“Which is the problem.” Nash struggled not to lose his temper. “You took advantage of that, using my past to play off my fears so I’d rely on you, trust you, stick with you. No matter what.”
Yesterday, he’d been introduced to his producer’s wife, who was a therapist. She’d met Nash for breakfast this morning. She also knew the music business so she helped him understand how R.J. had done this to Nash. She’d recommended more sessions with her or someone else, which he agreed to schedule soon. Mama Aimee had suggested he see a counselor over the years, but R.J. had claimed it would hurt Nash’s image if anyone found out.
“But that’s over now,” he added in case his former manager wasn’t paying attention.
R.J.’s face paled. “I’m all you’ve got.”
“Not any longer.” Nash picked up an envelope that his new lawyer had prepared. Thankfully, his financial planner had entered the picture early enough he wasn’t one of R.J.’s cronies, and Nash’s investments were secure. “This dissolves our agreement. I’ve included a severance for our years together.”
R.J.’s jaw jutted forward. “You’ll regret this, Neville. Without me, you’re nothing. Just some sad foster kid who wasn’t loved by his parents.”
Nash didn’t flinch. Yes, the words stung, but he wouldn’t allow R.J. to hurt him again.
“Then you can laugh when you see me on a cable reality TV show, trying to stay relevant.” Though Nash knew that would never happen. “You know the way out.”
Heavy footsteps echoed through the house until the front door slammed. Nash breathed a sigh of relief. He’d taken care of business here. Now came the hard part.
