One and Only (In the Spotlight #7)

Chapter One

Rick Marcus parked two houses down. Not because anyone would recognize his car.

No one cared enough for that anymore, but old habits remained.

In his head, there were still cameras, still people watching, still a story that could be told a certain way to make him seem like someone he wasn’t.

A sensational story to sell to the masses at his expense.

His manager’s house sat behind a clipped hedge and a neat white fence. Warm light glowed in the front windows. It was the kind of house that belonged to a man who’d never once worried about a bad review or a chart position in his life.

The email he'd received had him clenching his hands into fists.

Graham agreeing to the meeting because he could fit him in.

Fit him in like Rick was an inconvenience that Graham had to deal with.

No, Rick was more than a mere inconvenience and he'd prove that to Graham. Prove he could hit the top again.

Rick took a breath, checked his hair and goatee in the rearview mirror, then got out of his car.

He didn’t bring anything with him. He’d thought about it, then decided it might look a little too desperate.

He wasn’t desperate. He was motivated. There was a difference.

He wanted to be back at the top of the charts, not begging for a chance.

The air had a chill to it now that winter had arrived, and Rick pulled his coat tighter as he walked up the path. At the door, he smoothed his hands down his jeans, wiped away the sweat, took a deep breath, and rang the bell.

He heard footsteps approach the door, then there was a pause before the door opened.

His manager, Graham Barclay, stood in a gray sweater and jeans, a glass of wine already in his hand. His dark hair was thinner than it used to be, and he had a few more wrinkles around his eyes. Other than that, the years appeared to have been kinder to Graham than to Rick.

“Rick.” Graham smiled. “How are you?” He knew exactly how Rick was, as Rick had been calling and messaging for weeks to get this dinner.

Rick smiled anyway. The smile he’d worn on red carpets, on morning shows, on stages with lights so bright he couldn’t see the front row, and the roar of the crowd deafening him.

“Hey,” he said. “Thanks for having me.”

Graham stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

The house smelled of garlic and roasted meat, and Rick’s stomach rumbled. He ignored his hunger. He was here to get his career back on track, so he had to remain focused on that.

He hung his coat on the rack and followed Graham toward the dining room. The table was set for two with candles lit, nice plates, and glasses. It would have been almost sweet if Rick didn’t know what the evening was really about.

A conversation about his future.

They sat and ate and talked about safe topics at first. Graham’s recent trip to Spain, a friend Rick pretended to remember, an artist Graham was working with now.

Some kid with a buzz-cut and a tattooed face who had a song go viral on TikTok.

Rick kept his expression neutral and forced himself to listen, even though his impatience was growing.

He couldn’t care less about the kid, but he nodded when he needed to because it was the right thing to do.

Every time Graham said “we,” it wasn’t Rick he meant anymore, and Rick knew it.

After they’d finished eating and the plates had been cleared, Graham poured more wine. Rick said no and took a glass of water instead. If tonight went the way he feared, he needed his head clear so he could focus on his future.

Graham sat back, elbow on the chair arm, with his glass in hand. He watched Rick for a minute with a look Rick couldn’t quite place. Not pity exactly. More waiting for something.

Rick took that as his cue and leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the table. “Okay,” he said. “So. I’ve been working. Like, actively working.”

Graham made a small sound. “Go on.”

Rick nodded. “I’ve got songs. Real songs. Not the stuff people expect from me. I’m not trying to recreate the sound I used to have. It’s… more grown. More honest and real to me.”

Graham took a sip of wine. He said nothing, but nodded for Rick to continue.

Rick kept going, words tumbling now that he’d started speaking.

“And I’ve been talking to a producer. Well, not talking, exactly, but I’ve got someone who can get me a meeting.

It’s a guy who’s doing a lot of work right now.

He understands how to build something, you know, like momentum.

How to get people to listen. And I know you said the label wouldn’t be interested—”

“I didn’t say the label wouldn’t be interested,” Graham murmured. “I said the label wouldn’t be interested in spending money.”

Rick swallowed hard and nodded. “That’s why I’m willing to do it differently. Independent. Smaller budget. I’ll put my own money into it.”

Graham’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You have money to put into it?”

Rick fisted his hand, anger building inside. “I’m not broke.”

