8

Hailey

I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands and stretched my back. A dull pain burned in my shoulder, and I belatedly remembered my stab wound. I nearly rolled my eyes, calling it that. I'd been stabbed with a wooden knife; it wasn't a blade or anything like that.

The wound had nearly healed, but yesterday's performance tore it open. It bled a little bit, but nothing more serious than that.

No. The worst part of yesterday was… well, where did I begin? Was it the lip-sync debacle? The social media backlash? Or was it when my boyfriend decided to step back when things got tough? Maybe we should take a little break… Talk soon, babe.

I slapped my pillow, thinking back on his words.

Ah! The nerve!

I cleared my throat and discovered it didn't burn like yesterday. My nose wasn't completely stuffed up, and other than a lingering headache, I felt a lot better.

At least there was that.

Picking up my phone, I checked the time. Eleven o'clock. Holy shit. I had slept for thirteen hours.

I showered, blow-dried my hair on low to maintain my curls, and dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a gray hoodie.

I hadn't planned to eat breakfast until the smell of bacon and eggs reached me in the hallways and my mouth watered.

Maybe I'll have one bite.

"Good morning!" I said, walking into the kitchen.

"Morning," Christian greeted me back.

He wore a finely tailored blue suit and a light blue tie, which was tossed over his shoulder while he cooked.

As I walked closer to him, I smelled a soft hint of cologne. The fragrance was fresh and clean. It distracted me momentarily, but then he moved past me to grab the salt.

"You know, you don't have to do this. We could just pick up breakfast on the way to the studio."

He shook his head. "Nah, no way. You are not stepping foot inside one of those crime dens until this feud between you and Kendra is squashed. And I refuse to order takeout since my last assignment didn't end well with the delivery guy. So, you're stuck with me and my cooking."

I shrugged. "Or I could hire a cook. I've been thinking about it lately."

He stopped scrambling the eggs and turned to look at me with a red silicone spatula still in his hand. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I'll get on that."

He took everything so seriously, and I don't know why that made me smile. Perhaps it was comforting to know someone else held my worries, so that I didn't have to, well, worry about them.

He plated two dishes, and we ate our breakfast together at the kitchen table. "This is really good," I said between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs."

"Thank you," he said between half-chewed bites.

I chuckled and covered my mouth. He grinned and shook his head. "My father would kill me if he saw my table manners right now."

"I won't tell him if you won't."

He winked. "Deal."

While he drove me to the studio, I wondered about his comment at breakfast. "Was your father very strict?"

He laughed without humor and tilted his head. "There are strict dads, and there are military dads. And then there's my dad, who decided neither was tough enough for his boy."

"Were you a difficult child?"

"Not at all. Quite the opposite. I followed every rule, as though it were the law. I kept my room immaculately clean and never slacked off on my chores."

"So, when did you rebel?"

"I never did."

I scoffed. "You mean you never skipped a class, snuck out of the house, or even kissed a girl when you weren't supposed to?"

"Never."

I narrowed my eyes. "How did you never do these things in college?"

He shook his head. "I never went to college. I went straight into the military after high school."

"Oh." That surprised me because most of the people I knew had gone to college. Except for me. "I've never been to college either."

"You haven't?"

"No. I toured with the Country Brats the summer after high school and my manager signed me with my record company shortly after that. Everything moved so quickly, I didn't even think about college until all my friends were graduating."

"Has Frankie always been your manager?" Christian asked quietly.

"No. After my first manager and I went our separate ways, I met Frankie through Tessa. We hit it off, and it's been good since then. That was…" I had to think back to the last time I'd been on tour with another band. "Oh, probably three years ago."

He nodded and pursed his lips.

I wondered about the strange look on his face. "Why are you asking about Frankie?"

"No reason," he said, but there was something in his eyes that made me wonder if that was true.

Christian pulled up to the front doors of the studio just as I was about to press him about it. "We're here," he said.

Frankie, the man we were just speaking about, waited for me at the front doors. I stepped out of the car and walked toward him.

"Hey, doll," he said when he saw me and kissed my cheek. "Listen, Sam is here. I asked her to meet us because we have to deal with this lip-syncing scandal ASAP."

"All right. Is Tessa okay with that? I know how she feels about keeping her schedule."

"She's fine. I've got her remixing some stuff and that will keep her busy for at least thirty minutes."

He ushered me into the building and down a dark hallway.

Sam waited inside a tiny boardroom with Ingrid.

"Hey Hailey, great to see you. How are you feeling?" asked Sam, standing from the table to shake my hand.

"A lot better, thanks. I think I just needed some rest to heal—"

"Good. Good. Listen, we've got a problem." She sat down and opened the red file folder in front of her. "This is a printout of some of the latest messages on the internet. I'm not going to lie, darling, they're not good."

She turned to Ingrid, who passed her a tablet. "And these just came in the last hour. People are saying to cancel you."

"Cancel me? For what? Having a cold?"

Sam stopped scrolling the tablet and tilted her head. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be. I only did what the producer and Frankie asked me to do. I wanted to cancel the appearance, but they convinced me that using the track happened all the time. Someone fucked up the track and now the world wants to cancel me? I don't get it."

"Look, social media has a mind of its own. Sometimes it can spiral out of control, but we can fix it."

"Good. How?"

She pulled out another piece of paper and handed this one to me. "I've written a statement for you. We're going to post this on your page today."

I read the statement. It was very apologetic and contained quite a few buzzwords I'd heard floating around lately. There was nothing in this statement that sounded remotely like anything I would say.

