The record company had offered a new contract months ago despite Nash’s mishaps and bad publicity, but R.J. had asked them to not mention it to keep Nash in line. His producer supported a duet with Ivy, but R.J. had claimed Nash wanted Peyton instead.
People wanted to make money with Nash’s music, but if his wishes worked toward their goal, they were happy to do as he wanted.
Everyone, that was, except his manager.
It had to stop. And would.
Today.
What mattered most to Nash wasn’t having another song hit number one. It was Ivy. She was more important than his career, even himself. But he hadn’t acted like she was.
A text notification buzzed. His heart slammed against his chest. Ivy?
He grabbed his phone.
Mama Aimee:Have you spoken to the snake yet?
Nash:Waiting for him to arrive.
Mama Aimee:Let me know if I need to kick the slime ball’s bottom. No one messes with my babies. Love you, Nev.
Nash smiled, something he’d never thought he’d be doing today. He loved that woman, and knowing she and Sid loved him in return was a much-needed burst of sunshine today.
His front door opened.
Even though this was Nash’s house, R.J. never rang the bell. He always walked in. He might have a key, which meant calling a locksmith.
R.J. entered the living room in his typical designer suit and leather loafers. He dressed more Wall Street than Nashville. “Good to have you back where you belong. You look good. R and R was what you needed.”
Nope. Ivy was what Nash needed, but R.J. had misled him. “So any word on a new contract?”
R.J. sat on the couch. “Everyone’s excited about the duet with Peyton. A lucrative contract is in the works.”
Liar.A sharp pain hit Nash’s chest. A copy of the contract was in a manila folder on the coffee table, but hearing the one person Nash had trusted with his career lie left him feeling exposed and vulnerable, a way that reminded him too much of his childhood.
Nothing R.J. said would fix this. Which meant…
Nash stared directly into his manager’s eyes. Funny how they appeared beady. He’d never noticed before. “You’re fired.”
R.J. startled. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brows furrowed. “What?”
“You’re no longer my manager.”
“I-I don’t understand.” His mouth twisted. “Are you drunk? On drugs? Let me help you.”
“I’m one hundred percent sober and more clear-minded than I’ve been in a long time. Your services as my manager are no longer necessary.”
R.J. thrust out his chest. “But I made you. Took you from those bars and seedy venues to stardom.”
“You did a lot for me, but somewhere along the line it became less about me and more about what you wanted.” Nash removed the contract from the folder and tossed it at R.J., whose eyes widened. “You lied about the contract. I have no idea if there are more lies, but I’m assuming there are. But worse, because I followed your advice, I lost the woman I love. I’m assuming you knew that would happen, too.”
“That lounge singer is not worthy of you. She’s nothing more than a waitress and a wannabe.” R.J.’s harsh tone matched the mean expression on his face. “And be real, Nash. Deep feelings don’t develop in two weeks. Love takes time to grow. She’s only using you to get ahead with her music or to seek revenge for what happened ten years ago.”
Nash’s temper flared. He clenched his hands so tight his nails dug into his palms. “You’re wrong. Ivy Quinn is talented, hardworking, and one of the best people I know. I love her. Even if I don’t stand a chance of getting her back, I will let her know how much she means to me.”
A beat passed. R.J. rubbed his palms on his pants.
“Okay, I underestimated your feelings for Ivy, but let’s not go crazy.” R.J. flashed a closed-mouth smile—one that appeared fake. “We’ve been through so much together. Achieved great things. No one knows you the way I do.”
