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“Sandeke is sponsoring the tour,” I mutter. “Anyway, that’s not why I called. This Chad dude was saying some strange stuff about being a spy? I don’t know. He made it sound like he’s working for Jarvis, and with all the shit that went down last year between Larinda and Jarvis, I don’t like it.”
“Uh-oh. I was afraid of this. Have you talked to Steve, yet?” Nash asks, all humor gone from his voice.
“Her PA?”
“Yeah. He’s a lot, but he’s also loyal and knows everyone. You’re right to be concerned. If your gut is telling you something’s up, it probably is.”
“Okay. I’ll bring Steve into the loop when it feels right. So you don’t think I’m overreacting?”
“There’s no such thing as overreacting when it involves the diabolical partnership of Jarvis McKinnley and Sandeke Telecom. Neither have a shred of conscience or regard for anyone except themselves. I wouldn’t discount any possible threat if it furthers their interests. You just have to figure out what that is. Once you know the endgame, you can decipher their plan and stop it.”
Well, I already know what Jarvis wants: to be the only human in the universe.
“Hey. We got your back,” Abram says. “You need any help, give us a ring.”
“Thanks.”
Because what help could I possibly need to singlehandedly take on the world’s biggest country music star and telecom conglomerate in order to protect the woman I’m not allowed to love?
7—DALLAS (LARINDA’S DRESSING ROOM)
LARINDA
So, here’s the thing…
I said yes.
I also didn’t sleep a wink. In fact, even breathing has been a challenge since everything blew up at 7:57 last night. That was the moment Jarvis stalked onto the stage in the middle of my last song with a giant bouquet of roses, a flock of backup dancers, and a hot mic to sing two minutes of drivel asking me “to be my o-o-only wife, for my lo-lo-lonely life.”
And I panicked.
Which means I forgot how to function.
Which means ten thousand people watched me slip into default mode and do what I was told to do:
Say yes.
I even cried like they wanted when I realized what I did and how much I regretted doing it.
Val hasn’t said a word since. No visit to my bus demanding answers. No phone call. Not even a text. He wasn’t backstage when I walked off with my new “fiancé.” He wasn’t at the “celebration party” or in attendance at the strategic video call with the label. He also wasn’t on his bus when I pretended to look for Steve before returning to mine for the night. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere I could find and I’m worried he didn’t even follow us to Dallas.
I chew on my nail as I stare at my phone. My “Can we please talk?” still sits unanswered in our text stream. There are three more before that, also unanswered. Would he hate me enough to abandon the tour completely?
A cold rush spreads through me. What about our music? Did I also ruin the best thing that ever happened to my art? Did I really lose Val and my inspiration as a result of a single word?
Man, I hate the word “yes.” I’ve spent my entire life saying yes, so maybe it’s time to say no.
No to almonds.
No to itchy costumes they have to stitch and tape on me.
And definitely no to getting engaged to people you don’t like.
The breathing thing is starting to become a real problem, and I scroll to my conversation with Steve.
Me: How’s your bus this morning? Everyone sleep okay?
Steve would tell me if there was drama. You know, like if someone pooped in the shared bathroom (big no-no). Or if the air-conditioning broke down. Or… I don’t know… if a certain producer never showed for roll-out and they left without him.
