Chapter 41
Six months later
The rehearsal space Liam has rented for the preparations for Taylor’s first New York concert rings with the final chords of Lengua de fuego.
Taylor lets her arms drop to her sides, panting and smiling as sweat slides down her forehead.
A few yards from the small stage, Abigail stands motionless by the soundboard, perched on a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels, her indispensable planner in hand and that stone-faced, unreadable expression she wears most of the time.
Taylor asked her to be here these days, and even if she hadn’t, she would have been, because she and Liam tend to have that dynamic with all their artists.
As the only partners, they’re always there for the biggest moments, and this concert is the kickoff for Taylor—the first of a few before her tour begins.
A small show, but packed with important people.
"Perfect," David says with a smile, setting his guitar down to grab a towel and dry his hands. "If you sing like that tomorrow, you’ll have it in the bag," the guitarist adds.
Taylor smiles back, but her eyes immediately seek the approval of the one person she’s always trusted, whose opinion she values above all others. Abigail’s gray-green gaze is fixed on her, showing a hint of a smile only Taylor is able to catch.
"The EP’s ready," Liam announces, walking into the room with a box holding the first physical copies. "Black Universal is thrilled; the advance previews already have over one million streams."
"One million," Taylor repeats, eyebrows lifting, dazed.
Abigail walks over to Liam with that dazzling elegance that always takes Taylor’s breath away and picks up one of the copies to study the cover. The image shows the singer in black and white, with a defiant look and that crooked smile that always stirs something in the executive’s chest.
"Stunning," Abigail murmurs, and Taylor feels heat flare through her at the sound of it.
"Well," Liam says. "Everything’s set. The auditorium’s sound system has been checked three times, and the guest list is confirmed. Harris will be there, along with several journalists from the most important music magazines."
Taylor swallows, feeling the reality of what will happen tomorrow slam into her all at once.
She won’t be singing at Rusty’s, not even at the Smithville festival.
This is New York, a theater with barely two thousand seats but packed with industry executives and music journalists who can make a career take off—or tank it—with a single comment.
"You okay?" David asks when he sees Taylor freeze.
"Yeah," she lies, but Abigail catches that almost imperceptible tremor in her voice.
"Let’s go," the executive orders, placing a hand on her back. "You’ve rehearsed enough for today."
"Good," Liam says as the musicians start packing up. "See you tomorrow at six in the morning at the theater for the final soundcheck. After that, you’ll have the day free until seven p.m.," he adds, looking at Taylor.
"Okay," the singer replies, putting her guitar away to leave the space with Abigail.
The next morning, they arrive at the theater together, only Abigail takes a seat out in the house beside Liam while Taylor climbs the stage feeling like she’s about to jump off a cliff.
She’s been in theaters before as a spectator, but this one feels imposing even though right now the only thing stretching out before her is row after row of empty seats, save for the ones occupied by her agent and her girl.
Taylor feels a flutter in her chest at the thought of Abigail; she wants to smile and look at her, but she’s so nervous she doesn’t dare.
"The mic’s right there," David points out, amused.
Taylor looks at him like he’s speaking another language, until she realizes she’s two steps to the right of the microphone.
"I think she’s a little nervous, huh?" Liam murmurs under his breath in his partner’s ear.
Abigail doesn’t answer, her gaze locked on Taylor as she studies every movement and reaction.
"Whenever you’re ready, Taylor," the tech calls from the booth.
She nods, but when she opens her mouth only a thread of sound comes out. She clears her throat and tries again, better this time, but still restrained, with no trace of the fire that always accompanies her.
"I stand corrected," Liam whispers, amused by the scene. "She’s a fucking nervous wreck."
"Then why the hell are you still sitting here?" Abigail roars. "You’re her agent—your job is to talk to her and calm her down. Or are you expecting her to make it through a song in that state?"
Liam crosses one leg over the other, settling into the seat with leisurely calm under Abigail’s withering glare.
"That would be my job if you weren’t here today," his partner replies, "but you are."
Abigail frowns.
"Seriously, Abby?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "Do you really think my words are what Taylor needs right now? If I go up there, she’ll ignore me like a piece of furniture. This is on you and you know it, so get moving—we don’t have all morning."
Abigail arches a brow and then lets out a huff.
