Page 4 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

1633 Broadway, Midtown Manhattan

10:43 AM

The glass doorsof the Art Deco high-rise swing shut behind us as the February air hits me like a slap to the face.

We've been holed up on the forty-second floor with Victor Reeves and his people in Pinnacle's conference rooms since eight this morning. Hammering out tour dates, marketing strategies, and album release plans starts to wear on me after so long. It’s the nitty gritty stuff that's crucial for a big label deal but doesn't exactly get my creative juices flowing.

Rockstars aren't meant for mornings. But as Luke continues to remind me, when Victor Reeves gives you an appointment, you go. Luke determined that we make the most of this meeting. And it was undoubtedly career-defining.

And that’s why he’s my manager. Luke is the only reason I’m here right now and not still stuck playing in some dive bar in Nashville.

Now that we are back on the busy, noisy street, suddenly all I can think about is the taste of the masked woman's lipstick. It was strawberry, I’m sure of it. It helped override the ashtray aftertaste from the smoky drinks.

"Earth to Callum." Luke's voice cuts through my thoughts. "That was the biggest meeting of your career, and you look like you are somewhere else entirely. You alright?"

"I'm good." I adjust my leather jacket against the wind whipping between buildings. Fuck, it’s cold as shit in this city. "Just processing."

Luke snorts, gesturing toward the coffee cart on the corner. "Try again. I've known you since you were playingLucky’s 3 Star Bar. That wasn't your processing face."

The vendor hands me a coffee and I inhale the comforting smell and the warmth. It's black, like my thoughts this morning.

Last night's whiskey sits heavy in my stomach, along with something else. Oh, yes. Those fucking smokey drinks. I need to just stick with my whiskey straight. Tried and true.

"There was this woman at the gala—" The words slip out before I can stop them.

"Christ." Luke runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Tell me you didn't."

"It wasn't like that." But it was. Her body pressed against mine in that dark, back bar left a permanent imprint. The fog swirling around our feet made it feel like a dream. Her fingers tracing my tattoos through my shirt sends a chill through me.

"And, no, I didn’t. Just a kiss. I don't even know who she is, I just can't stop thinking about that kiss."

"Just a kiss," he mimics, steering us toward Bryant Park. "The same way Nashville was just a pit stop? The same way Jake Morrison was just another producer?"

Morrison. The name hits like it always does, a sucker punch straight to my gut, dragging me back to that night at The Royal American in Charleston when he "discovered me."

He painted a picture of a future I couldn’t resist: sold-out shows, hit records, the kind of career I’d dreamed of since I first picked up a guitar. And I believed him. Hell, I was twenty-one and hungry, and he made it sound like he had all the answers.

What I didn’t know then was that Morrison didn’t have the connections or the clout to back up his talk. He didn’t get me anywhere; he just kept taking. Every gig, every dollar I scraped together playing seven nights a week—he’d nickel and dime me for it, no questions asked. While I burned myself out chasing the dream, he was cashing in on my hustle, waiting for me to make it big.

Dickhead. Why does he always have to throw this shit at me? "No, not like that," I say, but the words sound hollow even to me.

"Different how? Because she was wearing a mask? Because you didn't get her name?" Luke stops walking, turning to face me.

"Listen to me. You're about to blow up. The label's talking arena tours andRolling Stonefeatures. Everything you've worked for since you left Charleston six years ago is finally happening. Don't let some masquerade hookup derail you now."

He's right. I know he's right. But something about her...

The way she moved. The way she felt. It was like…Like Sienna.

Sienna.

I haven't said that name in years.

"Like every other distraction." Luke's voice softens. "Look, I get it. The mystique, the timing, the excitement of signing a record deal. It's a lot of emotion right now, but we have to keep our eye on the prize. Like you tell me every time some crazy hoe tries to fuck things up, none of them are worth the trouble."

"Yeah." I crush my empty coffee cup. "I remember."

Luke flags down a taxi. I sink into the cold back seat and the pleather seeps through my leather pants. My head still throbs from last night's over-indulgence. I knew I shouldn't have mixed my liquors.

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