Page 1 of Kicking it with my Fake Fiancé
Chapter One
Jared
Jared
Cold air washed over me as I stepped into my small apartment, out of the brutal summer heat. Gratitude that I had a good air conditioning unit spread through me as my body readjusted to a normal temperature. It was a summer that I had frequently described as “hotter than actual Hell” and I couldn’t imagine living somewhere without AC.
An alarm chirped on my phone and I sighed. “Okay, okay, I’m hurrying,” I muttered to nobody in particular as I rushed to the dining table that doubled as a workspace. I threw open my laptop, knowing I couldn’t be late for my meeting, and pulled up the video conferencing program and clicked into the meeting. A moment later, my agent’s name appeared on the screen as he dialed in and turned on his camera.
“Hi, Jared,” Paul said, a genuine smile on his face.
“Hey, Paul. How’s everything? How are the kids?”
“Everything’s good, thanks for asking. Samuel just finished up middle school, and Allie is headed into sixth grade, believe it or not.”
I nodded, grinning back. “They’re growing up so fast.”
“That they are.” He looked down at what I’d learned long ago was a steno pad, like the ones he kept handy for all his conversations. “Now, how are the shows going?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Not bad. We had a few hundred ticket sales at the last one, and a pretty good merch turnout on top of it.”
“Good, good.” He jotted down some notes before looking up at me. His lips were pressed together in a thin line and his eyes were tight. “Listen, Jared–”
“Paul, if you’re going to drop me–”
He held up a hand to cut me off. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
“I can do better,” I insisted. “Ican. I can draw bigger audiences. I know I can. I just need time. Some good publicity. It’ll happen. I know it will.”
Paul closed his eyes briefly. “I know you can, too, kid. That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated a moment before speaking. “You’re not getting any younger, you know that, right?”
“I’m not even thirty!”
“The labels are signing them younger and younger these days. You know I just secured a three-record deal for a sixteen-year-old?”
I scowled. “This sounds like a problem with the way you’re pitching me, not a problem with my talent.”
He shrugged. “It’s just the way things are. I’ve pitched your sound. They like you. That’s not the issue. The issue is you don’t have enough of a fan base. They have years to craft the teenager into an image the fans will like. With you, they know they have to take you as you are, and building a rabid fan base off of a thirty-year-old–”
“Twenty-nine.”
He cleared his throat. “Twenty-nine-year-old pop punk act is a lot harder.”
I grunted, not sure of what to say.
“Look, I’m not dropping you as a client. I’m just saying, if you want to make a real go at this career, you’re going to have to find a way to build a fan base. A big one, and soon.”
“What am I supposed to do then? How exactly am I supposed to become a breakout star overnight?”
Paul scratched at his stubble and thought for a moment. “You need a story. Something to draw people in. Give them a reason to care. That teenager, she lost everything in an apartment fire. You know where we found her? Busking on a street corner, trying to raise money to replace her school supplies and wardrobe.”
I frowned. “You want me to burn my house down?” I asked, tone deadpan. “It’s a rental.”
He rolled his eyes. “Look, kid, everyone loves a story. Why should they give a shit about you? Like I said, give them a reason to care. I can handle the rest.”
