by Amber Lin
Moe’s flailing barely registered. It was like he was talking underwater, or behind a Plexiglas divider. Krist heard him, but he’d retreated behind the walls around his heart. The last bit of protection he had left. “Why didn’t you just tell me what was happening?”
“Like you would’ve listened. You were too busy having everyone else’s opinion before they had a chance to have it first. You had to convince yourself. I thought that’s what you were doing at the club—convincing yourself that you didn’t really want to mess around with Madeline Fox—but you were just putting on a show for me.”
Putting on a show. The truth in that statement worked into a hairline fracture around his defenses and cracked them wide open. All of it was true. He was a fucking sellout.
There had to be a way to stop pretending. He slumped against the wall beside Moe. “Lock isn’t canceling the European tour dates. That’s the label. I guess my scam engagement didn’t work.”
Moe blew out a breath. “Shit.”
“Now what?”
“Fuck if I know. Live it up for now and hope Lock’s album flops?”
It wouldn’t flop, and they both knew it. Lock was a rock god, a brilliant musician, and their fans would follow him into hell itself. They stood in silence, the gravity of their situation pinning them to the spot, the setting sun washing them in rose-colored light, leaching away the last of their anger until nothing remained but exhaustion and hurt.
Dottie stuck his head out of the bus, and a cloud of cigar smoke billowed behind him. “You guys almost finished with your book club?”
Moe turned around and flipped him off. “We’re having a moment, but hey—if you have some of that fancy international coffee in your kitchenette, we won’t say no.”
Dottie waved them off with a complicated arm-grabbing middle-finger salute and ducked back into the bus.
Krist shook his head. He could hardly think through the pain, and Moe was still cracking jokes. “I gotta get out of here. I should find Lock, but I’m having dinner with Maddy tonight.”
“Yeah.” Moe flashed him a look of disgust and crushed his cigar on the pavement. “You better go do that.”
“I don’t know what else to do.” He’d sold out more than anybody, and it had done zero good. He hadn’t helped himself or Maddy. If anything, he’d made all their problems worse. And now Moe was looking at Krist like he was something he’d scraped off the bottom of his boot. Fitting, because that’s exactly how he felt.
Moe walked backward to the bus with his arms wide and his palms up, like he was challenging the sky to rain more misery down on them. “We survived Lock’s meltdown. We survived Elevator-gate. Now this? Fuck the press, Krist. Fuck everybody. Do what you want, not what you think we want to see. This is the easy part, the downhill slide to destruction. Just get out of your own way.”
Krist stood alone in the shadows for several long moments, letting Moe’s words sink in. Easy? Bullshit. He’d ruined everything he’d touched and had no hope of putting any of it back together. He’d lost himself, his brother, and now his band.
He couldn’t lose Maddy too.
Chapter Sixteen
The limo pulled up at the restaurant at eight thirty—thirty minutes later than their eight o’clock reservation. She’d taken her time with her makeup, her clothes. It was important to look good, especially if that was all she had.
Krist hadn’t been in the hotel room when she’d gone to shower, and they hadn’t coordinated the breakup with him. There was no script. But how hard could it be? She knew firsthand how vicious he could be. Now all they needed to do was take it public.
If she ended up crying, so much the better.
“Madeline, look this way!”
“Ms. Fox, why aren’t you arriving with Krist Mellas? Did something happen?”
No, but it’s about to. Stay tuned.
The maître d’ recognized her, naturally. The restaurant was exclusive. The best of the best and very confidential. So of course they expected the breakup to be filmed by every phone of every patron and live-streamed online.
Krist stood when she arrived at the table. And dear God, he was wearing a suit.
“Hi,” he said, lips quirking.
“Umm…hi.” Damn damn damn. Had she ever seen him in a suit, even on TV? No, his image was rocker and grunge and fuck the establishment. Oh hell, he still had that going, even in a five-thousand-dollar custom suit. Colorful ink peeked out from his cuffs, and his hair was a scraggly mess.
Krist Mellas could make a bespoke suit look punk.
The strangest part was not his clothes, though. It was his expression. He looked almost…nervous?
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, feeling strangely breathless. As if this was their first date instead of their last.
He cocked his head. “You’re Madeline Fox. You show up when you show up.”
Her gut twisted. She remembered what he’d said about her entrances. She forced herself to speak lightly. “I left the pink pony at the stable.”
Regret flashed over his face. “You don’t need a pony to make an entrance. Or backup dancers. You’re just you.”
Yeah, she knew all about that. About what he thought of her. And it was only going to get worse before it got better. She was damn well going to get out of the contract, whatever it cost her. And she suspected it would cost her an awful lot.
Time to pay up.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, too loud. The couple beside them looked over.
Krist’s eyes darkened. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, fast and urgent. “Look, Maddy. I was thinking, we don’t have to do this.”
“What?” she whispered.
“Not tonight. Let’s just…have dinner. Just for tonight.”
