Page 62 of All of You

Whit

“No, thank you,” I said as diplomatically as possible.

“What do you mean?” Nikki said, her voice calm, but the little twitch at the side of her cheek told me she was getting tired of me. This happened daily, but it was early to be there already.

“I mean what I said—no, thank you.” I poured steaming coffee into a bowl-sized mug and let the too-warm feeling heat my hands as I cupped it.

“That’s not a response. Try again,” Nikki clipped.

I felt it. It’d been inching its way to the top of me, about to spring loose, and Nikki was the one who kept poking at it. My restlessness, my irritation, my general feeling of being off was about to explode all over her.

I wasn’t a diva. I never had been. But I was stubborn; I could be inconsiderate in my single-mindedness, and I knew that.

But times like these, when someone who worked for me couldn’t take a beat and understand what I was saying… Lord help me.

“Okay. I’ll try again.” The coffee cup went on the counter. I drew in a slow breath, willing the ragey righteousness to calm. “No, thank you, I do not want to perform with Colton Danes at the Grammys.”

Her jaw hardened, and I could practically hear her grinding her molars into pearly rubble.

“Whit. Use your brain for a minute here. They want a Country medley, and you’re going to do it. You say no, you’re going to look like the biggest diva out there. You don’t need that on your list of questionable qualities.”

My hand was on my hip now, and if I’d had the presence of mind to be chagrined, I might have been. Instead, I lost the tether on my offness.

“Nikki. What. The. Hell. Are you talking about? Am I a convict? Am I some notorious lech or drunk or princess? Am I some kind of criminal and I don’t even know it? Why can’t I say no to something that would have me cozying up to that spineless creep?” My voice hadn’t raised—not much—but I was spitting mad, and she could see that.

She pressed her lips together and stretched them into a sour smile, the expression one I’d seen before, but maybe not with that glint in her eyes.

“Let me explain this to you so you understand. I’m doing my job—a job you pay me for, and which I do well. You have a reputation—whether you’ve done anything to actually deserve it or not—that you cheated on Rock and Roll’s beloved son. As you pursue working with Johnson, a man who is notoriously old-fashioned, you have to do everything I say. You made the goals. You asked for this to be carried out.”

She took a breath, and neither of us spoke.

“I’m sick of this. There’s no way rumors should affect my career like this.” I stared down into the black coffee in my mug.

“Yeah, well, there’s the price of fame, right?” Her bitterness rang clear and had me checking her face.

“Is there anything we need to talk about… beyond this?”

It wasn’t uncommon for us to disagree, or even to fight a bit. But lately, the edge between us had been sharper.

“It’s fine. I’m just stressed.” She gathered up her notebook, computer, and phone. “Am I telling the Grammys yes?”

I let out an audible sigh. “Fine.”

She left minutes later. I plunked onto a stool and let myself turn over the last half hour, trying to figure out how it’d ended with a fight and me still performing with that nightmare of a man Danes.

Nikki was right when she said I’d set the goal up—I needed to work with John Smith Johnson because working with him, more than anyone else, would give me opportunities I wanted. If I ever wanted to transition to soundtrack and scores, he was my way in, and I needed his whole-hearted backing.

To get there, I had to play the game. I had to do what needed to be done, and if that meant tolerating a few rehearsals and sharing the stage with Colton Danes, I could do it. At least a bunch of other people would be suffering along with me.

Ben probably wouldn’t be too happy about it, either. But he’d understand. And it wasn’t like it was an intimate duet—that was saved for me and Jamie, which didn’t seem to rankle Ben in the same way, but maybe that was only because they hadn’t been in the same room together.

I wondered what would happen when Ben and Jamie did meet. They’d both been through a lot, and a large part of me thought maybe they’d become friends.

At that thought, my friend and my boyfriend meeting, a pang of longing for Ben hit me. We hadn’t even used that term—boyfriend—but that’s what he was, and I hoped he’d think of me as his girl.

I rolled my eyes at myself and gulped down the last of my coffee, then rinsed the mug, set it in the dishwasher, and wiped down the sink. It was time to face Kendra and my workout. I’d see Ben soon, and after more than a week apart, I wanted it to be good.

Ben

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