15. Kiana

15

KIANA

"Back so soon?" I purr, rolling over on the bed. I prop myself up by my bent arm, lying on my side, showing off my naked curves for Tyson's viewing pleasure.

Panic strikes the second the door flies open and someone other than Tyson walks through.

I scream and yank up the sheet to hide myself. "Damn it, Tommy! What do you think you're doing here? This is my private hotel room! You're not allowed in here!"

"I'm allowed anywhere I want to be," he snaps. "Anywhere you go, I go. Anything that's yours is mine too. I'm your manager. That's how it works. Put some damn clothes on and meet me in the lounge downstairs. We've got some serious things to talk about."

"Like what? What could possibly be so serious you've barged into my private hotel room!?"

"The future of your career. Get downstairs!" he barks, thrusting a pointed finger at the door. I've never seen his bald, misshapen head tinge so red before. He pivots on his heel and storms out of the room as quickly as he appeared.

In the silent aftermath, I'm so stunned, I can't move.

My heart beats painfully fast against my chest. I'm left to lay where I am, fingers still twisted in the bedsheet I'd rushed to cover myself with.

Just a minute ago, I was in the most playful mood. Tyson was going to be back any minute and we were supposed to spend the rest of the morning doing as we wished.

Enjoying each other.

Tommy's appearance feels like a rock that's been thrown at my glass house, shattering the illusion I had so delicately built over the past few days and leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

Finally coming to my senses, I wrap myself up in the bedsheet and get up on legs that feel wooden. I'm wandering over to the closet when the door opens and Tyson returns.

He's as relaxed as can be, his rippling bare chest on display. He's wearing nothing but his jeans, like he'd been when he walked out a couple minutes ago. Clueless as to what's happened in his absence, he holds up the bottle opener.

"Told you it'd be quick," he says. "I had to be a little forceful about—Kiana, what the hell's wrong?"

I shake my head to ward him off, though it doesn't work.

Tyson's too connected to my every emotion, every reaction. He picks up on how upset I am the second he scans my face and reads my body language, coming over to check on me.

"I'm fine… I just…" I stammer. "Tommy's here and… and he wants me to meet with him…"

" Tommy ? Since when?"

"Since he came bursting into my hotel room a minute ago."

Tyson's face creases in anger. "Into this room? With you like this?"

"He said it's important. I have to go?—"

"I'll handle it," Tyson growls, setting down the bottle opener. His huge hands have curled like he's about to use them and not his words. "Stay here. I'll go find him."

"No! That's the last thing that needs to happen right now. Tommy wants me to go. Something tells me… he's pissed because he found out what's happened." I let the bedsheet fall in exchange for the crop top I slip over my head and the pair of jeans I wiggle into.

Tyson's hard expression deepens. "You mean between us?"

"I don't know. Maybe we were spotted out yesterday. Or someone from the label or the hotel told on us. I've never seen Tommy so angry. Wait here for me."

"Your security?—"

"I'll be going to the ground floor. I'll be fine."

I lay a gentle hand on Tyson's tense, broad chest, rising on tip toe to kiss the underside of his jaw.

By the time I make it to the hotel room door, I can sense Tyson's natural urge to follow me. Make sure I'm okay. Look over me in case danger's looming. I throw him one last parting look from over my shoulder, then let the door drift shut between us.

On the ground floor, I step out of the elevator in search of the lounge Tommy mentioned. I find him by the window, peering out at the luxury hotel's private garden. The red has faded from his face, though the energy he exudes is no less hostile.

As I take my seat across from him, he glares at me, like my mere presence is irritating.

But he's not the only one irritated—I'm pissed by the entire situation. For once , I was enjoying myself. I was actually on vacation, able to do as I wished with a man who couldn't get enough of me.

Tommy ripping it away so suddenly is enough to make me question my entire purpose. Is this the lifestyle I want?

The answer used to seem so clear. Now, I'm not so sure…

"What do you want, Tommy? Make it fast."

He laughs, then sips from the bourbon he's drinking. "This is my fault. I brought this on. I let you run wild for too many years. Now you seem to be mistaken."

"I wish I knew—and cared—what you're talking about. But I don't, so if you're not going to explain, then I'm going back up to my room."

"The room the label paid for?" He tilts his head to the side, his annoyance breaking for taunting humor.

"I can afford my own room?—"

"Yes, you can," he interrupts quickly. "For now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Kiana," he says, "let's not forget who you're beholden to. The label owns you. The label, if we so choose, could make things very difficult for you."

A shiver racks my spine. Brows knitted, I read Tommy's poker face and determine he's serious. He's here as a warning.

"You are under contract. Eight albums in ten years. Remind me which album you're on?"

I don't answer him, still eyeing him like I'm disturbed.

And I am.

