So she sent him a text, letting him know she could be there in twenty minutes.
In the bathroom, she put on her signature kohl eyeliner all around her eyes, followed with smoky eyeshadow and two coats of mascara. A little lip balm and she was ready to go.
Except her hair was a mess. The blue in her locks was fading, needing a touch up—or maybe a new color entirely. She’d considered light pink with silver tips, and her fans loved how she switched it up every so often—but today she didn’t care so much. Her hair color was the least of her worries.
Today, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and called it good. She hadn’t removed any of the jewelry from either ear and her septum piercing was still in place, so she went back to her bedroom and pulled on a light pink hoodie over her white t-shirt. The jeans she wore were fine, so she put on a pair of black combat boots, ready to do battle with her manager.
Once she exited the apartment building, however, she pulled the hood up and over her head and kept her gaze down enough that people would have to bend down if they wanted to see her hidden face. Not long after her first album at the age of seventeen broke big, she’d discovered how difficult it was to be a real person when a handful of people recognized you everywhere you went. And in L.A., some people were always looking for celebrities. Those people would spot you, even if they didn’t actually know who you were. They just somehow figured out you were famous for something.
A few minutes later, she was at the Starbucks but Mal was nowhere to be seen. All that sleep had managed to help her wrangle the monster back in control, but having to wait wasn’t helping. So fucking typical. Mal always acted like his time was more important than hers, and she immediately regretted not bringing her notebook so she’d have something to do in the meantime.
Pulling the phone out of her pocket, she opened up TikTok and immediately closed it. People were still talking about the charity show she’d performed in—and not about the charity or the concert…but about her. Jesus. Would she ever be able to outlive that incident? As she spotted Mal exiting a car through the windows, she wondered if he was right about any kind of publicity being good, even if it was negative, because it sure didn’t seem that way.
What little she’d exposed herself to online…didn’t feel positive at all. The reactions ranged from amusement to pity or disbelief. And she knew she’d have to deal with it at some point—but not now. Only as much as her fucking manager would make her.
As Mal approached, he asked, “Have you ordered yet?”
“No.”
With a frown, he got in line and Raine stood next to him. Mal’s dark brown hair was slicked back and, at the counter, Raine noticed that the cashier was flirting with him. Oh, yes, Mal looked good on the outside. He wore a light jacket and snug dark blue t-shirt and his smile was charming as usual.
A few minutes later, Raine and Mal were seated at a table in the corner. Raine kept her hood on but pulled it back a bit so it would be easier to drink her coffee and look at Mal, much as she’d have liked to do anything else. But her hope was that people wouldn’t notice her at all if she stayed as hidden as possible. As she settled into the chair and eyed the wrap she’d purchased, she found that she had no appetite.
Maybe later.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?” Mal asked before taking a sip of his Americano.
Unable to quell the need to be a smart ass, she responded. “Yes, let’s.”
He pretended not to notice. “I know you caught part of the gist yesterday, but I want to fully outline just what we’re looking at.”
She clamped her teeth together. She wasn’t a fucking child; she understood there was damage that needed to be controlled or fixed. If it hadn’t been evident before, yesterday morning had certainly driven that point home. So she gave him a simple nod, her hand wrapped around the tall paper cup.
“Right now, no one wants to be associated with you. That’s why the label was already in motion to cancel the rest of the dates for your tour.”
“But that’s an overreaction. You know that as well as I do. Maybe the first one or two—”
“No. You’re wrong. It’s not just the label. Venues were reaching out too. You’re a hot potato right now. Nobody—and I mean nobody—wants to deal with you right now. Maybe ever.”
“Okay,” she said, having to let go of her cup before she crushed it. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Mal cocked his head, making sure Raine was looking at him before continuing. “The backlash is…” he paused, letting out a sigh. “Unbelievable. And it’s not done yet. There’s no amount of spin we can put on it to make it look good.”
“I don’t get it. How is this any different than anything else I’ve done in the past?”
Mal’s eyelids half closed as he tilted his head. “Do I need to spell it out for you? This wasn’t perceived as just another one of your stunts. This was like a step above.”
“But you said yesterday that this was just a hiccup. You assured the suits that I can still come through on my commitments and—”
“Yes, because I need to make them feel better—but we need to let things cool down a bit. And they will. You should know that as well as I do. Give it a few weeks and everyone will be talking about something else.”
And Raine would be forgotten, lost to obscurity…if the label had their way. “And where exactly does that leave me? If my tour dates are cancelled and my album’s on hold, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Well, that’s what I’m here to talk about. You said okay to working with Quentin Russo, but it was quite clear to all of us that you were just saying that because you knew that was what we wanted to hear.”
“What the hell was I supposed to do?” She was tired of being backed into corners.
“You were supposed to enthusiastically agree.”
