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“Donnie, look. This story should go to me, and I know you . . . appreciate Francesca’s work,” I choke out, almost gagging to have to say that, “but she’s going to be busy with red carpet events for the next two weeks when those new blockbusters come out. You know those comic book movies make big bucks and get big stars at the premieres.”
Donnie makes a humming sound in the back of his throat, seemingly in no hurry to hand down his decision while I’m waiting on pins and needles. Do I need to bring up the fact that the whole office knows Francesca’s using her . . . assets to get ahead with head? Finally, Donnie speaks. “Okay. You can do it. Interviews with Perkins, and I want all the dirty details, ins and outs of his life, all of it. Can you do that?”
I nod, relieved. “Of course!”
Getting up to leave before Donnie changes his mind, I stop at the door when he calls my name. “Hey, Elise? Just FYI . . . Perkins is pissed as fuck for the story because everyone knows he’s majorly private. And he’ll know who you are from the byline. You might have six feet three inches of raging cowboy to deal with. Be ready. And get those secrets.”
I nod, my mind focusing on the words inches and raging. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 4
Keith
I can’t believe you think this is the best way to deal with this,” I growl at Todd through the small screen on my phone. He cringes slightly at the vehemence in my voice, even though he’s a thousand miles away and probably thanking the fates for inventing FaceTime. It’s not really his fault. It’s the upper management at the record label that decided on this hair-brained scheme. He just has to play the messenger, and he’s the only person available for me to take out my frustrations on.
So I do, copiously. I need to hit the gym and relieve some of this stress. “Really? How is an interview going to make my life more private? Sing songs, play music, go the fuck home . . . that’s all I ask.”
Todd sighs at the repeat of the mantra that’s been the driving force for my career for the last few years. Yeah, I tour, but always in the summer when Carsen and Sarah can come along. During the school year, I play one-shot TV appearances or so-called “secret shows” where it’s marketed as a last-minute gig and usually stuffed with radio personalities and listeners who win tickets. It works for me because I’m usually only gone for a weekend before getting back home to Carsen and my quiet life.
Todd calls it ‘keeping my name out there’ . . . like I need more promotion. I’ve got the career I’ve always dreamed of if the nosy paparazzi would just leave me the hell alone.
“Do we need to do this when I can be there to wrangle you?” Todd asks, deciding to just say fuck it and ignore my protests. “Or can you do this on your own and not be an ass? This is happening, like it or not. The label’s already told the paper, and if you back out—”
“Then the shit really hits the fan,” I growl. I’m this close to calling his bluff. What stops me is the fact that if I don’t talk to this paper, the label will, and not everyone there understands my need for privacy. “Fine, fuck it. I’ll be a fucking gentleman.”
“Good,” Todd replies. “So make sure that you represent yourself in a way that won’t make the label folks shit their pants. Okay?”
I sigh, feeling like a deflated balloon. “I’ll be fine. You know I can bullshit and be charming when I need to be. I get it . . . follow the party line. No woman in my life, obviously. Stick to promoting the new album and next tour. Nothing too personal.”
Todd winces, and I can feel the other shoe about to drop. “Well, not exactly. We sold them on the idea that this is an all-access interview series, and—”
I cut him off, nearly losing my shit again. “All-access? How the hell am I supposed to keep Carsen a secret if it’s fucking all-access?”
Todd rolls his eyes. “As I was saying, we call it all-access because then it seems like you’re giving them everything, but then you corral them some. There are going to be personal questions. Answer them as honestly as possible without giving anything away that you want kept secret.”
“And if they pry into areas that I don’t want to talk about?” I ask.
“It’s called playing coy, for fuck’s sake. Every actress in Hollywood has been doing it since they invented film! You give a smile, a deceptive answer, and let your charm deflect. But by telling them and viewers that it’s you completely uncensored and open, they’ll hopefully quit asking questions. Especially when they see you’re just a nice guy who wants to keep to himself, living out his dream of country music.”