Graham didn’t smile. He just tilted his head and watched Rick. “I didn’t say you were. I asked because you’re talking about hiring people. Studio time. Marketing. And you haven’t been earning like you used to.”

Rick clenched his fist tight. “That’s the point. I will again.”

Graham sighed and slowly put his glass down on the table. “Rick.” The way he said his name made Rick’s stomach tighten. “Look—”

Rick forced a laugh. “Come on. Don’t start with that tone.”

Graham held his gaze. “What tone?”

“The tone you use when you’re about to tell me why it’s not possible,” Rick snapped before he could stop himself.

He drew a breath and softened his voice, smiling to take the sting out of what he’d said.

“Look. The fans still care. I see the comments. I see the old videos people post. That song still hits. It still does numbers.”

Graham’s face didn’t change. “That song,” Graham said, “was lightning.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “It was talent.”

“It was timing,” Graham corrected. “And luck. And you being in the right place with the right writer in the room. That doesn’t mean you aren’t talented. It means you caught the wave, and you rode it successfully.”

Rick stared. “So what? That’s it?”

Graham leaned forward slightly, sighing softly. “Rick, listen to me.”

“I am listening.” Rick clenched his jaw, then made an effort to relax.

“No, you want to argue.” Rick opened his mouth, but Graham kept going. “You had one hit. One. It went to number one, and it stayed there for eleven weeks. It sold like nothing I’ve seen in a decade. And I’m not taking that away from you. But everything after that… every single—”

“They weren’t flops,” Rick muttered sharply.

Graham’s gaze held Rick’s. “None of them entered the top forty.”

Rick’s chest tightened, his heart rate spiking. “Graham—”

“The album after that sold less than ten thousand copies,” Graham continued.

“Less than. And you know what the label said? That you were a moment. That they were never going to get that again. I fought for you, I really did. I got you chances. Features. Remixes. Radio pushes. And every time, it fizzled out and went nowhere.”

Rick’s hands were trembling now. He tucked them under the table and pressed his fingers into his thighs. He knew where this was going. “You didn’t fight,” Rick said, his voice low. “You gave up.”

Graham’s expression didn’t flicker. “I didn’t give up. I adjusted. That’s what good management does. We look at what it actually is, not what we wish it to be.”

Rick laughed, a hard sound that echoed in the room. “So you’re saying I should just… disappear.”

“I’m saying you should pivot,” Graham said. “Behind the scenes. Production. Writing. Talent scouting. You’ve got a good ear when you’re not focused on yourself. You could build something from that.”

Rick stared at him. “I’m not a behind-the-scenes guy.”

Graham’s face softened slightly. “You might have to be.”

Rick pushed his chair back an inch. “No.”

Graham lifted a hand. “Rick—”

“No,” Rick said again, louder this time. His heart hammered in his chest so loudly he thought Graham could hear it. “Do you hear yourself? You’re telling me to quit. You’re telling me it’s over.”

Graham’s mouth tightened. “I’m telling you the truth. The public isn’t interested.”

Rick shook his head, anger mixing with something else. Fear. Not of Graham, but what Graham was telling him. “That’s not true,” Rick said. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Graham replied. “I see the numbers. I see the trends. I see the industry. It’s moved on, Rick, and you need to move on too.”

Rick leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Then make them look again.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t force people to care.”

Rick’s lips flattened. “You can force a lot of things.”

Graham went still, his eyes locked on Rick. “What did you say?”

Rick realized what he’d said and tried to smile it away. “I’m saying you can make them pay attention. That’s what we do.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “No. That’s what you did ten years ago. When you were hungry and you listened. When you took direction.”

Rick felt his temper snap. “I listened. I did everything you told me. I smiled when you told me to smile. I went on those stupid interviews. I sang the song until my throat was raw. I gave you everything.”

“And you got everything,” Graham replied. “For a while, but nothing lasts forever, Rick.”

The words hit hard. Rick shoved his chair back fully, but Graham didn’t flinch. He just watched, as though he’d been waiting for Rick to explode because of what he was saying.

“Graham—”

“Sit down,” Graham said.

Rick blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Sit down,” Graham repeated in a firm voice. “You’re getting emotional, and it’s not helping.”

Rick’s hands clenched. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

Graham’s voice stayed level. “Then stop acting like one.”