Page 5 of It Happened on a Sunday
“Three-minute warning,” Jace calls from the hallway.
Lucinda ignores him. “You are who you think they want you to be. The fans won’t burn you in effigy if you decide to show them the real you.”
Been there, done that, got the bruisesandthe broken heart to prove it. “No, but they might strangle me. Again.”
She shoots me a look but doesn’t say anything else. She knows it’s true.
To prove I’m not a sore winner, I toast her with my flask before taking one last sip of tea.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes as she picks up the Alexander McQueen dress on the far left of the couch and heads toward me. “You could at least lay off the damn flask, though.”
“But the doctor tells me I need to stay hydrated.” I bat my inch-long falsies at her and pretend my head isn’t throbbing. “I’m just following orders.”
“So why not drink yourtealike a normal person?”
I don’t want her to know she’s scored a point, so I just shrug. “I tried normal. Turns out it’s not what they want from me.”
“And what do you want for yourself?”
Good music and a tour that doesn’t explode in scandal. In that order. I’ll do whatever I have to do—be whoever I have to be—to get it.
But what I say is, “Another willing victim, obviously. They do say three’s the charm.”
Lucinda doesn’t take the bait. She rarely does. There’s a reason she’s been with me for three tours now. Instead, she just holds the costume out to me and asks, “Do you need help getting sorted?”
“I think I can handle it.” The fewer people who touch me, the better.
I reach for the dress, which is very, very black and very, very short, with a corset-like bodice, lace sleeves, and an embellished skirt.
The perfect outfit for the Black Widow to wreak a little havoc in.
“You say that now, but wait ’til you try to lace that back up yourself.” She sends me an amused grin before gathering the other outfits and heading for the door.
I start to change my mind and ask her to stay, but knowing her eye for detail and the sadism that comes with it, she’ll tie the corset way too tight and I’ll end up onstage struggling to hold a note. With my luck, I’ll pass out from lack of oxygen and tomorrow’s headlines will all be about my hidden substance abuse problems and how I blacked out onstage. Now that I think about it, it’s not the worst idea.
I spend the next minute or so struggling into the dress—I really hate it when Lucinda’s right—and have just finished tying the damn thing up when there’s another knock on the door.
“Almost ready!” I call, which Olivia must take as a damn invitation because the door cracks open.
“Great, I’ll walk with you,” she answers, then pauses like she’s about to deliver bad news.
My stomach cramps up. Out of habit, I reach for my flask, wishing it was bourbon for the first time tonight, and whisper, “What now?”
Chapter 3
Sloane
My assistant manager shifts uncomfortably as she holds the door open for me, waiting until I’m in the hallway to deliver the bad news.
Once I’m there, she puts on a bright smile like it’s going to somehow make whatever horrible news she has to deliver better. “I just wanted to remind you of the meet-and-greet after the show.”
My whole body recoils at her words, my mind flashing back to the last meet-and-greet, when one of Jarrod’s self-proclaimed “biggest fans” jumped on top of me and started choking me out as revenge for his death. I tried to fight her off, but she was stronger than she looked, her hands like a vise around my neck. I shudder at the memory, a phantom pain pulsing in my throat.
Yeah, it only took about six seconds for security to get across the room and yank her off me, but that didn’t stop my vocal cords from being bruised to hell and back. The show and the tour still went on—somehow, it always does—but it hurt to sing for weeks. Not to mention my voice went from artfully husky to sounding like I really did drink a bottle of whiskey before each show, with a pack or two of cigarettes to chase.
I can’t do that tonight. I just can’t do it. Not when I already feel like all that’s left of me is glitter and ghosts.
“Security will be close at hand.” Olivia plows ahead. “And I’m sure it won’t be a problem. He plays for the Austin Twisters and—”
