Page 10 of Saving the Rockstar

By the time I emerged from the bathroom, they both looked up. As I padded in, Vivian's pacing slowed down while Dylan took a seat, his face etched with concern.

"I've been on the phone with the label,” Vivian said. “They're keen to get ahead of this thing before it spirals any further out of control."

"What Viv is trying to say," Dylan cut in, "is that the label has some concerns. About public perception and all that jazz."

I turned to stare at him in disbelief. "Jesus, is that seriously what we're worried about right now? Not the fact that my life has been fucking invaded, my privacy torn to shreds-"

"That's exactly what we're worried about," Vivian snapped, color high on her cheeks. "The fans. The people who pay for your lavish fucking lifestyle and ensure the continued goodwill of the moneymen slurping coke in the executive suites."

"Vivian..." Dylan's voice held a note of warning, his eyes flashing dangerously.

But she steamrolled right over him. "No, you need to hear this, Asher. Ticket sales. Album streams. Every fucking cent that flows into your bank account depends on your marketability. An aspirational figure for teens and a harmless lust object for their mothers."

As I hated to admit it, she wasn't wrong. The music industry was first and foremost a business, and I was its primary product. A walking, talking, guitar-slinging cash cow, every facet of my life and image painstakingly curated to appeal to the broadest possible demographic.

And nothing threatened that careful curation like a good, old-fashioned gay scandal.

"Okay. What do we do?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan's head swivel toward me, his mouth falling open on a disbelieving gape. But I couldn't look at him, couldn't withstand the righteously indignant protectiveness I knew I'd find there.

"First things first, we need to get you out in front of this. Control the narrative before some else does. I've already drafted a statement for you to release, something vague about your commitment to living authentically and respecting the privacy of your personal life."

Dylan, who had been uncharacteristically quiet so far, suddenly piped up, voice tight with barely restrained anger. "Wait, so that's it? Asher's whole goddamn life just got upended, and your solution is some mealy-mouthed non-denial that doesn't even begin to address the real issue?"

"And what is the real issue, Dylan?" she snapped, eyes sparking with challenge.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that Asher just got dragged out of the closet against his will by some bottom-feeding sleaze? That his privacy, his fundamental right to decide how and when and to whom he reveals himself, was just violated in the most heinous way possible?"

He was breathing hard by the end of his tirade. I stared at him in surprise. If I'd ever had any doubts about his loyalty, his unwavering willingness to ride into battle for me, they swiftly ended in that moment.

But Vivian simply turned to me. "The fact is, the band is on the verge of something huge here. You guys are destined to cross over into full-blown mainstream superstardom. But that only happens if we play this smart."

I swallowed hard. "Okay. I'll do it. Just tell me what you need me to do."

Dylan made a wounded noise, lurching forward like he wanted to physically place himself between me and Vivian's calculating gaze. But I held up a hand to stop him, meeting his wild eyes with a steadiness I didn't feel.

"It's okay, Dylan. I'm okay. It's just business, right?"

For a long moment, he just stared at me, jaw working furiously around all the arguments I could see boiling behind his eyes. But then, with what looked like a Herculean effort, he snapped his teeth shut and gave a single, jerky nod.

"There's one more thing," Vivian said. "With the tour coming up, and the inevitable media circus that's going to follow in the wake of this, the label thinks it would be best to beef up your personal security."

I blinked at her. "Like a bodyguard? I thought that's what Sal was for."

"Sal's spread thin as it is, coordinating security for the whole band and crew. What you need is someone dedicated solely to you - someone to watch your back 24/7, make sure the crazies and the paparazzi don't get within striking distance."

My stomach turned at the thought of having some stranger intruding on the few slivers of privacy I had left. But if that photo had taught me anything, it was that my life was no longer my own.

"Fine," I bit out. "But I get final say on who it is."

"That's fair," Vivian said, already tapping away at her phone. "I have a short list of candidates the label has pre-approved. All of them have extensive military or law enforcement backgrounds. I can set up interviews as early as-"

She broke off suddenly, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline as she stared down at her screen. "Well, that's unexpected." She turned the phone to face me. "I wasn't aware you'd already met one of the candidates. When did you cross paths with Jared?"

I froze. There, staring up at me from Vivian's phone, was a face I was sure I'd never forget. Chiseled jaw, lush mouth pursed in a stern line. Arresting eyes boring into me like they could strip me bare and see straight through to the tattered remains of my soul.

"Earth to Asher," Dylan singsonged, leaning over to peer at the screen. When he caught sight of Jared's dossier, his eyebrows shot up, a delighted grin splitting his face.

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