“Come on. I’m texting Andre and Annie now.” I put the phone on speaker while I type. “There. Now if you don’t come, you’ll be letting them down.”
“Fine. But only because I don’t want to upset Andre…or your steam shower.”
“They’re both very needy,” I deadpan. “It’s a whole thing. Not Annie though, she’s a saint.”
“Well, thanks, Jaxon. It’ll be…fun to see what your life is like there.” Her tone changes as she says it, her voice sounding unbelievably sad as she says the word “fun.”
I know she’s thinking about the fifteen years of my life that she knows nothing about, but I don’t know how to make that better. So I say, “I promise it’ll be a good time.”
“I know. I’d better let you go, though. Night, Jaxon.”
“Night, Iz.”
“Isabel,” she whispers before hanging up.
Before I have time to analyze what the hell just happened with Izzy, my phone buzzes, Andre’s response coming through.
Andre
WE GET TO MEET IZZY?!
Me
You met Izzy in Australia.
Andre
No. Izzy was in Australia, avoiding you. As we are always with you, we didn’t get to meet her other than a quick wave when she was backstage for your show.
You know the time. With the look.
Me
What look?
A second later, my phone starts ringing.
I answer on the second ring. “What look?” I repeat, not even bothering with a hello.
“You know,” Andre says, his voice a little too smug for someone who is talking to their boss. “The look. The one backstage at Sydney.”
I blink, caught off guard. “There wasn’t a look.”
“You two stared at each other for like a minute straight. Just stopped everything you were doing and stared.”
I remember the exact moment he’s talking about, but I didn’t realize other people noticed it. The show was about to start, and I was backstage with my whole prep team. The pre-show chaos was moving full-steam, and then all of a sudden, there she was, looking right at me. It was the first time I’d seen her face in fifteen years, and I was shook. It didn’t help that she was wearing this tiny black tank top, jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots—every country boy’s wet dream.
“I think you’re overselling it,” I say.
Andre scoffs. “The entire crew talked about it for over a week. They shipped you so fast, you two were basically married with twins on the way in everyone’s minds.”
Now it’s my turn to scoff. “That isn’t true.”
“It may be a little extreme, but it was intense enough that I confirmed with your security team that you two hadn’t slept together—just to make sure she didn’t need an NDA.”
I lean forward, my hand gripping the phone a little tighter. “Izzy is not someone I need to give an NDA to.”
I understand Andre has made women sign nondisclosure agreements frequently throughout his time working with me. It’s standard operating procedure before anyone I might be interested in makes their way to my room, but it still pisses me off that he’s suggesting Izzy needed to sign one.