The tone he's taken with me is unlike any he's used before. The coldness makes it almost feel like he's a stranger. Someone who I've just met and not a man who has been managing me since I was seventeen…

"You're on album six," he says. "Which means you owe us two more albums in the next three years. Which means, should you violate that contract, you'll have to pay out the rest. And the label will be taking you to court for more costs. All the investments we've already made in you. You have been lucrative and have earned millions. But how much will be left once you're through paying your debts and court costs?"

"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you so angry with me?" I ask, my throat aching suddenly.

"No one is angry with you, Kiana. But we are frustrated. Our patience is wearing thin. You think I wanted to hop on a red eye flight over here because you can't be trusted? You lied about being sick but spent the day out on the streets? You have made it a recent habit to go against everything we've laid out for you."

My jaw drops open in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? I've been doing everything you've asked! I've been… I've been working myself 'til I have nothing left! Why isn't it ever enough for you?"

"You call breaking up with Shawn on the eve of your new album and tour doing what we've asked? You call walking out early in interviews and pulling disappearing acts doing what we've asked? You call complaining about increased security measures doing what we've asked?" he scolds without missing a beat. He's finished his glass of bourbon, now sitting up in his chair in his latest tacky velvet suit. "How about the latest? Lying about an illness so you can stay in your hotel suite and fuck your new security guard?"

I don't even know where to begin.

The numerous accusations each feel like their own toxic smear campaign.

All waged by a man who is supposed to be looking out for my best interests.

I inhale a steadying breath, urging myself to stay calm despite the way my hands feel shaky. I start where it makes most sense.

"I broke up with Shawn because he was cheating on me."

"Oh please, Kiana. It wouldn't be the first time a starlet has been two-timed. You know what's at stake with this album and tour. Your relationship was the centerpiece. That was the entire marketing campaign and selling point. If you wanted to break up with him, that could've come with the next album. It could've been about the heartbreak and you finding yourself after love. We could've done so much with it brand-wise," he explains. "In the meantime, if you wanted a side piece, we could've arranged a discreet one for you. But the way you've gone about things?—"

"You mean making my own choices about my personal life?"

"Your personal life is our business," he goes on. "You should understand this by now."

I shake my head. "I don't understand any of this. You expected me to stay in a relationship where I was being cheated on because I was releasing an album?"

"It's all optics. The timing was terrible."

"So tell him that!"

"I would… if it were the first time. Everybody's known what he's been up to, Kiana. You've just been blind."

A wave of dizzying shock trickles over me 'til I feel like I'm in some warped dream. I bring a hand up to cover my face, trying to understand what I've done. Why is Tommy trying so hard to tear me apart?

"You're saying he's cheated on me before?"

"Many times," Tommy chuckles. "Those rumors? They weren't just rumors. But what are you expecting out of a relationship that started as a contractual obligation? We made an offer to Shawn and his management?—"

"No!" I yell in disbelief. "No, that can't be?—"

"His team agreed. We arranged a meeting between the two of you. He turned on his swag. You were charmed. The rest was history. But that's beside the point, Kiana. We will be righting this ship," Tommy says sternly. He gestures to the server from across the lounge, signaling he'd like another drink. "You'll be remaining in London for an extra few days to make up on the press engagements you've fumbled. Then you'll be going to NYC for some intense tour practice and a performance on the Queenie Tate show. That should smooth things over. Then it'll be album release week and you'll be booked twenty-four seven for months with all the promo and the tour kicking off."

I've collapsed forward in my seat. My elbows dig into my thighs as I sit with my face in my hands and make sense of the fact that my entire love life was orchestrated by my label. What I always imagined was an organic connection with Shawn was a set up from the start…

"Oh, and I forgot. This Tyson fellow? Your new bodyguard you're so taken with? He's done," Tommy says. "He's no longer your bodyguard. Effective immediately."

"What? You can't do that?—"

"Just did. He'll be gone by the afternoon. Arnold will be taking over again. My suggestion? Use this as an opportunity to show the label you've seen the error of your ways. You're ready to straighten up and do as you're told. Make it easier on everyone and be the obedient little songbird you are."

I'm dismissed as Tommy pulls out his phone and dials up one of his many business partners. The server delivers his iced bourbon and smiles cluelessly at me, asking if I'd like a drink of my own. I can't bring myself to give an answer more than a weak shake of my head.

The entire journey back up to my suite feels surreal. I'm almost lifeless as I wander the halls and then ride the elevator up.

Tyson's on his feet the moment I walk through the door. It's clear he's been counting the minutes I've been gone. He hasn't even changed out of his jeans or touched the bottle of champagne or orange juice to make mimosas like we'd planned. One glance at me and he knows.

Something's wrong.

"What did he say?"

My eyes itch, begging for a release I won't allow. Instead, I avoid his gaze, stepping past him. "The label's unhappy with how I've been behaving."

"You needed a break."

"It doesn't matter," I mumble. "The label's decided. It's over, Tyson."