I looked up at Sam. "No."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"If this statement is going to come from me, it needs to sound like me. Pass me that pencil." I pointed to the pencil next to Ingrid's laptop. She looked at Sam for permission.

I inhaled slowly to calm myself. "Sam may be your day-to-day boss," I said to Ingrid. "But you both work for me. Please pass me that pencil."

She quickly grabbed the pencil and handed it to me. "Thank you," I said and began writing over the previous statement.

I scratched most of the original version and inserted my true feelings into the message. When finished, I lifted the paper and read it over one last time. "There. Now that's something I would say. You can use this statement."

I passed Sam the paper. Her lips moved as she read my scribbled words, and when she finished, she nodded and looked up at me. "It's not exactly polished, but it's fine. If this is what you want to go with, then we'll do it."

"Thank you. Now, can we discuss the feud with Kendra? How the hell did that begin?"

Sam turned to Ingrid, and she shrugged. "I'm not really sure," said Ingrid. "There was a screenshot last week of a message you sent to a fan that Kendra took offensively. You called her lame and her music raunchy."

"I would never use those words, even if I didn't like someone's music. How do we find out who sent it?"

"It's difficult with the internet. People can make fake accounts. But we can put out another statement addressing the issue."

"Yes. I want everyone to know that I did not make those statements. I am not even on social media."

"Well, we can't say you're not on social," said Sam. "Ingrid posts on your behalf and sometimes people think it's you. But that's a good thing because they engage more with the page if they think they're speaking with the celebrity directly."

"I'm not sure I like that."

"Well, do you have four hours every day to post and engage with your community because that's how long it takes to keep a social media page like yours active and engaged?"

"No, of course, I don't have that time."

"Then let us do what you hired us to do."

My leg bounced underneath the table. "Fine."

"Great." She stood up, and Ingrid immediately pushed away from the desk after her. "We'll release both statements today and work to end this scandal."

"Thanks," I said and watched them go.

Christian stood at the back of the room. I hadn't noticed him until now. His face was blank of expression, as usual, but as I walked past him to head into the recording room with Tessa, I heard him say, "Good job."

I turned around, surprised by how much his words reassured me I'd done the right thing and how much I needed to hear them. But "thanks," was all I said back to him.

"Finally, we can get to work," Tessa declared when I entered the recording room. "If you're finished with the paperwork, we can get down to business."

"That sounds great, Tessa. I had this idea for the bridge I wanted to run past you."

I sang the lyrics to her.

"Try it an octave lower."

I sang it lower as she suggested and the sound was softer, more vulnerable. "That's it, that's perfect," I said, clapping my hands.

"This one should be your first single on the next album. It's fresh."

I agreed. Although we'd only written and composed two songs so far, this one was already my favorite.

A few hours later, my voice was scratchy again.

"I think we should call it a night." I didn't want to damage my vocals.

"Sure thing. Back here tomorrow, same time?" she asked.

"Definitely."

I leaned in for a hug and said goodbye.

Christian stood at the front door, waiting for me. I passed him the car keys since I had a few emails and text messages to respond to on the way home.

I scrolled through my phone while he drove. I had seven messages from Trey. My shoulders loosened, and I smiled when I saw he had sent me a picture of himself making a heart sign. Aw! That was so sweet.

I scrolled to the next picture, and it was him again, this time holding up a peace sign. Cute.

The next picture was of Trey with his arms crossed and the last one was him leaning with his back against the wall.

Well, ok, those are a lot of pics, lol.

I read the message below them: Which one do you think would look best for the album cover? I like the one with my arms crossed because it shows off my biceps.

I scrolled back to that picture, examining said biceps. I had to zoom in on his arms. I guess there was a cut beneath the muscle if I looked close enough.

But… these photos weren't an apology. He didn't send them to make me laugh or beg for forgiveness. He was running business questions by me.

I called him up.

"Hey, babe, you like the heart sign one, don't you? I really think that one—"

"Trey, what are you doing? Why are you sending me these?"

"You always help me choose the best pics of myself."

I closed my eyes and counted to three. "Yes. That was when we were still together." My hand clenched my phone and my jaw tightened.

"Babe… we don't have to be together, together, to be together."

What?! Was he serious right now? "What the fuck does that mean?"

"I'm just keeping my distance and not coming over for a while. Doesn't mean we can't talk and message. So, which one do you like?"

"Yes, it does, Trey. It does mean that. I don't want a half-ass boyfriend. I want someone who will be there for me all the time, even when it gets rough."

"Hailey, what are you talking about, babe? We've been good together. Don't mess this up."

"I'm not having this conversation over the phone. If you want to talk to me, you can come by my house."

"I already told you I can't."

Ah! I hung up the phone and threw it on the floor. It landed with a thud at my feet.

My hands shook, and I kicked the console next to my feet. "Ouch! Damn it, that hurts."

Christian face hardened, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

A few minutes later, when I was still steaming mad, he turned to look at me. His gaze dropped to my feet and slowly assessed the rest of my body. "Are those clothes comfortable?" he asked.

I rubbed my palms against my black sweatpants. "Yes."

"Do you have someplace to be after this?"

"No. Why?" I rubbed my forehead as I thought about how Trey was gaslighting me.

"I think I know what you need."

His voice was steady and low. He hadn't said it to be sexy, but my body reacted as though he'd whispered those words in my ear and I shivered.

"You do?"

"Yes. You'll have to trust me, Hailey."

The strange thing was, in less than two weeks, I already did.