Quentin tightened his jaw, fucking hating how they were backing him into a corner—and Raine too. As much as he felt trapped…she seemed to have even less of a say than he did.
The silence descended like the cold blanket that fell over everything in Joshua Tree after sunset, stiffening his muscles, emphasizing just how alone he’d been out here—but, since her arrival, Raine had breathed a little life into the place…and he knew they had already created a couple of songs that would blow her star out of the stratosphere. If someone else took over and they had to start from scratch…he didn’t know if Raine could find it in herself to trust them.
Or was that his ego talking again?
No. Telling them to go fuck themselves would leave Quentin exactly where he’d been before all this had started, but Raine…they’d just let her fade into oblivion.
Then Tristan hammered the final nail in the coffin. “That, of course, is assuming we could even find someone else willing to work with Raine. She’s burned a few bridges, as you know. We might have to just shelve this whole project.”
Jesus Christ. She was sitting right next to him, and this fucking suit was talking about her like she was halfway across the world, nowhere near that table.
But Quentin could see the writing on the wall—if he didn’t agree to this dumb ass bullshit…they were going to bury her. They would let her fade away into nothingness without a second thought. If he said no, it would be all over for Raine.
When he glanced at her, she looked at him but said nothing, her mouth screwed up as if she were holding back—and he realized that this was a reflection of her relationship with the label. They were always the ones calling the shots, and her shitty, sleazy manager never stood up for her, never advocated for her or fought for her.
But for once, just once, somebody needed to do something for Raine, rather than just trying to get what they could from her.
He let out a long sigh to try to steady his breath. “All right. I’ll do it—but only if Raine is willing to. If she’s not, I’m not.”
Mal spoke up. “Raine needs to do it, because this is her only chance.” Of course, the manager talked when he thought he saw his cash cow disappearing. To Raine, he said, “You have to do this, darling. I don’t see this working out any other way.”
Raine rolled her eyes and folded her arms in front of her chest. For a few seconds, the way her chin jutted out made Quinn believe she was going to tell them she wasn’t interested.
Until she spat out one word: “Fine.”
“Great,” Russ said. “So this is what we have planned…”
As the marketing guy droned on about what the next few days would look like, Quentin told himself again that he was doing this for Raine.
But he also knew that that was a lie.
Chapter 16
One thing Raine could say about Quentin Russo—he was a brave motherfucker. This was by far one of the most ridiculous things the label had asked her to do…but, when she gave it more thought, she also realized it really could work. What probably stung the most was how Quentin had been trying to draw out her authentic self in her music…and this act felt like it was making a mockery of their progress.
After they’d both agreed, the label got busy setting the stage. The very next day, they had a crew of people at Quentin’s house—but Quentin had insisted on it all being outside on the property and not inside his home. Strangely enough, Raine appreciated that. It helped his house feel like more of a sanctuary where they could escape when it was all done. The few people here to run the show had rented a house for two days just half a mile down the road, and the hope was that it would all be done by noon.
After all, this was cutting into their work time.
But it was hard not to feel exposed right now, because both she and Quentin were under a big tent that had been set up for the event, letting these people move them around and tell them what to do. Although the makeup woman had touched Quentin’s face with powder, she was going crazy with Raine. “I want to capture your aesthetic…but just soften it a bit. Are you okay with that?”
Raine agreed because, in this regard, at least, she felt like she had no control over it. In fact, like so many times since working on her first album, she felt like a product rather than a person. It was by design and something she’d accepted, especially because the label had worked inside Raine’s boundaries. This, though, was a completely different animal.
Quentin had barely said a word since they’d begun this part of the process, although he did work with the photographer and his assistant to choose the exact location. They’d invited Quentin and Raine to take the pictures at the rental, but Quentin seemed to want the ability to tell them to get the fuck out. Here he had some modicum of control. But ever since they’d chosen the spot next to a giant boulder surrounded by yucca and other native bushes with the house behind the photographer, Quentin had clammed up. Raine figured he either regretted all this or wanted to just get it the fuck over with.
Probably both.
And she felt the same way.
But the woman blending color into Raine’s face kept saying how much she wanted her to look “stunning” and “fabulous,” and apparently that took an inordinate amount of time.
At one point, she painted Raine’s lips with something that felt like gloss, but then it firmed up, and the makeup artist peeled it off. When she had Raine look in the mirror, she said, “That’ll stay for twelve hours. You can’t kiss this stain off.”
Did this dumb woman think she and Quentin were actually dating? She wasn’t going to have to test the staying power of the lip stain. But maybe that meant she wouldn’t have to do touchups in the middle of the photo shoot.
When Raine’s eyes were closed so the woman could glue fake eyelashes on Raine’s upper lid, Raine heard the sound of an engine coming up the drive—which meant it was probably Russ, the PR guy for Crushed Velvet, his assistant, and Mal. They’d left half an hour ago to “fetch coffee” for everyone from downtown Joshua Tree while everything got set up. It was a relief having Mal out of her hair for a bit while they did something halfway useful. Raine herself had finally been on the main drag once or twice while she and Quentin shopped for groceries, and she was shocked to find that there was a Dollar General Store in town. There was a Walmart, a Home Depot, plenty of restaurants whose names she was familiar with, and other amenities in nearby Yucca Valley, but Quentin wanted to keep his money in Joshua Tree. “It’s home,” he’d said more than once.
Finally, the woman was done with Raine’s face and removing the hot rollers she’d put in her hair. For a brief second, Raine was glad they were doing all this bullshit, because her fans would likely figure out right away that it was all a sham—if Raine didn’t look like her usual self, they’d know this was nothing more than a stunt.
