Chapter 2
LOGAN
I should have stayed in bed.
Instead, I was here, standing in some too-cozy, too-quirky bookstore about to be lectured by my manager and some PR robot in heels about how I was ruining my career.
Fantastic.
I shoved my sunglasses up into my hair and rubbed a hand over my face. I didn’t ask for this meeting. I didn’t ask for any of this. But my manager, Mick Hayes, had all but dragged me here, muttering something about damage control and how my label was “this close” to dropping me.
“Finally,” Mick sighed, striding into the empty shop.
“Sorry, we’re late.” Mick was tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair cut sharp around his jaw and a five o’clock shadow that somehow made him look both distinguished and dangerous.
His shirt was crisp, his watch expensive, and he moved with the confidence of a man who had brokered deals in boardrooms, back alleys, and Beverly Hills brunch spots.
The PR woman checked the time on her phone before looking up, her expression smooth, her voice effortlessly composed. “No worries. I know how unpredictable schedules can be.”
I almost laughed. This was not the same woman who had practically snarled at me outside.
Now she was the picture of charm and restraint, all crisp professionalism and carefully measured smiles.
Unbelievable. If she hadn’t nearly stabbed me with her glare over some scattered papers, I might’ve bought it.
I should have let it go. But something about the way she narrowed her eyes at me got under my skin. Like she was judging me, like I was a problem she had to fix.
“I overslept,” I said flatly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was up late doing very important things.”
Her expression didn’t change. “Drinking?”
“Living.” I flashed a grin.
She sat down and motioned for Mick and me to sit down as well. She folded her hands neatly on the table, offering a smooth, diplomatic smile. “I appreciate you both taking the time to meet.”
“Oh yeah,” I deadpanned. “Can’t think of a better way to spend my day.”
Mick kicked me under the table so hard that I nearly yelped.
If the sarcasm bothered her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she nodded, as if I’d confirmed something she already knew, and got straight to business.
“Alright, let’s talk about where things stand.
Your label is concerned. Your last few press interviews didn’t go well.
The tabloids are running with every negative headline they can find, and there’s serious talk of dropping you completely.
” She paused, making sure I was listening before adding, “We need to take control of the narrative before it’s too late. ”
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms behind my head. “I don’t see the problem.”
Elizabeth blinked. “You don’t see a problem with your label wanting to drop you?”
I shrugged. “They’re not going to drop me. I’m in New Orleans recording my latest album. That’s what matters. Who cares what the tabloids say?”
She tilted her head, studying me. “You don’t see a problem with getting into a shouting match with a journalist last week?”
“Nope. He asked a stupid question.”
“What about the video of you climbing a hotel balcony barefoot?”
I coughed. “That’s not a big deal. I made it back inside, didn’t I?”
She arched a brow. “And the fact that you may or may not have stolen a golf cart from a country club?”
I frowned. “Okay, first of all, I borrowed it. And second, they got it back.”
Her lips pressed together like she was trying very hard not to react. “It was found in a fountain.”
“Details.”
Mick groaned and rubbed his temples. “This is what I’m dealing with, Elizabeth.”
She exhaled slowly, like she was recalibrating, then she leveled me with a look so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it cut straight through my usual defenses.
“Logan, you don’t just have an image problem. You’re making yourself irrelevant.”
I scoffed. “Irrelevant?”
She nodded. “Your label isn’t just worried about bad press. They’re worried that people are getting tired of you. The reckless rock star thing? The unpredictable antics? It’s been done. And if your music isn’t the story, then what are you?”
Silence settled between us.
That stung more than I wanted to admit.
I sighed. “Right. And what genius PR stunt are we pulling this time? Are you going to make me cry on cue? Give some heartfelt apology about how I’ve ‘grown as a person’?”
Mick snorted. “Well, I was going to suggest a fake marriage.”
I barked out a laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s a great idea. What, you want me to find some sweet, wholesome girl next door and pretend I’ve been in love this whole time?”
Mick grinned. “Exactly.”
He and I both laughed because, obviously, that was ridiculous.
But Elizabeth didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes sharpening like a shark catching the scent of blood. “A fake marriage would never work.”
“Exactly,” I said, relieved that, for once, we agreed on something.
