“You’re welcome. Later, Ryans.” With a quick kiss on the forehead and a one-arm hug, Steven headed off in the other direction.
We got rejected by the people we cared about and then we used each other for a distraction of a physical nature.
He’d pretty much summed it up perfectly. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. The reason she didn’t feel jealous over the waitress or Mia—or anything really—was because her heart wasn’t in it. At least this time she knew Steven’s heart wasn’t in it either.
Last time, she’d been stupid enough to think the other person’s actually had been.
“THIS IS the offer. It’s not something they’re willing to negotiate. It’s, ‘Here’s what we have. Take it or walk.’” Maude Lowenstein lifted a bony shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s better than nothing as far as I’m concerned.”
“She won’t go for it. Not in a million years. All she wanted at the benefit was for me to stay the hell away from her.” Trace shook his head and tried not to wince at the memory.
His agent and his manager sat across from him in the conference room at Capital Letter Records. He’d thought he’d been called in to sign his dissolution papers. But Noel Davies had sprung one last option on him, one last proposition of the fuck-you-flavored variety.
“She’s not in a position to be turning down the label’s offers either. She already turned down a world tour with Bryce Parker.” His agent lowered her glasses. “Care to know why?”
He fought the urge to grin and cleared his throat. “No. And you probably shouldn’t be discussing her with me. She’s just as much your client as I am.”
“Yes, she is. And if two of my clients are about to be touring together, I can discuss it with whomever I so chose.” The woman paused as if waiting for him to challenge her. When he didn’t, she continued. “So here’s why I think she’ll be more agreeable than you suspect. In the meeting when they offered her a spot on Parker’s tour, she said, and I quote, ‘I’m not going on tour with some cheap knock-off Trace Corbin wannabe,’ end quote.”
“She said that?”
“Yes, she did. So again, she’s not really in a position to turn down a tour with the real thing, now is she?”
“I don’t think she cares about what kind of position she’s in,” Pauly chimed in. “She’ll probably tell the label to kiss her chart-topping ass if they even suggest she and Trace share a bus for the next few months.”
Trace shook his head. Discussing Kylie and positions was doing things to him. Causing him to think things one should not be thinking during business meetings.
“Pauly’s right. She’s not going to go for this. The label can threaten me all they want because I’m on my last leg, but she probably has offers lined up.”
Pauly nodded, and even Maude was quiet for a moment.
“What if we let her think it was her idea?”
“What?” both men asked, almost in unison.
“Just think about it. You and she have a history, Trace. Talk to her. Tell her you need a big act for your next tour or the label’s cutting you loose. Say whatever you have to.”
He didn’t waste time even considering that option. “I won’t do that to her. She doesn’t owe me anything. She’d be the first to tell you so.”
“So make her want to tour with you. Take her to dinner. Take her to bed. Whatever.” The woman leaned back in her seat as if the matter was settled.
“You’re such a romantic, Maude. I’m not going to screw Kylie Ryans into touring with me. And the fact that you’re even suggesting it makes me think the only thing I should be telling her is that she needs a new agent.”
“Trace—” Pauly began, but Maude cut him off.
“Look, from where you sit, this probably looks really complicated and messy. But from where I sit, it’s pretty damn cut and dry. Here’s the thing about this business. The most talented artist isn’t always the one who makes it big. You know who is? The one the media pays the most attention to, the one who works the hardest to stay out front, the one who does whatever it takes—regardless of things like fairness and feelings and all that other pretentious preschool bullshit—to make their career what they want it to be. So you want more platinum-selling albums? You convince Kylie Ryans to do this The Other Side of Me Tour. Or you can walk away from this and let these twelve-year-olds take over country music and put your ass out to pasture.”
She stood to leave and Trace closed his eyes. An entourage surrounding some kid whose eyes had been glued to his cellphone had nearly plowed him down on his way into the meeting.