Chapter 3
The next morning, Raine had her battered, faded blue spiral notebook spread across her lap as she wrote words for a song she might never have the chance to sing for an audience:
You use me.
I like it.
You play me.
I ask for more.
You rape me.
I bend over.
You steal me.
As she tried to think of the next line, her phone screen lit up with a notification.
Fucking Mal. Why couldn’t he leave her alone just for a day or two?
But, of course, he wanted her to move quickly before the label changed their mind about their offer yesterday—and she hated feeling that fucking pressure. With a sigh, she closed the notebook because, much as she hated it, she knew he was probably right.
Still, she stared at the notification for more than a minute before responding. His message said, Can you meet at the Starbucks a block from your apartment today? We need to talk.
Yeah…Mal always needed to talk.
But maybe she needed to get this shit over with.
After coming home yesterday from the meeting at the studio, she’d fallen into bed and slept until morning—a full nineteen hours—and had felt like she could have stayed under the covers even longer.
But she’d forced herself up and into the shower.
She’d been drinking coffee already and hadn’t had a bite…
so maybe, if nothing else, she could find something to eat at Starbucks.
If she could keep it down. It all depended on whatever Mal had to say.
So she sent him a text, letting him know she could be there in twenty minutes.
In the bathroom, she put on her signature kohl eyeliner all around her eyes, followed with smoky eyeshadow and two coats of mascara. A little lip balm and she was ready to go.
Except her hair was a mess. The blue in her locks was fading, needing a touch up—or maybe a new color entirely. She’d considered light pink with silver tips, and her fans loved how she switched it up every so often—but today she didn’t care so much. Her hair color was the least of her worries.
Today, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and called it good.
She hadn’t removed any of the jewelry from either ear and her septum piercing was still in place, so she went back to her bedroom and pulled on a light pink hoodie over her white t-shirt.
The jeans she wore were fine, so she put on a pair of black combat boots, ready to do battle with her manager.
Once she exited the apartment building, however, she pulled the hood up and over her head and kept her gaze down enough that people would have to bend down if they wanted to see her hidden face.
Not long after her first album at the age of seventeen broke big, she’d discovered how difficult it was to be a real person when a handful of people recognized you everywhere you went.
And in L.A., some people were always looking for celebrities.
Those people would spot you, even if they didn’t actually know who you were.
They just somehow figured out you were famous for something.
A few minutes later, she was at the Starbucks but Mal was nowhere to be seen.
All that sleep had managed to help her wrangle the monster back in control, but having to wait wasn’t helping.
So fucking typical. Mal always acted like his time was more important than hers, and she immediately regretted not bringing her notebook so she’d have something to do in the meantime.
Pulling the phone out of her pocket, she opened up TikTok and immediately closed it.
People were still talking about the charity show she’d performed in—and not about the charity or the concert…
but about her. Jesus. Would she ever be able to outlive that incident?
As she spotted Mal exiting a car through the windows, she wondered if he was right about any kind of publicity being good, even if it was negative, because it sure didn’t seem that way.
What little she’d exposed herself to online…didn’t feel positive at all. The reactions ranged from amusement to pity or disbelief. And she knew she’d have to deal with it at some point—but not now. Only as much as her fucking manager would make her.
As Mal approached, he asked, “Have you ordered yet?”
“No.”
With a frown, he got in line and Raine stood next to him. Mal’s dark brown hair was slicked back and, at the counter, Raine noticed that the cashier was flirting with him. Oh, yes, Mal looked good on the outside. He wore a light jacket and snug dark blue t-shirt and his smile was charming as usual.
A few minutes later, Raine and Mal were seated at a table in the corner.
Raine kept her hood on but pulled it back a bit so it would be easier to drink her coffee and look at Mal, much as she’d have liked to do anything else.
But her hope was that people wouldn’t notice her at all if she stayed as hidden as possible.
As she settled into the chair and eyed the wrap she’d purchased, she found that she had no appetite.
Maybe later.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?” Mal asked before taking a sip of his Americano.
Unable to quell the need to be a smart ass, she responded. “Yes, let’s.”
He pretended not to notice. “I know you caught part of the gist yesterday, but I want to fully outline just what we’re looking at.”
She clamped her teeth together. She wasn’t a fucking child; she understood there was damage that needed to be controlled or fixed. If it hadn’t been evident before, yesterday morning had certainly driven that point home. So she gave him a simple nod, her hand wrapped around the tall paper cup.
“Right now, no one wants to be associated with you. That’s why the label was already in motion to cancel the rest of the dates for your tour.”
“But that’s an overreaction. You know that as well as I do. Maybe the first one or two—”
“No. You’re wrong. It’s not just the label. Venues were reaching out too. You’re a hot potato right now. Nobody—and I mean nobody—wants to deal with you right now. Maybe ever.”
“Okay,” she said, having to let go of her cup before she crushed it. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Mal cocked his head, making sure Raine was looking at him before continuing. “The backlash is…” he paused, letting out a sigh. “Unbelievable. And it’s not done yet. There’s no amount of spin we can put on it to make it look good.”
“I don’t get it. How is this any different than anything else I’ve done in the past?”
Mal’s eyelids half closed as he tilted his head. “Do I need to spell it out for you? This wasn’t perceived as just another one of your stunts. This was like a step above.”
