8. Callie
8
CALLIE
“No.”
My answer is immediate as I shake my head and stand, ready to bolt.
Torren clears his throat and throws his palms up. “Just hear me out. Let me finish. Then if you still say no, you can leave, but I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
I glare at him. I search his face. It doesn’t look nefarious.
In fact, he almost looks desperate. Almost .
Mostly, though, he just looks detached. All business. That’s why I sit down. I can handle detached.
“Thank you. I’d like for you to enter into a PR relationship with me. You’ve probably seen that rumors are once again circulating about a relationship between Sav and me. This is...not ideal...for several reasons. Our hope is that a relationship of my own will be enough to kill the rumors.”
He pauses, but when I don’t speak, he moves forward.
“It would be for the next three months while we’re finishing up our American tour. We would engage in several public outings and some mild displays of affection. You would have to attend the concerts and travel on the tour bus?—”
“I’d have to go on tour with you?” I interrupt, the shock evident in my tone. “I can’t leave my job for three months. I can’t just go gallivanting around the country to be your arm candy. I have responsibilities. I have?—”
“We would compensate you, Miss James,” Hammond says, and I sigh.
“It’s Callie.”
“We would compensate you. Sixty thousand dollars to be paid in six installments. Twice a month for the extent of the tour, but should you choose to leave early—and you are free to leave whenever you choose—you will forfeit the rest of the payments.”
I blink. I blink again. My heart stops. I’m dead. No, I’m dying, and this is some weird fucking fever dream.
Sixty thousand dollars. It would take me years to save up that kind of money. That money could pay off Mom’s medical bills. Pay for more physical therapy. It could help put Glory through community college.
“Breathe. Breathe, Callie.”
Torren’s voice breaks through the loud thumping in my ears, and I slowly raise my eyes to meet his. Then I gasp, sucking in mouthfuls of air. Why does this man always take my breath away? And not in a good way.
I close my eyes and focus on breathing until my brain is functioning, then I make eye contact again. I make eye contact and I do my best to pretend like it doesn’t turn me inside out.
“What are the reasons?”
Torren doesn’t answer. Instead, he flicks his eyes at Sav, which makes fire lick up my insides.
“You said there were several reasons why the stories aren’t ideal. It must be something bad if you’re willing to pay me to play pretend with you. I want to know the reasons.”
“I have a stalker,” Sav states, and I whip my head to her. She gives me a smile-like grimace. “I have a stalker, and they really don’t seem to like the relationship rumors.”
“And they are rumors?”
She nods sincerely. “Yes, they are.”
I turn my head to Torren and try to read his face. It’s blank. No heartbreak, but no confirmation, either. It leaves me feeling uneasy.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about the engagement debacle that took place last year—to dig into the details of that whole tabloid storm about a fire, a sex tape, and an affair—but something more pressing grabs my attention.
“Will I be in danger?”
Sav shakes her head.
“We don’t think so. You’ll have your own security, and the stalker pretty much disappears when someone else is in the picture.” She laughs, but it’s tired and makes me feel a twinge of sympathy for her. “And anyway, they usually only fuck with me.”
I glance back at Hammond and Torren.
“So this whole thing will be to keep Sav safe? It’s just for her benefit?”
It’s Mabel Rossi who answers me.
“No. It will really help all of us. I’m sure you can imagine that having a stalker is really fucking annoying.”
I quirk a brow. I’ve never once imagined having a stalker. She keeps speaking.
“It messes with group morale. It messes with Sav’s performances, which messes with our performances. It stunts our creativity. It creates stress. Honestly, it’s a huge fucking mess.”
I glance at Jonah Hendrix. I could have forgotten he was here if I didn’t constantly feel his stare. He hasn’t said a word, but he nods in agreement.
I bring my eyes to my feet, my fingers once again coming up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m getting a tension headache, and what’s worse is that my protective streak is forcing its way out of the box where I’m trying to shove it.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this,” Sav says. I don’t look at her, but I nod to signal I’m listening. “This isn’t some minor thing. There will be press. Yeah, some of it will be arranged by Hammond, but a lot of it won’t be. There will be a lack of privacy. Being on tour isn’t always luxurious, especially when we’re camping on the buses.”
I want to laugh. I remember how their bus looks on the inside. It’s a reminder of how different we are that they don’t consider it luxury.
“And honestly, a PR relationship isn’t much fun, either. Trust me on that. I would know.”
I hear a scoff from behind me, and when I peek my eyes open to glance at Torren, it’s obvious he took offense to what Sav said .
I sit up and sigh. “You’re doing a shit job at selling it.”
Sav shrugs. “I’ve learned honesty is the best policy.”
“Consider it a favor for a favor,” Torren says.
“And what favor are you doing for me?”
“You help us get through this PR disaster, and we make it so you don’t have to work so much. We both get something out of this arrangement that we need.”
When I don’t answer right away, Hammond speaks up.
“Sixty thousand dollars isn’t incentive enough?”
His question fills me with defeat. The truth is, sixty thousand dollars is all the incentive I need. I’d mentally agreed the moment the figure left his mouth. A disappointing fact is that I can, and now have, been bought.
Awesome. So much for integrity.
