“Threaten him with what?”
“The album, of course.” Milo waves his hand dismissively.
“It’s all Slayer cares about these days. That experimental sound he’s been working on—Sterling hates it, thinks it’s commercial suicide. But Slayer’s obsessed with evolving his music.”
“Can you tell me more about him?”
Milo studies me. “Why so curious? You just insisted it’s only business between you two.”
My cheeks warm, and I manage what I hope is a casual shrug. “Professional curiosity. Hard to play the adoring girlfriend if I know nothing about him.”
“Fair enough,” Milo agrees. “Well, here’s a professional tip: Don’t mention his ex-wives. Don’t ask about his childhood. And whatever you do, don’t comment on his music unless it’s positive.”
“That’s a lot of conversational landmines.”
“Welcome to life with the Dark Prince. His moods are legendary. Last year at Cannes, a reporter asked about his ‘creative decline’ and Slayer almost punched him out.”
“Sounds intense.”
“You have no idea.” Milo leans closer.
“Remember, your sunny vibe is why Sterling chose you. It’s the perfect counter to Slayer’s darkness. The fans will eat it up. They’re already eating it up. Have you looked at your accounts like I told you to?”
Before I can respond, Pierre steps into the room. “Dinner is served.”
I turn around, and I’m instantly impressed.
In less than a minute, he’s transformed the sitting area into a fine dining room. In the center is a beautifully set table, like in the restaurants I sometimes see on Netflix.
We rise, and I’m flattered when Pierre holds my chair out.Life in the fast lane!
As we dine on steak and lobster, Milo fills me in on everyone we’ll meet in Saint-Tropez—music executives with wandering hands to avoid, critics whose opinions matter, photographers who can be trusted.
“But the real fun starts at the after-parties,” he says, eyes gleaming. “That’s where careers are made and broken. Last year, one of Sterling’s artists got so drunk he fell into the pool with the critic fromRolling Stone. Career over before it began.”
“No pressure, then.”
“Oh, honey, it’s all pressure.” Milo dabs his lips with a napkin. “Now, I’ll walk you back to your room. We should get some sleep before landing.”
When we reach my door, Milo pauses. “Don’t take Slayer’s moods personally. He’s been fighting for this album for years. There’s a lot at stake.”
“I know.” More than Milo realizes.
“And don’t believe everything you read about him. The real Slayer is...complicated.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
Milo leans in to kiss my cheek. “Sleep well, fake girlfriend. Tomorrow, the circus begins.”
CHAPTER 23
BIX
Though the combination of Champagne and the white noise of the plane should send me to a quick slumber, I can’t sleep.
I change into the silky robe Pierre must have laid out on the bed, but every time I close my eyes, I see Slayer. The way he moved through the private airport lounge…all lean muscle and powerful grace.
The way conversations stopped mid-sentence as he passed. The way women pretended not to stare while staring anyway.