"Please remind me again why we’re partners," she mutters as she stands.
"Because you adore me."
Abigail doesn’t even turn to look at him; she simply smiles as she walks to the edge of the stage.
"Taylor, come here," she orders with that powerful growl that makes everyone stop.
The singer steps away from the mic, comes to the edge, and sits with her feet dangling when Abigail pats the floor.
"What’s going on with you?" the executive asks, softening her tone.
"Nothing," Taylor lies, though her lip trembles a little, betrayed by her nerves.
"Nothing," Abigail repeats, lifting a brow. "Look at me and tell me what you see," the executive asks, placing her hands on Taylor’s shoulders.
Taylor blinks, somewhere between confused and amused.
"You."
"Exactly. And tonight, when you step on this stage again, you’ll see two thousand people, but the only one who matters is me," Abigail says in that silken voice that makes Taylor’s pulse race.
"I’ll be right there." Abigail points to one side of the stage.
"If you get nervous, think that I’m the only one watching you. "
"Yeah, okay," Taylor smiles, feeling the tension leave her shoulders all at once. "Sorry, it’s just that all of this…"
"It’s fine," Abigail says. "You haven’t had an audience since the festival—it’s normal to be nervous, but you’ve done this before; you know this is your place." The executive pats the stage floor a few times. "Make everyone who comes here tonight see it as clearly as I do."
Taylor twists her famous crooked smile, and her dark eyes go wide as she looks at Abigail like she wants to devour her right then and there.
"Now sing," the executive orders, holding back a smile as she steps away.
The singer heads back to center stage and Abigail to her seat, and when Taylor opens her mouth, there isn’t a trace of the insecurity she’d shown minutes earlier.
"Told you," Liam murmurs, pleased. "She didn’t need me."
The rest of the day passes in a haze for Taylor. She has lunch with her sister Tiffany, who arrived last night from Tennessee to be at the concert.
"Remember where you come from and how far you’ve come," Tiffany encourages her.
Taylor smiles and takes her sister’s hand, though all she can think about is Abigail’s gray-green gaze and her words: "The only one who matters is me." Taylor’s chest buzzes when she remembers.
"God," Tiffany says, rolling her eyes, "if you could see the goofy look on your face when you think about her, you’d try to hide it a little."
Taylor’s eyes go almost as wide as her mouth, but she can’t stop smiling.
"Sorry," she says, amused, not bothering to make up an excuse. "Sometimes my head just goes fuzzy. By the way, I’ll introduce you to Erin today—she’s coming tonight too. You’re going to freak; she’s the complete opposite of Abby."
Tiffany gives a skeptical look; it’s hard for her to imagine anyone who shares blood with Abigail being as warm as Taylor describes this Erin.
This is the third time Tiffany has come to New York, and on none of the previous visits did she get the chance to meet her, but she has to admit she’s very intrigued.
"We’ll see if that’s true," she murmurs with a smile. "Shall we go? You should rest a bit before tonight."
Taylor nods to appease her sister, but she doubts she’ll manage to even close her eyes.
At seven on the dot, the two sisters are at the theater. Hair and makeup are waiting for Taylor in the dressing room, but before sitting down and letting them transform her, she needs to see Abigail, who’s been there with Liam since four, making sure everything’s ready for tonight.
She finds her in the wings, on the phone while pointing at something in her planner with her finger. She’s wearing a white suit that clings to every line of her body and her hair is swept into a loose bun that makes Taylor hold her breath when Abigail hangs up and turns toward her.
"Is everything the way you like it, or did you bark at someone?" Taylor asks, walking up to her.
Abigail smiles without opening her mouth, letting the air out through her nose with a self-satisfied expression that makes it very clear she’s pleased.
"All in order," she replies in her particular clipped tone. "Full house, press in position, Harris in the front row, and Liam making sure everyone stays where they should. The only one missing is you."
Taylor nods but doesn’t move; she stays there, looking at Abigail with her dark eyes and that crooked smile that always unsettles her.
"What?" Abigail asks, arching a brow.
"Nothing, I just wanted to see you."
Now it’s Abigail who goes still, unable to quite read Taylor’s body language. She isn’t sure if the singer wants to jump her, hug her, or just keep looking at her, but time is against them now, and Abigail can’t allow anything that might make Taylor nervous.