Linc was silent again. He was thinking. "All right. I'll take care of this after we have the meeting. They can't fire you for something you didn't do."
"Thanks, man. Look, I've got to get ready for some charity event. I'll call you later tonight."
"You, charity?" he choked.
"Another one of their damn directives, but I can't get out of it." I looked at my watch. I still had to shower and dig through my closet for my tux. "Call you later."
I pressed the screen to end the call and sat for a second as the cool air escaped the cab. Linc was as invested in my career as I was. I knew I took advantage of him. I trusted him with my money. I trusted him to represent my interests. But most of all, I trusted him to stay out of my way. He never tried to manage me, and that made him the ideal manager.
4
Alexa
"I tried to tell you … " Helena shrugged.
I raised my hand to silence her. I didn't want to hear it. As long as I was under contract with Jake I was his puppet. I was his slave. I was his Barbie doll to dress and style how he pleased, shoving a mic and a song in my hand.
I watched as Helena started with my hair from the beginning. I knew what would happen. She'd part it down the middle, wipe the makeup from my eyes, and replace the red lipstick with a dab of light pink lip gloss. America's Sweetheart always had to look the part.
"We could add some charcoal at the corners. It will be a little smoky and sexy." She tried to make up for it. "With your blond hair it will really pop."
"Don't worry about it." I smiled. It wasn't her fault. "He won't go for that either and it's a waste of time. I appreciate it. Just keep with the peach tones. He likes those."
"At least you get to wear the leather boots."
I grinned. The boots were my favorite. And for some reason, they had become an acceptable part of my image. I could wear them with dresses or jeans. It didn't matter. The brown leather was embroidered with a darker thread of brown, printing paisleys along the side of my calf.
Other than my guitar, they were the most sentimental thing I owned. I had bought them with my first royalty check. A real country singer needed real boots. I had even worn them out of the store, tossing my beaten up tennis shoes in the box before walking out.
"Always the boots," I agreed.
The boots were my first foray into starting a fashion line. It was a natural fit to start working with boot designers. I had an entire footwear collection called The Alexan.
I was excited about my new venture in athletic wear. Fans always wanted to know what I did to stay in shape on the road. I posted pictures of my workouts. I posed with my trainer. Truth was I had to workout seven days a week to keep this body going.
It didn't come naturally to me. Once slice of chocolate cake and I wouldn't be able to slip into my jeans. Besides, it was a good way to spend my down time on the road. Francisco had gotten creative with our routines. The man was like an artist, but with workouts.
From there it seemed like the next step was to see if I could start selling my own brand of sportswear. I practically wore it around the clock when I wasn't prepping for an event. Next week I was supposed to meet with the designers who had sketches on my new athletic line. My brand was growing rapidly. It wasn't only about the music anymore. I was in stores. I was in magazines. I had commercials.
Twenty minutes later I looked at my reflection. "Lexi Wilde," I mouthed, wondering where the girl was who had fought so desperately to get here. Because I barely saw a whisper of her when I looked at the straight blond hair and the pink rosy cheeks.
I had to believe she was somewhere in there and I hadn't given up on bringing her back.
"Thanks, Helena." I stood from the vanity and walked to the closet where my clothes were organized by color. I pulled a white, long-sleeved top from one of the hangers.
As I fastened each of the buttons, I thought about why I was in Austin. This was a charity event to help sick children. And here I was pouting about my manager. Angry that I had to do a meet and greet. The guilt surfaced as I sat on the bed to pull my boots up to my calves.
"You ok, Lexi?" Helena asked as she packed her brushes into a black case.
I nodded. "Just thinking."
She sat next to me. "Don't let Jake get to you."
"No, it's not him. Well, only partially him." My eyes drifted toward her. "Do you ever feel like we're in fishbowl? Like everyone is watching us?"
She put an arm around my shoulder. "I see you in that fishbowl, honey. But that's nothing new. What's going on?"
I shook her off. "Nothing." I took another look in the mirror and pressed my lips together. "I'm thinking too much about the concert tonight." There were things I couldn't even talk to Helena about.
How could she understand the guilt I felt surrounded by the life of privilege I had built? Was there any way to make it sound as if I appreciated it, but yet was completely burdened by my fame and wealth?
I walked into the living room and pulled my guitar from the stand. I sat by the window, staring out over the city. I closed my eyes, strummed a few chords and let the music I wanted to sing pour out of me. The words I wanted to shout. The sound I wanted people to hear flew through my fingers and my chest as if I needed to get it out before I lost the ability to breathe.
5
Luke
The tie was too tight against my neck, and the jacket stretched against my biceps. I dropped the snarl from my face, tugging at my collar as the back of the limo opened and I stood on the red carpet with a barrage of flashes going off in my face. I plastered a smile so wide from cheek to cheek that even a GQ cover model would be envious.
By the time I made it to the door of the new hospital wing I had posed for fifty pictures and I needed a fucking drink. I headed straight for the bar but stopped when I saw the bartender. She was a hot brunette I had met before. She smiled at me, throwing me a soft wave with her fingers. I remembered those plump lips and what they could do. The only thing was I didn't remember her name or where we met.
I immediately turned around and looked for something to distract me. Anything to keep me away from her and the bottle of top shelf bourbon she was offering. Fuck.
I didn't want to be here. Hell, I almost hadn't come. But Coach had ordered a car to pick me up, and I knew that meeting today was more than a warning. It was practically a death sentence in the league. If the Warriors released me for code of conduct violations, I'd be blackballed from every team. The money would dry up. My legacy would be extinct. I'd never throw another football again.
So I put on the fucking monkey suit. I got in the car. I let the driver deposit me on the red carpet. But this wasn't over. I wasn't Applewhite's bitch. He put me in a corner in front of McCade, but we weren't done. He wouldn't always have the old man next to him. Tonight would be the last time he'd tell me where I had to spend my time.
I resisted the urge to walk over to the bar and get the brunette's number.
"Luke? Luke Canton. Hell, son, good to see you here." I got a slap on the back from a man wearing an oversized Stetson and a bolero with his tuxedo.
"Yes, sir." I shook his hand, giving him a solid impact.
"Looking forward to the game Sunday. You give those Sharks hell for us."
"Oh, I will, sir. I will." I nodded.
The man's wife came walking over in one of those floor-length ball gowns. Nothing on her was natural. I guessed there was a thirty-year age difference between the two.
She smiled at me, raking me over with lust in her eyes. "Bob, aren't you going to introduce me?"
She held her hand toward me, and I saw the rocks lining her fingers. The man must have bought her half the diamonds in Texas. Now I understood the attraction.
Bob chuckled, looking at me. "This is my wife, Vienna. She's a big Warriors fan."
I felt the softness of her palm as she slid her hand into mine. "Nice to meet you."
Her skin was flawless and there wasn't a curve on her body that wasn't planned. Her neck was long and slender. She turned her head sideways like a cat as she eyed my chest.
I grinned. Now this was the perfect kind of woman. She already had a man to feed her money habit. She wasn't looking for fame. She only wanted to fuck. I let my fingers drag across her wrist before I let go.
"Can I get you a drink, Mrs. – "
"Crawford." She winked. "Yes, a white wine would be nice."
I looked at Bob. "You're a lucky man, sir. I'll be right back."
I took long strides to a bar on the other side of the room. I didn't care about the brunette at the moment.
"One white wine." I slid a fifty across the counter.
The bartender opened a new chilled bottle and handed me a glass. "Anything for you, sir?"