. He was small, with gangly limbs, the sharp edges of his collarbones poking through his baggy t-shirt like he’d been made out of wire.

He gave her a pleading look. “Sorry about this. We are honoured to potentially work with you. I promise we take this seriously, it’s just…” He glanced at the empty chair, twisting his hands together. He looked to the woman beside him, searching for words.

“Madison,” the woman finished for him, the name coming out in a sigh. She spun two long black braids around her fingers.

Bonnie wondered why they put up with Madison. The two of them seemed…fine. Sure, she wanted to cut off the man’s long, mousey-brown ponytail, and the woman’s too-relaxed posture irritated her. She either possessed nerves of steel or was high as a kite. Judging by the lingering haze of stale weed mixing with the lemon disinfectant present in the office, it was the latter. But Bonnie had to admit, it beat the scent of Bailey’s suffocating aftershave that normally stunk out the place.

She chose to stay quiet, deciding whatever reasons they had for creating a band with Madison Moore didn’t concern her. She was better resting her voice.

The door to the kitchenette slid open, and Scarlett appeared with their drinks, her high energy and smile too big for Bailey’s office.

“A coffee for Frank, chocolate milk for Kamaria, and iced ginger and honey tea for Miss Bloom.”

“Thank you, Scarlett.” She took the cup from her tray, trying not to look at the woman’s cleavage heaving out of her purple blouse. “But I’ve told you, don’t call me Miss Bloom. Call me Bonnie.”

“Ah, sorry—I forgot again!” Scarlett laughed, a little too chipper as she handed out the rest of the drinks. Frank accepted the black coffee like a lifeline, probably happy he had something to occupy his fidgeting hands.

Scarlett hovered for a moment, tucking her straight blonde hair behind her ears. She was the latest in the long line of Bailey’s young assistants and still starstruck by most of the people that frequented Bailey’s office. But surely, she wasn’t a Lipstick Fever fan, was she?

Kamaria took a swig from her glass, and her dark eyes widened. “This is so good.” She nudged Frank, who looked like he was about to throw up. “Dude. You have to try this.”

“I don’t want to try your chocolate milk, Kam,” he hissed. “I’m not four.”

Kamaria shrugged. “Your loss.”

Definitely stoned, then.

Scarlett beamed like she’d milked the damn cow herself. “If you need anything, just holla’. I’ll be in the back.”

She’d barely taken a step before Kamaria asked, “Do you have any Hobnobs?”

Scarlett’s perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together. “Hob…what?”

“Or a digestive? For dipping.”

Give me strength.

“Digestive?”