Page 110 of Before the Encore

Bonnie wasn’t backing down anymore.

She pulled out her phone to tell him so, but Scarlett’s name lit up the screen. That wasn’t surprising, though. Bailey was probably using hers to get through to her.

“Hello?” Bonnie held the phone to her ear as she fished her car keys out of her handbag.

“Oh, hi, Miss Bloom. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Scarlett. Please. Call me Bonnie.” She unlocked her car, the lights flashing their greeting. Her steps echoed across the car park.

“Right. I’m sorry.” Her voice wobbled, and she cleared her throat. “Bailey wants me to pass on a message. He says that if you fire him, he’ll make sure no label from LA to the North Pole will work with you. Your career will be over. Finished. Just like—”

“Let me stop you there, Scarlett.” She climbed inside the car, door slamming behind her. “You don’t need to take orders for him anymore. Jonjoe Bailey isn’t your boss.”

“Miss Bloom. Please!” Scarlett burst into tears. “I have a little boy at home. I need this job. I’m still paying off my medical—”

“Scarlett, take a deep breath.” When she heard the shaky inhale down the line, she continued. “Bailey isn’t your boss. I am. So, I expect you to stop taking orders from him and listen to me instead.”

Relief flooded through the receiver in garbled nonsense and sniffles. “Oh thank god. He was really starting to scare me. He’s not a good man.”

“Under one condition,” Bonnie added.

“Anything.”

“You have to stop calling me Miss Bloom.”

Scarlett laughed. “I will try my best.”

“Good.” Bonnie let the silence sit before asking, “Are you in London?”

“Yes. We received the invitation for the launch weeks ago.”

“Then I have your first job for you. Get in touch with the security team for Lipstick Fever’s party tonight and make sure no one lets Bailey inside.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you, Scarlett. And get yourself a new hotel room. I don’t want Bailey knowing where you are.”

“Thank you, Mi—Bonnie.”

Bonnie’s mouth lifted. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you then.”

She slipped her sunglasses on and started the car, something shifting inside like she was stepping into a cadenza of her own.

This gave her an idea, burning bright and blinding. She reached into the car door, pulled out her notebook, and started scribbling it down.

* * *

Roberto had nailed Madison’s brief about the venue ‘being artsy but not wanky’. The converted industrial building possessed all the raw charm of bare steel, weathered red-brick and concrete. Exposed pipes and lighting rigs were suspended from the ceiling of the cavernous room, while the upper stained-glass windows flooded the floor with streaks of coloured light.

Music from Lipstick Fever’s label, Neon Fist, played through the speakers, with many labelmates and bands attending to celebrate, posing by the album artwork backdrop and downing flutes of champagne. Journalists and photographers milled around spoilt for choice with the guest list of celebrities and industry professionals, allowing Bonnie to relax a little—the pressure for once, off her. Though Nikita Dixon had already tried to get the scoop on the speculation of her management shifting. She only relented to sweep the room for other pickings when Bonnie promised her first dibs on any upcoming announcement.

Bonnie still didn’t like parties or the nervousness that accompanied them, but the hope of freedom from Bailey had spread into other parts of her life too. Plus, she’d booked in with Dr Levingworth for some online sessions. Talking about what happened to her helped.

Guests wandered from intimate seating areas to the expansive dance floor, the stage already prepped and waiting for Lipstick Fever’s performance. People hung out in the hidden lounges tucked beneath the steel staircase and dotted along the private mezzanine overlooking the celebrations below. Everywhere, there was movement, excitement, anticipation.

Scarlett made her way across the room, a tight-fitting red dress bunching with every movement.