“But you said yesterday that this was just a hiccup. You assured the suits that I can still come through on my commitments and—”
“Yes, because I need to make them feel better—but we need to let things cool down a bit. And they will. You should know that as well as I do. Give it a few weeks and everyone will be talking about something else.”
And Raine would be forgotten, lost to obscurity…if the label had their way. “And where exactly does that leave me? If my tour dates are cancelled and my album’s on hold, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Well, that’s what I’m here to talk about. You said okay to working with Quentin Russo, but it was quite clear to all of us that you were just saying that because you knew that was what we wanted to hear.”
“What the hell was I supposed to do?” She was tired of being backed into corners.
“You were supposed to enthusiastically agree.”
At that, she actually chuckled. Obviously, none of these assholes understood her at all. “Yeah, okay.”
“I mean it, Raine. You don’t know how serious this is.”
“Oh, I do,” she said, nodding, her pale blue-gray eyes narrowing as if assessing her options.
“Then here’s how I see it. You have one play and one play only. If you try to do anything else, it’s game over and you can kiss it all goodbye.”
“And that play is to do whatever the fuck the label wants.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Goddammit. She knew he was right, but it pissed her off that he was. So she let it sink in. What if she decided to tell them all to fuck off?
She caught a glimpse of the future…and it didn’t look pretty. If Crushed Velvet didn’t want her and every other label out there thought she was damaged goods, they’d make sure she’d never work again. She’d heard stories about artists being pushed out of the business, despite their celebrity.
And Raine was far too young to retire from the career that was the only shining light in her world. The thought of being pushed into obscurity made her bones feel cold.
Mal took a long drink from his cup, wincing because it was still too hot.
Finally, he said, “The way the label sees it is we get you out of the spotlight for a bit, let all the chatter die down—and, while you’re gone, you’ll create a completely different album.
Then, like a phoenix, you’ll emerge from the ashes. ”
“And what if I don’t want that?”
“Then you’ll have to try to find someone else who’ll work with you. And good luck with that.”
Motherfucker. She wanted nothing more than to punch the shit out of the sleazy expression on his face.
But she knew he was right.
“Okay, fine. Let’s say I agree to a new album. Why does it have to be with Quentin Russo?”
“I don’t know. That’s who the label wants—and you’re not in a position to argue.”
Blowing out a breath, Raine pulled the phone out of her hoodie pocket and started tapping in Russo’s name.
When it pulled him up, she was hit with photos first and then, as she scrolled, headlines, mostly from eight years ago or more, filled the page.
“And why the hell do they think he’s the right guy?
” she asked, putting her phone on the table and swirling it so that it was right side up for Mal.
“If you think I’m a mess, I’ve got nothing on him. ”
She noticed, however, that there seemed to be something she had in common with him—he was full of rage and hatred. Maybe his label had fucked him over too.
But that wasn’t all. The man appeared to be an egotistical prick. Back when his star was burning brightly, his ego clashed with that of the frontman of the band—and he’d quit in the middle of a tour, leaving them high and dry.
At least Raine had never done that.
Mal looked up, his face unreadable, tapping the table beside her phone. “This is the old Quentin Russo. He’s had a chance to mellow and mature…and word is he’s brilliant behind the scenes.”
Raine continued staring at the upside-down screen, seeing words like Blow Up, Out of Control, and Angry Rant…
and tried to picture herself working with someone like that.
A guy like that would probably want to control her—and lose his shit when she pushed back.
If—if—she got stuck with this guy, she’d have to let him know immediately that she was in control, not him.
And, of course, this guy was a former heavy metal guitarist. He’d have no appreciation for her sound or her lyrics. Would he make her change her sound?
But there was something else she’d never say out loud.
Although she could do all kinds of research about this guy, she didn’t know Quentin Russo from Adam.
Already in her short life and even shorter career, she knew that men with power would take they wanted.
Was he going to be just another one of those predators?
What would she be getting into if she said yes to this arrangement?
Mal pushed her phone back to her and lifted his cup again, this time blowing through the spout in the lid, leaving her in her thoughts.
She only had two choices and she didn’t like either one.
The monster was filling her entire abdominal area, begging to be unleashed, causing Raine to want to beat the shit out of her manager, get on top of the table, and scream out her lungs.
But people didn’t want to hear any of that. They wanted her to be the good girl, to get on stage and perform, keep her mouth shut when she wasn’t singing, and then exit stage left. She’d tried…and now look where that got her.
If she said yes…what would happen?
She now fully understood what would happen if she said no.
It wouldn’t be long before she was working minimum wage jobs, scraping to get by.
And she might still have to deal with the predators out there, just trying to get a piece of her for free.
A cold chill darted up her spine as she shut her mind to that thought, quickly replaced by anger at feeling like she only had two shitty options.
Biting down the fury filling her tiny five-foot-four frame, she tightened her abdominal muscles and finally dared to let out the breath that had been trapped in her lungs.
As she saw it, she could do nothing…or keep her head held as high as she could and take this deal.
She would do it, but she’d do it her way.
“Yeah, okay. Fine. Do I need to sign something?”
As Mal responded, she retreated inside herself, immediately hating it, knowing they were probably right.
She needed this, like it or fucking not.