I nod slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I have stipulations.”
“We’ll consider them,” Hammond says.
I swallow hard, channel all of Glory Bell’s boldness, and begin.
“I want my own space on the bus.”
“We’ve already arranged to give you the big room on our bus,” Sav says, gesturing between her and Mabel. “Mabes and I will take the bunks, and you’ll have your own room when we stay in hotels, too.”
I furrow my brow, momentarily surprised. I’m getting the star’s room? I almost tell her that’s not necessary, but I choke it back. I’m going to need my own space if I’m going to make it through this emotionally unscathed.
“I also want the first two-week payment up front. I need to leave something with my mom and sister if I’m going to be gone.”
“Done,” Hammond says.
“And I, um...” I glance at Sav briefly, then back at Hammond. “I don’t want to be around drugs. Especially anything with needles.”
Sav groans immediately, and I flick my eyes back to her. Mabel is biting her lip to hide a smile, but Sav is staring at the ceiling.
“Why is that the one thing everyone seems to remember? One stupid magazine in the fucking UK prints the lie one time , and it’s all anybody remembers. Why couldn’t the adrenaline junkie or sex fiend articles be the ones that stuck in people’s heads?”
Mabel laughs outright. “You thought it was hilarious at the time. ”
Sav shoots Mabel a glare. “That was before I knew it would follow me into sobriety.”
My surprise once again spikes. “It was a lie?”
Sav rolls her eyes. “Yes, it was a lie. I hate needles. Can’t stand the sight of them. They make me queasy. That’s even why my tattoos are all on my back. Heroin was never my drug of choice.”
“So...the alcohol and pills? The cocaine?”
She gives me a smirk. “That was true. Mostly whiskey and Xanax. Cocaine if I went too hard on those two.”
“Bullshit. Cocaine before every show,” Mabel says, and Sav laughs.
“That’s because I always went too hard the night before every show.”
“Touché.”
“Anyway,” Sav continues, looking back at me. “I’m sober. I don’t even drink.”
“And the rest of you?”
I don’t miss the tension in Sav’s shoulders when she gives me a flat smile.
“Mostly. But we’ll make sure it doesn’t affect you.”
That was cryptic, but I suppose it’s more than I can expect from a rock band. I nod.
“Anything else, Miss James?” Hammond asks, and I huff, frowning in his direction.
“Yes. Call me Callie.”
“Noted. Anything else.”
“I want eighty thousand.”
The flash of surprise on Hammond’s face matches the flood of shock I feel in my stomach. I can’t believe I just said that, and the brief pause—the look he shoots at Torren—has me immediately wanting to walk it back. Sixty is fine. It’s more than fine. I shouldn’t spit in the face of this offer and risk losing it all. I open my mouth, but then Hammond nods, so I snap it shut again.
“Fine.”
I try my damnedest not to look as stunned as I feel and clear my throat.
“And one more thing,” I say.
I glance at Torren and find his eyes on me, then look back at Hammond. He seems to be the safe landing. I feel nothing when I look at him except mild irritation.
But Torren? Sav? That’s more complicated.
“No...um, sex stuff.”
“Of course,” Torren says, drawing my eyes back to him. “That’s not expected of you.”
“I’m not a groupie,” I say firmly, and he flinches.
His brows fold in further and he nods. “I know. That’s not what this is.”
“Good.” I take a deep breath. “Good. Where’s the contract?”
Hammond hands me the tablet once again, and it takes me thirty minutes to read through the PDF. Hammond offers me a drink and I turn it down, determined to absorb every last detail. Once I’m sure I have, I sign the contract. Hammond sends me a digital copy, and then he reaches out his hand.
I take it, and he shakes firmly.
“Thank you, Callie. We’ll have someone pick you up on Monday. That will be enough time to get your affairs in order?”
Three days. I have three days to quit my job, explain this to my mom and sister, and prepare myself mentally. No amount of time would be enough time for that last one.
“Sure.” I turn to Sav, Mabel, and Jonah. “See you Monday, I guess.”
Mabel smiles. “See you Monday.”
“And thank you,” Sav adds.
Jonah says nothing.
All I can do is nod, and then Torren is leading me out the door and to the elevator.
“I’m going to have Damon drive you home, but I’ll be there to pick you up on Monday.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you for agreeing to do this.”
I sigh. “Full disclosure, I’m not really in the position to turn down eighty grand, but something tells me you already know that.”
He doesn’t say anything, which is confirmation enough. He pushes the button on the elevator, and I turn to face him. One last time, I let myself peer into those mesmerizing green eyes, and he peers back. The eye contact stretches, making the skin on the back of my neck prickle with awareness, unearthing memories I’d much rather leave buried, but I can’t look away.
Despite my better judgment, my eyes beg for some sort of recognition. Some sign that I was worth remembering. That I was more .
But I get nothing.
When the elevator door opens, the connection is broken, and I step into it without speaking. I breathe through my nose and keep my attention on the ground in front of me.
“See you Monday, Callie.”
His voice draws my eyes up once more, and he gives me a small smile. I don’t return it, but I don’t look away either. Not until the elevator door closes, and I’m plummeting to the ground.
In more ways than one.