What the hell? He waited until now to put the brakes on? She didn’t know what his worry was, and she didn’t care. They were buckled into this ride. And had been since Ward had first pitched the idea. She couldn’t sit there and have dinner and pretend for one more night, all because he got cold feet.
And why would he get cold feet, anyway? He’d wanted out of this arrangement from the beginning. And now he was finally going to get it. Unless…
Oh no, she has a lot more than one thing to offer. And I’m sampling every last one.
Her throat grew tight. She forced herself to speak past it, good and loud. “I don’t need you hassling me because I show up a few minutes late.”
His eyes flashed with frustration and…panic? “Give me tonight. Please.”
He was begging. And God, she loved it when he begged. She loved holding out, and she loved giving in when he begged. But she’d already put her plans on hold for him long enough. And it had worked. The sex tape was old news. Their little stint would be enough to keep tongues wagging for some time. A breakup would solidify that further—casting him into the role of sexy villain.
“God, Krist. I can’t skip rehearsal for you. I can’t give up my career for you.”
His eyes darkened. “Fuck, Maddy. Just stop, okay?”
But no one would hear his side of the argument, not when he spoke so low. They’d only hear what she was projecting to the entire room. They’d assume everything they wanted to believe, and tonight the Internet would be abuzz with how cold—and how hot—Krist Mellas was.
Which was just as well. The best thing he could do for his image now was hook up with a different starlet.
A different princess.
Acid churned in her gut. “If that’s the way you feel, then this clearly isn’t going to work. If you want a lapdog, go check with your groupies. I’m sure someone will volunteer for the position. But I can’t be what you need.”
She stood, knocking into the table. Glass and silverware clinked as she shoved away. She almost fell back onto her ass, but a passing waiter caught her. Actually, she suspected he’d been hovering in a strategic location to catch the whole conversation, but so what? That was why they’d done it, anyway. That was the poin
t of a public breakup to end their fake engagement.
It didn’t even matter that Krist hadn’t played along. She had done it by herself. Which was pretty much how she did everything, when it got down to it. It was how she’d get out of the contract too. Whispers and fake camera sounds from iPhones trailed her as she made a grand exit out of the restaurant.
When she glanced back, Krist was standing at the table, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked forlorn, though. And so alone. That was how he did everything too, when it got down to it.
Despite his band and her entourage, they were both so very alone. Nothing had changed.
A lump formed in her throat. She flipped her hair back and strode from the restaurant. Performance quality. That was her—nothing but the best. Nothing but a show.
*
She didn’t need to do it. She didn’t need to do it. The thought rolled over and over in Krist’s mind, gathering steam and force and grit, rough surf to drown out the rushing in his ears. She didn’t need to do it—not for her contract—but she’d done it anyway.
He’d asked her to stop. Begged her. And still she kept going.
It had to be what she wanted.
He watched her leave, and it was as if she sucked all the light and joy and air out of the room. Nothing remained but awkward silence and pained expression, faces twisted into masks of pity or disdain. Krist couldn’t catch his breath. He was the black hole. The collapsing star.
I can’t be what you need.
It all felt scripted, except for that. That reached into his chest and yanked at the remains of his heart, wringing one last true note from a broken instrument. It wasn’t even the plan that Ward had laid out for him. At least there was that small favor; he didn’t have to fake another relationship to get out of this one, and he didn’t have to pretend to cheat on Maddy.
Had Maddy negotiated for that? For herself or for him? Oh, she’d let him be the villain. But he couldn’t see her willingly playing the victim. Not anymore.
She hadn’t even ordered a drink. That struck him as funny, the efficiency of it all. Every step of their relationship had been a race to the sound bite. Why should their breakup be any different? It was probably already uploaded to eight different gossip sites.
A brave waiter stopped by the table, all sympathy and hushed tones. Never mind that he’d probably been one of the first ones recording. “Can I get you anything, sir? The check?”
He should leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So what if he was drawing out the death scene like a bad horror flick? The curtains would close on this act with no call for encore. No fans screaming themselves hoarse begging for more, stomping their feet and flashing their cell-phone screens. There was nothing left for him outside the restaurant.
He didn’t have a menu, but he didn’t care. “I need a beer and burger. Some fries. Can you get me that?”
The waiter wrinkled his nose but recovered himself quickly. “Very good, sir. The Decadence is an excellent choice. Foie gras stuffed prime rib topped with caviar served on toasted brioche. Shall I go over the microbrew list with you?”
“Does everything have to be complicated?” Christ. His whole life was coming apart at the seams and all he wanted was one fucking thing to be simple. Beer. Meat. Potatoes.
“I’m sorry, sir. We have a deconstructed Shepherd’s Pie that might suit you.”
“Nothing deconstructed. Jesus. Does The Decadence come with fries? Of course it doesn’t. Do you even have fries?”
“Truffle fries. They’re a popular appetizer.”
“Ketchup?”
If the waiter wrinkled his nose any farther, it would crawl up his forehead. “Tomato confit.”
Confit for the con-fucked. Krist raked his fingers through his hair. “Fine. And a beer. I don’t want the list, just…something dark and highly alcoholic.” To match my mood, he didn’t add.
