“Not anooner,” he says, and for a moment, a glimmer of the man I met long ago, the one the hopeless, idiot part of me thought meant something, shines through. It’s gone in a flash, and he turns back to his phone. He’s always on his phone, always putting out some kind of fire or threatening some tabloid, I’m sure.
“Are you and Jefferson on the outs? I thought he was going to explode when I said I was fine with the updated timeline.” I ask, always trying to find out some tiny bit of information about the man.
“Why’d you do that?” he asks, looking to me. My face goes as neutral as I can manage before shrugging.
“I think your plan is sound. Jackie doesn’t like anyone saying anything that might hurt my feelings, but you’re right; too much exposure breeds expectations and boredom. If we want the marketing for the next album to hit hard, we need to preserve a bit of that mystery.”
He looks at me, something new crossing his face that I’ve never seen before, like he’s seeing me for the first time, and it makes me feel far too exposed.
I pull up my shield, turning flirty, fun, friendly, and just a bit ditzy.
“Plus, a couple of months on some island would be nice. Maybe I can hook up with some cabana boy, have a torrid affair, and use that to write my next album.” His shoulders go tight with my words, and I try not to smile too wide at the fact that my words had the desired effect.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved teasing Leo Sinclaire. It’s hard to do, nearly impossible to get a rise out of the even-keeled, closed-off man, but when I can, it feels like I won the lottery.
“No,” he says, words firm, sliding his phone into his pocket for the first time and turning to face me with his jaw set tight.He crosses his arms on his chest, and his suit jacket pulls tight across his chest. I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s just a well-fitting suit or if he really does have the broad shoulders and toned arms the suit promises. “No cabana boys. No affairs. You are to stay out of the public eye, avoid the tabloids, and not create a fucking scandal.” I lose the battle to bite back my smile as the elevator doors slide open, and we both step in.
“Okay, okay, no cabana boys.” His glare as the doors shut us into the elevator is still searing, so finally, I give in. “I was just joking. When have you ever known me to do that?”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t respond, probably because we both know the answer is never. He sighs, a deep sound that seems to be coming from him more and more lately, before he turns to me fully.
“Just stay out of trouble, okay?” he asks, sounding exasperated. My brows furrow.
“Out of trouble?” I ask, unsure.
Mostly because I’ve never actuallybeen in trouble.
“Yes. Stay out of trouble. The goal is to stir up interest with you being off the grid. I don’t want to have to deal with cleaning up your messes during that time.”I stare at him, fighting back the irritation in my veins.
“I’ve never actually needed you to clean up my messes,” I say low. “I always follow what you guys ask me. And the problems you’ve had to deal with are from someone else.” Finally, he looks at me, a blank look on his face, and any of the remaining joy from messing with him is fully gone.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way, okay?” I stare at him, unsure of what to say, but before I can think of anything, the elevator dings our arrival.
I’m still stunned silent when the elevator doors slide open, and without another word, Leo steps out, head down as he stares at his phone screen once again, and walks off with purpose.When I follow much more slowly, Gabe is already waiting for me, giving me a nod and a soft smile, which I return. I follow him to the front doors, and when I spot the paparazzi still outside, that familiar panic stiffens in my chest. Gabe steps out before me, and I use that time to bury my nerves, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. It took a while to get used to this, to the crowds and the cameras and the attention, but after years of it, I’ve gotten used to it, creating a routine for handling it: Pause, deep breath, know how long I’m going to be out there, and put on my shield.
By the time I open my eyes, a grin is spreading over my lips, and I’m taking a step out to the door, Willa Stone™ firmly in place, and Gabe is nodding for me to follow. I wave as I step out, cameras flashing and my name called from all directions. I hold that smile until I slip into the car, and the door slams shut behind me.
With the sound shut off, a wave and calm floats over me, washing away the panic and unease that always comes. My shoulders drop, my face relaxes, my eyes close, and I sit back, taking in a deep breath. Gabe drives slowly off the property, a few flashes still ticking, but I don’t fully relax until we merge onto the highway and make our way home. But as the adrenaline washes away, relief fills in the cracks, and I can’t help but smile a real smile, thinking that may have been the last time I have to do that for a while.
The next morning, my alarm goes off at what once felt like the ungodly hour of five thirty a.m., but I’ve had the same morning routine for almost seven years now, so I roll out of bed without issue. After my normal bathroom routine, I brush my blondelocks into a sleek high ponytail, pop in my blue contacts, and swipe on a light layer of makeup, just in case the press catches me. In my bedroom, I throw on an all-black workout outfit and then head down the stairs.
I grab a glass of water and a pre-bottled green juice from the fridge, grimacing at the bright green color before sighing and chugging it. It tastes absolutely disgusting, but according to my nutritionist, it’s perfectly formulated for my own metabolism and great for my hair, skin, and nails, or something like that, so I drink it like clockwork every morning. When I’m done with the goo, I shiver, then slide on my shoes and head to the door.
“Morning, Gabe,” I say with a soft, genuine smile when I see him already waiting for me. He’s been with me for about two years, going on tour with me when his boss, Jaime Wilde, and head of Wilde Security, stepped down from personal bodyguard jobs. He tips his head stoically, then opens the car door for me, waiting for me to slide in before closing it behind me, and then takes me to Pilates.
Ninety grueling minutes with my personal trainer later, I’m back in the car and headed home for a shower, a change, and breakfast.
And there, for the first time in forever, my routine ends.
Normally, I have something going on. Normally, I’d put on a carefully crafted outfit and greet my hair and makeup artist at the door for full glam before interviews, meetings, or some staged outing. Other times, I’d head to the studio to brew up some buzz for the next album. If I’m in a relationship, I’ll have a date scheduled. If I’m on tour or prepping for tour, I’d have practice, meet-and-greets, or…anything.
But right now, with this new plan, my schedule is wiped clean.
So I clean up after breakfast and realize my spices are a mess, in need of organization. While doing that, I notice the pantrycould use a spruce-up, and while I’m at it, why not tackle my bathroom closet and the linen closet?
Three times, I walk past my music room, but three times, I find an excuse not to enter.
But eventually, when all the closets I can think of are organized and cleared out, even though they’re already pretty tidy, I grab my water and notebook and brave my music room to write.
