Page 8 of My UnTrue Love
At least that’s what people said. Nearly everyone was born with a True Love, who would allegedly bring them happily-ever-happiness. Good folks wouldn’t know their True Love until they slept with them, while Bad folks recognized their fated mate on sight.
Honestly, Clem thought the whole True Love thing was probably overrated. She wasn’t actively hunting the super-special guy that fate wanted her to marry. If he showed up, great! If he didn’t, she’d be just fine.
Good and Bad designations seemed silly to her, too. Tests were run on most people to check on their potential for villainy. Clem and Johnny had both tested Good. But Bill and one of her foster brothers had been designated Bad, when she’d neverknown either of them to do one wicked thing. The whole system was hogwash, and she put zero stock in it.
Personal choice was all that mattered to Clementine. A person had tochoosewho to be with andchoosehow to behave. Anything else was an abdication of freedom.
Bill watched her. “You’re not Johnny’s True Love, either. Not sure if you knew that.”
“Of course I knew it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was attracted to Johnny when I was younger, but he didn’t reciprocate for long. We kissed a few times…”
Bill’s jaw flexed.
“…That was the extent of it, though. It’s why we work together so well. Because there’s no underlying romantic feelings left between us.” She stopped and corrected herself. “Why weworkedtogether so well.”
He looked relieved by that summation.
“You’re the one I’m worried about, Bill. Johnny can take care of himself, but you need to find a manager. You have no idea how many unsavory people there are in the music business.” She held up a palm before he could protest. “You’re an honest man. You don’t understand how deceptive some folks are. A manager makes sure you’re not taken advantage of. You’re getting one and that’s final.”
“I already got a manager. I’m hirin’ you.”
She blinked. “Me? I’m just a muse.”
“I’m not fancy enough for a muse.” He sounded certain. “I want a manager. Someone who can ensure I’m not swindledby them deceitful fellas, you’re talkin’ about. I can pay you part of what I make. Fifty percent sound about right?”
“No, that’s too high!”
“Equal split.”
Good Lord, he was going to be eaten alive, if she didn’t help him. “You don’t have to give me any money. I’ll help you find work, just because we’re friends.”
“Nope.”
Clementine hesitated. That “nope” had been the firmest one yet. Paying her was clearly important to Bill. He was a proud man. “How about ten percent?”
“Fifty.”
“Fifteen?”
“Fifty.”
“That is not how you negotiate!”
“Forty-nine.”
“Thisis why you need someone to look out for you. Because you’re going to be fleeced in this town.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “We’ll settle on twenty-five. That’s over what managers usually get and I’m not even a professional.”
He didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “Alright.”
“Then, you’ve got yourself a manager.” Clementine felt an unexpected rush of excitement, mixed with fear.
There had to be a way to get Bill on a stage, where the right people could see him. She was exhausted from the emotional fallout of the evening, but her mind was bursting withnew ideas. Warmth returned to her chest. She suddenly hadn’t felt so inspired in a long time.
“Are you willing to sing?”
“Nope.”
“Have you ever tried?”
