The Duet(13)

“Does it matter? We need to talk about how we’re going to figure out this duet.”

He sighed. “It’s been decided. We’re going out to my ranch in Montana to write and record the song. If you can’t go, I’ll write the song myself and you can just learn it before the award show. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing that.”

What in-all-that-is-holy was shoved up this guy’s butt?

“Wow. You are probably the assholiest person I’ve ever met.”

He chuckled at that. The bastard actually laughed. “Assholiest isn’t a word, and if you’re going to suggest words like that for our song, I’d rather not have you show up in Montana.”

Cammie pinched my leg and I knew she was just as angry as I was over the way he was talking to me.

“Listen up, Mr. God’s Gift to Music, we’re going to do this duet together, and it’s going to be an amazing song. We’ll perform it on stage and then we’re never going to talk to each other again. Sound good?”

“I can’t wait,” he said, dragging out the word wait in a way that shouldn’t have made my stomach dip, but it did anyway, because apparently my libido was still attracted to jerks even if my brain wasn’t.

I hung up before he could say anything else and then Cammie and I stared at each other in silence for what felt like two hours.

Finally, her blank expression twisted into a little smile.

“Well, I guess you’re going to Montana.”





Chapter Five





Leaving to go to Montana for a few weeks actually didn’t sound so bad. My life in LA was not a cakewalk (as much as it seemed to be from the way the media spun it). Oh, poor celebrity has to have designer dress fittings and nail appointments. The truth is my days were regimented and scheduled down to a “T”.

Five days a week I woke up at 6:00 A.M. and had a two-hour workout session with my trainer. Then I had thirty minutes to shower and get across town for my voice lessons. Those seeped into my piano and guitar lessons. Then I usually had an afternoon appointment with my choreographer so that I could practice for any upcoming performances and start memorizing routines for future tours.

On top of all of that, if I was working on an album, I’d head into the studio and spend hours writing and rewriting lyrics until they were exactly the way I wanted them.

It was a lot to handle on a good day.

I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, but the prospect of getting away from it all for a few weeks sounded really nice. Even if I would have to spend that time away with someone who hated my guts. For no reason. Seriously, we’d spent all of five minutes together and the guy thought I was Medusa come to life.

After my phone call with Jason, Cammie and I spent an hour dissecting his actions, and coming up with all sorts of theories about why he acted the way he did:

1. His parents were part of a traveling circus so he had to grow up around crazy carnies.

2. He was born without a frontal lobe so he couldn’t process human emotions properly.

And our personal favorite:

3. He was a Russian robot spy, sent to the US under strict orders to infiltrate our pop culture and slowly drive singers, like myself, insane.

We hadn’t worked out all the details of his assignment yet, but we were pretty convinced that we were on the right track.

…



Later that week, I was sitting across from my assistant, Summer, inside of a small LA deli. A turkey sandwich with all the fixings sat in front of me while Summer filled me in on all the details I’d need to know before departing for Montana in a few days.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You know Montana is in the middle of nowhere, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s exactly why I want to go.” The quiet, calm atmosphere was calling to me.

Summer sneered. “Sounds like a snooze fest. At least you can hangout with Jason. Maybe he’ll teach you how to ride bareback.”

“Yeah, right before he kills me and hides my body where no one can find me.”

“Ew. Not cute,” she said, before taking a bite of her Greek salad. Her purple hair was a shade darker than it’d been the last time I’d seen her and she’d styled her eyeliner into a dramatic cat-eye effect.

“So, I’ve been coordinating with Sandy, Jason’s assistant,” she began. “She’s super nice. I feel bad that she has to work for that shmuck.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“Anyway, she gave me the details on the ranch in Montana. Apparently ‘ranch’ is a relative term. She said it’s a really gorgeous house in the woods. You’ll have your own room and bathroom, secluded away from Jason’s.”