Chapter Seventeen
It was a strange realization, to find herself dependent on another person. To feel empty without him. To watch him on television as they announced the band was taking a hiatus. Even though everyone knew what it meant. A breakup. Like the one they’d had.
Tell us what happened with pop artist Madeline Fox last week.
That’s between me and Madeline. I’m here to talk about the music.
He’d looked good. Cleaner cut somehow, but no less sexy.
The reporter had pressed. Can you tell us how your recent engagement—and subsequent breakup—affected your music?
Krist paused. He seemed to take the question seriously. For the better, he finally said.
What did that mean? Was he happy to be rid of her? Did he look back on the whole fake engagement like a job? Nothing personal? Of course he did, of course, but the questions wouldn’t leave her alone.
Was Madeline Fox the cause of Half-Life’s hiatus?
Krist had laughed. Absolutely not.
“Madeline, are you listening?”
The question drew her from her thoughts. She focused on the conference room with frosted-glass walls and windows overlooking midtown. Four men in suits were seated at the table, looking equal parts aggravated and worried. Even Ward was looking at her with concern.
Are you listening? “No,” she said.
Her account manager, Felix Waters, shook his head. “We aren’t getting anywhere with this.”
Maddy snorted. “At last, something we agree about.”
Ward sent her a warning look. “Madeline is well aware of what her contract stipulates. But she doesn’t live on set anymore. She doesn’t require tutors to get her education anymore. Times change, and the contract is clearly written for a child.”
“The intention of the contract is not up for debate,” Felix said, loosening his tie. “The fact is this contract is in effect.”
“Actually, intention is taken into account under contract law,” Ward said evenly. “Especially considering she was fourteen when she signed. But then you know that. Just like you know that if this ever went to court, it would be messy. Messy enough to make other artists think twice about signing with you.”
Felix scoffed. “There’s no shortage of artists who want to sign with us. Never has been, never will be.”
“Maybe not, but there’s only one Madeline Fox.”
“And she’s sitting right here,” Maddy said. It was time to put a stop to this. Neither side wanted to bring this to court. Ward was posturing, but no matter how well she did it, it wouldn’t be enough. “I need to speak to Felix privately.”
Ward’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up. “Maddy, that’s not advisable. I can’t—”
“Ten minutes. Then you can get back in here and bust their balls for me.”
Felix looked just as uncomfortable. “Ms. Fox, I think you should listen to your agent.”
God, he didn’t even want to be alone with her in a glass-walled room for ten minutes. Exactly how intimidating was she? But then she’d slowly been figuring out the answer to that question over the past few days. Thinking about the way they treated her, the way they led her around on a ten-foot metal pole, the way they threw meat into her cage.
They treated her like a dangerous animal. And anyway, that’s what she was.
“Ten. Minutes.”
She must have looked wild, because the other suits exchanged glances before getting up to leave.
Ward waited a beat longer, studying her. “I’ll be just outside.”
As soon as she was gone, Maddy said, “What’s it going to take?”
Felix glanced at the people who’d just left. They were trying not to look like they were watching.
He cleared his throat. “If you’re talking about a buyout—”
“No, I’m not talking about a buyout. Okay, yes, I am. And there will be compensation involved. But I’m not going to write a check.”
A suspicious tilt of his brow. But at least he seemed to be taking her seriously. He leaned forward and steepled his hands on the desk. “Then w
hat are you proposing?”
“Remember that international tour you’ve been pushing for years? The one that would make us both a bunch of money?”
His expression remained blank, but she saw the dollar signs flash in his eyes. “You already do international concerts.”
“In London. In Copenhagen. I’m talking about an extended tour through Japan and other parts of Russia. In Australia. In Russia. Wherever you can book a stadium, I’m there.”
Most artists had family and friends in the States. They had homes here, and maybe a pet. When they toured, it made sense to hit the major cities. Even that was exhausting. What she was proposing was more than that. Completely draining. Soul crushing.
“So,” she said. “Do we have a deal?”
“You’ll tour internationally for three years, and we’ll negotiate the relevant clauses in the contract.”
“I’ll tour internationally for two years, and the contract is terminated at the end of the day.”
His eyes shuttered. “I can’t do that.”
Because she made them too much fucking money. She’d broken her own wings. “The contract is terminated with the option to renew, but only if the terms are mutually agreeable. I’m ready to keep working with you, but we have to be on a level playing field.”
He leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his pen. “We can discuss the terms right now. Find ones you can live with.”
“Terminated. With the option to renew.”
He sighed. “I’ll have to run this upstairs.”
She had him. “You do that. And when you get back, Ward will be waiting for you. I’m sure she has a few more clauses and addendums to inject.”
All she’d have to give up was two years. Two freaking years of her life. No big deal, right? At least she didn’t have a kitten that’d be impacted by two years of grueling travel and strange places. At least she didn’t have a real fiancé she’d have to have a long-distance relationship with. Some days it sure came in handy that she was utterly alone.