She continued, “If you suddenly showed up married, it would feel impulsive, chaotic—exactly the opposite of what we need. Yes, marriage is a commitment, and commitment is good, but doing it out of nowhere? That screams Vegas and a bad hangover.”
I smirked. “I mean, that does sound like something I’d do.”
She ignored that. “We have to be careful. If this plan backfires, it won’t make you look stable—it’ll make you look even more reckless.”
I nodded. “Right. So glad we’re on the same page.”
“Which is why a fake marriage won’t work, but a fake relationship makes much more sense.”
Wait, what?
I blinked. “Oh, no way.”
She didn’t even pause. “It’ll work. It might be the only thing that will work.”
I turned to her, baffled. “Are you serious?”
She shrugged, perfectly calm. Too calm. Like she’d already done the mental math and decided this was the most efficient way to fix my life.
“A well-executed staged relationship would shift the narrative. If the public sees you with someone stable and respected, it could help reset your image. Give them something else to talk about besides... well, you.”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, so we’re just selling me off to the highest bidder now?”
“Not at all,” she said smoothly, eyes steady. “You’d be getting something out of it, too.”
And that’s when I realized that she wasn’t just thinking about this in theory. She’d already decided.
“There has to be a better way,” I said. I doubted that anyone would even believe it.
It had been years since I’d even attempted anything resembling a real relationship.
Had I ever? Casual was easy—no expectations, no attachments, no fallout.
Women liked the idea of me: the rock star, the bad boy, the guy their friends would freak out over.
And for a while, that was fine. I liked the attention, the thrill of it.
The rush of knowing I could walk into any room and have someone’s full, undivided admiration before I even spoke a word.
Because I wasn’t just famous, I was the whole package.
The face, the voice, and the confidence that made people stop and pay attention. The sharp jawline that looked good in magazine spreads. The charm that had gotten me out of more trouble than I deserved.
And yet, here I was.
I used to care about the music, the fans, the rush of it all. But after my dad got sick, something in me just... shut off. The fight, the drive, the part of me that used to care all faded, like a song I couldn’t hear anymore.
In the past year, I’d tested just how much I could screw up before someone finally pulled the plug on me entirely.
And now? The industry had caught up. The label was fed up with me.
My sponsorships? Gone. My tour? A disaster.
And my fanbase? Even the most loyal ones were starting to waver, beginning to wonder if maybe I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.
That was what really stung.
Because it wasn’t only about the money. It wasn’t about selling out stadiums or having my name in lights.
It was about the music.
And if I didn’t fix this, I wouldn’t get to play anymore.
No more recording contracts, no more headlining tours, no more standing in front of a crowd and feeling that electric pulse of thousands of people singing my lyrics back to me.
And that? That scared me.
I didn’t know who I was without it.
Elizabeth exhaled, straightening in her chair like she was preparing for battle. “Alright, let’s go through other options.” She started counting off on her fingers. “You could lead a music workshop for high school students.”
“Sounds fun. Do they mind if I curse?”
Elizabeth squinted. “Yes.”
I smiled. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem. What’s next?”
Elizabeth was undeterred. “Okay, what about something health-focused? A meditation retreat? Self-reflection is great PR.”
I shook my head. “Pass. I don’t meditate or self-reflect.”
“A fitness partnership?” Elizabeth suggested. “People love a good transformation story.”
Nope. “I refuse to let the internet watch me struggle through a hundred push-ups. Next.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. “You could partner with a literacy foundation, and maybe help with a reading campaign.”
“Like, reading to kids?”
“That’s right,” she said.
“You do realize my last album had a song called ‘Whiskey & Regrets,’ right?”
Mick broke in then. “Yeah, let’s not put him in a room full of impressionable young minds. Moving on.”
Elizabeth sighed, then leaned back in her chair. “At this point, a staged relationship would be the fastest way to turn things around.”
I snorted. “You’re serious about this?”
“It’s the only strategy that checks all the boxes: it stabilizes your image, it gives people something positive to focus on, and it makes you seem reliable.”
Reliable. Right. Because that’s what people wanted from me? A dependable rock star? Someone predictable, polished, and packaged for mass consumption?
