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“I’m not signing. Not with that clause attached—Scarlett would barely listen to me, so I’m going to have to let this go.” My voice is firm. I say nothing else. Simon remains quiet too, and I begin to sweat.
But I’m not backing down from this point.
“Fine, you’re right. I get it.” Simon pauses, and I swear I can feel his disappointment through the phone. “I’ll let them know you’re passing.”
My heart feels like it dropped into my balls at the finality of his words, panic flaring inside of me. “No.Wait a minute—don’t tell Roger I’m passing yet.”
“Oh, come on, kid. I can’t stall him for much longer. Like I said, he’s getting antsy. Impatient. He wants that song. He wants the entire album to sound exactly like that song you made in your freaking bathroom.”
“He told you that?” I’m incredulous.
“Yes, he told me exactly that.” Simon sighs. “You got another idea to try and get her to do this? Or do you think that song will work?”
I sang about her giving me head and how she gave me scars and left me for dead. Not the most positive anthem for my so-called relationship with Scarlett. I don’t bother answering his question because I’m now worried the song will work against me.
“Just give me the rest of the afternoon. I’ll try and put something together.” What exactly, I’m not sure, but I could probably convince her. Right? Maybe I could just call Scarlett. Text her. Go to her place?—
No, I’m not going to her place unannounced. That’s asking for an ass beating from a certain Fitzy Lancaster. I bet that motherfucker would enjoy it too.
“I’ll ignore his calls for the rest of the day. But I need an answer by tonight. You have to give me a firm yes or no, got it?”
“Got it.”
“Call me later.” He ends the call before I can respond.
A frustrated sigh leaves me, and I toss my phone onto my bed, running a hand through my already fucked-up hair. It needs a cut. And I need a shower to wake up, come up with a plan.
Showers always help me think, and I need to clear my head and eat a decent meal and figure out how I’m going to save this record deal that’s landed in my lap.
I’d be an idiot to just let it go. Why do they want her as my girlfriend so badly?
Like a masochist, I pick my phone back up and refresh the Google search I have of me and Scarlett. A bunch of new photos and articles pop up, most of them about the song. Speculation about the lyrics. Are we already going through a rough patch? Did the media attention put our relationship under stress? Are we over when we’ve barely begun?
This is wild. We’re not even in a real relationship, and they’re worried we’re already over.
Most of the photos are the same ones from the night of her party, though now they’re appearing with different angles. All the headlines scream worry over the song, though they all praise it too. The lyrics, the rich sound of my voice, the almost tinny quality that gives the song a nostalgic sound.
That part is hilarious. Of course it sounds vaguely tinny. I recorded it in my bathroom late at night, on a creative high and believing in myself for the first time since I don’t remember when.
That’s a lie. I remember the last time I felt this way.
Saturday night. At Scarlett’s birthday party.
Those articles and photos and the endless social media posts and tags are exactly why the execs at Irresistible want Scarlett as part of the deal. Together, we generate a lot of buzz—now more so than ever thanks to the song.
“Red.” I did write it for her. For her sexy lips and her vicious heart and that beautiful face.
Thanks to that song, the media is paying closer attention to us than ever, and while it’s vaguely annoying and completely over the top, it’s also kind of mind blowing how easy it is to manipulate the general public. No matter what, it’s publicity.
Free publicity.
And that’s the key.
That’s what I need to make a go of this singer career again.
I open Instagram and check my follower count—it’s grown. No surprise. I’m at over 1.5 million now. I look at the tagged photos and reels and grimace at all the fuzzy, horrible photos of the two of us. Terrible angles. My mouth hanging open as I talk to Scarlett. Her eyes wide and unblinking as she stares at me. She looks like she wants to sock me in the face.
She also looks pretty damn hot in that pink dress. I still stand by that assessment.
