Movers and Shakers (The Family Business #3)

3. Prologue

Prologue

Lila

W hen making a fake identity, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to remember my own damn name.

I’m not Rose. I’m Lila. Lila Wilde.

The reminder bounced around my head, but I had a feeling I would struggle to remember what name I answered to.

My eyes searched the crowd for the man I was there for—Rick Thorne, the agent who could change my life. When Dad told me he would be here, I knew this could have been the moment that made my music career take off.

Most people wouldn’t have bought a custom-made wig before coming to an open mic event at an LA café, but Mom’s wide-eyed, nervous expression followed me around from the moment I told her.

“What if everyone knows your name? Don’t you see how stars are treated? You’d have no privacy. I’d have no privacy.” Mom’s voice had shaken when Dad gave us the news, and for a while, I thought about forgoing my dream of singing.

But then I had a harebrained, wild idea.

Mom couldn’t handle people knowing Rose’s name. But what about a different one?

What about Lila Wilde?

I took a shaky breath. This plan would work. It had to. I wanted my music to have a home, but I also wanted Mom to have peace. If I became Lila, everyone would be happy; that was all I wanted.

Slow, quiet applause brought me out of my thoughts as the performer before me exited the stage. I hadn’t listened too closely, but I had caught him struggling to manage both playing his guitar and singing.

The poor guy wasn’t made for multitasking.

I watched his twisted frown as he breezed past me. Despite his sullen mood, my eyes drifted to his toned jawline and dark hair.

He was cute.

I wondered if he liked what he saw when I was Lila. Gone was my red hair, covered by a black wig. This wasn’t my best look, but my skin tone looked decent enough once I paired it with darker lashes and red lips. After I did my makeup like Mom and I had discussed, I barely recognized myself, which must have meant my disguise was good.

I looked at Dad, who gave me a thumbs-up. This was the first time I’d seen him in a while. A few years ago, he left to travel after Mom and his divorce was final. Mom told me he was never the kind of man to stay in one place very long and that I should make peace with the fact that he’d been gone.

When he’d called me and told me about this opportunity, I’d been shocked. I’d mentioned my writing and singing the few times we talked on the phone, but I didn’t know he’d remembered.

His planning all of this for me meant more than I could say.

Of course, here, he wasn’t Dad . He was just a guy who came to see the show. Lila Wilde didn’t have any connections to the people who birthed me. On the off chance I did get famous, people would try to find everything they could, or at least that’s what Mom was worried about.

I grabbed my guitar and darted up there, wishing she had joined. Most of my songs had been sung to her first, even if she wasn’t all that into music. Luckily, Dad offered to record my performance, which meant she got to be safe and comfortable back in Canada.

And if she was happy, I was happy.

“Hi,” I said to the crowd, cursing the shakiness in my voice. “I’m Lila. Lila Wilde.” The name sounded odd on my lips. “I wrote this myself. I hope you like it.”

I strummed the first chord, pretending I was at home rather than in front of people. It was the only way I could ignore my nerves. All of my fears fell away as I sang. I’d practiced for this. I knew every note to hit, every move to make, and how to get the crowd to melt in my hands. I didn’t focus on them, though. I focused on the words I’d written alone in my room.

When it was over, I was surprised by the loud applause. My eyes slid to the agent, whose lips formed a smile.

I stepped off the stage with shaky hands, taking in all the applause. Rick walked up to me the moment I did.

“You wrote that yourself?” he asked.

“I did,” I replied. “Was it good?”

“More than good.” He handed me a business card. “You know, you remind me of my daughter. She’s your age and has the same drive you do. Maybe you could be friends.”

I had no idea if I wanted a friend or not, but I did know that I needed to make this guy happy if I was going to hear my songs on the radio.

“That sounds fun,” I replied. Rick’s smile told me I’d said the right thing.

“I’ll be in touch.”

He’d be in touch? Yes!

“O-okay. Thank you!”

He smiled at me one last time and then turned. The guy who’d gone on before me was behind him.

“Blaze,” Rick said. “You did your best.”

But nothing else.

I winced and watched the boy’s face fall.

But he didn’t stay down for long. His brown eyes moved to me and his smile returned. “You were fantastic.” His voice was smooth. He held out a hand. “Blaze Matthews.”

“Ro—I mean, Lila. Lila Wilde.”

“Was that written about your boyfriend?” he asked.

“No. I don’t have one of those.”

It was actually written about a day out with Mom, but I’d never admit that. I didn’t want to sound naive.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

Tomorrow, I was supposed to go back home in the middle of nowhere and tell Mom how it had gone. But this was an opportunity. Rick would probably call and I knew it would be best to hang around. I glanced over at Dad, hoping he would be okay with staying one more day.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Why?”

“Because I think we could make a good team. I also know Rick pretty well, considering I’m friends with his daughter.”

If I knew one thing, it was that I needed to make connections in LA. I nodded, taking all of him in as if I could read his mind from one look.

I could be what he wanted. I could be what Rick wanted as well. And if it meant putting away Rose and being Lila, then I could do that too.

This dream of mine was the one selfish thing I was allowing myself, yet knowing I needed to make Rick and Blaze happy was comforting. I did my best work when it was for others and this had the potential to be everything .

Barry

“Barry!” Ruth snapped, throwing a pillow. “Get out of my room! I’m trying to study!”

“For what?” I asked. “Another test? Who cares?”

I knew the answer. She cared. Tom did too.

And because Dad cared.

I never saw why. If we were going to college, would the admissions office care about one test? Wasn’t it the cumulative effort? Why did every single detail have to be perfect?

I’d tried to tell Ruth that, but she studied like her life depended on it. She was determined to be better than Tom, who was already top of his class.

“You need to catch up to him,” Mom had told her. “Be better than he is.”

She’d tried that on me, and it had gone in one ear and out the other.

“Just because you don’t care about what Mom and Dad think doesn’t mean I don’t. Go away!”

“Can’t we hang out or something? I’m bored .”

“No!” She threw another pillow.

I rolled my eyes, but they caught on a CD she had in her room. I grabbed it, wondering if theft would distract her from her studies.

“I’m taking this,” I singsonged.

“I don’t care.”

“I really am.”

“Just go!”

I slowly walked out of the room, CD in hand. It didn’t do anything to curb the disappointment. Sometimes, I could get Ruth to hang out—something I loved since Mom and Dad didn’t let us have friends over because we needed to focus on our studies.

This was obviously not one of those days.

When I got to my room, Mom called out that I needed to be working on homework. I ignored her and slammed the door, alone once again.

But at least in the confines of my bedroom, no one was telling me what to do.

I looked at the CD, seeing a girl with black hair and hazel eyes staring back at me.

She’s pretty, I thought. I wondered what her music would sound like.

I grabbed my CD player and put it in, knowing I had nothing better to do.

Words filtered over me. It was an upbeat party song with a killer baseline, and the girl singing had a bright voice, in tune at every note, even when she belted.

We didn’t listen to music in the Murray household. Tom had tried to once, but then he stopped out of nowhere. Ruth probably listened to this while doing her homework.

The second song came on as I was mulling over the fact that my brother and sister were at our parents’ beck and call.

But then the lyrics hit me. They were about the moments of silence when alone, when no one’s expectations awaited you.

And they hit hard .

I sat up and grabbed the lyric book, flipping to the second song. As I read along, I saw myself in the words and felt connected to this pop star in a way I never had with anyone else.

Suddenly, being alone didn’t seem so bad if I got to listen to her sing.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d use my meager allowance to buy more of her stuff. And Ruth wasn’t getting her CD back. I doubted she would care all that much anyway.

No one ever really cared in the first place.