I let out a short laugh. “Oh, right, because nothing screams ‘stable’ like faking a whole relationship. Mick, help me out here.”
Mick cleared his throat. “I think Elizabeth is on to something. And she is the best in the business.”
I glared at my manager. Traitor.
Elizabeth sat forward in the chair. “The public loves a redemption arc. A well-executed relationship could make people see you as someone they want to root for, not just another rock star spiraling out.”
I stared at her. “So you’re saying I need a girlfriend to make me less of a disaster?”
“Basically.”
The idea of playing pretend, of pasting on a smile while some carefully chosen woman clung to my arm, was enough to make my skin crawl. I’d spent too much of my life feeling like a prop in other people’s narratives. I shook my head, pushing back from the table. “Not happening.”
Mick sighed. “We’ll put a pin in it, but think about it, Logan. It might work.”
I stormed out without another word.
But before I reached the door, I looked back at Elizabeth.
Her brown hair was twisted into a tight, no-nonsense bun. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her gaze was so cool it made me shiver.
She was controlling. Uptight. The exact kind of person I didn’t need in my life. I’d had enough of people thinking they knew what was best for me. I needed space to breathe, not someone trying to run my life like a board meeting.
I walked outside, but I didn’t know where the car was, so I waited for Mick. The whole meeting had been a joke, a waste of time, and now here I was, standing outside like I needed to cool off.
He came out a few minutes later. I shook my head. “She’s unbelievable,” I muttered. “Thinks she’s got all the answers. Like she’s gonna walk in here and clean up my life when she can’t even handle her own.”
Mick exhaled, but I wasn’t finished. The words kept rolling out, the anger behind them hotter than the coffee cooling in my hands.
Because the worst part? I knew she wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t invincible. Not anymore.
I’d spent the last year pretending I was, daring the industry to cut me loose, to prove that I wasn’t worth the trouble. And one by one, they had. The label. The sponsors. The people who used to fight for me. They’d all moved on.
I should have seen it coming. Shoot, I did see it coming.
But knowing something and being ready to fix it were two different things.
And maybe that’s why this whole thing made me so angry.
Because I knew I needed to make a change.
I knew I couldn’t keep going like this. But not this way.
Not with some PR handler barking orders, shoving me into a fake relationship like that was gonna fix everything.
I ran a hand over my jaw, forcing a humorless laugh.
“You know Elizabeth must have messed up. Badly. You don’t get kicked out of New York City and exiled to New Orleans unless you’re in trouble.
” I took a slow sip of coffee, shaking my head.
“It’s pathetic. She’s out here, acting like she’s in control, when we both know she’s one mistake away from getting tossed out of the industry for good. It’s pathetic.”
The words sounded cruel, even to me, but I didn’t take them back. Because if I admitted she was one step away from losing everything… I’d have to admit that I was, too.
Mick shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his jaw. “Logan—”
Click. Click. Click.
I turned in time to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim yellow light spilling from inside.
Her arms were crossed, her face unreadable.
And yet, something about the way she stood there made my stomach tighten.
She took a step forward, her voice perfectly even. “You know what’s pathetic?”
I clenched my jaw, waiting.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes locked on mine. “You. You think you’re calling me out? That you’re the first person to try to take me down?” She let out a soft, almost amused breath. “You’re not even the first this week.”
I rolled my eyes, but something in my chest burned.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking deliberately against the pavement. “You say I’m horrible at my job, but here’s the thing. You need me.” Her gaze flicked over me, unimpressed.
I clenched my jaw, but she wasn’t finished.
“You can’t fix yourself, so you take shots at the person trying to help you. And why?” She gave a slow, knowing smile. “Because deep down, you know I’m right.”
My chest tightened.
I took a step closer, my voice dropping. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “I know enough.” With the kind of smile that could carve through a man’s gut, she turned and walked back inside, leaving me standing there in the thick, humid air.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The air around me felt quieter. Heavier.
Mick let out a long exhale, shaking his head. “She got you good.”
I scoffed, lifting the coffee cup to my lips. “Please.”
And yet, as I stared at the closed door, her words kept replaying in my head. Because deep down, you know I’m right.
I muttered a curse under my breath and threw the rest of my coffee into the gutter.
It was cold anyway.