Broken Strings – Rythm And Tempo Read Online Mila Crawford

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, Taboo Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
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“What about the European tour?” Pete looks pale. I would be, too, if my main cash cow suddenly wanted to jump ship and run. Maybe all this is a blessing in disguise.

“Cancel it. I’m not signing another deal with the record company. If they want me, they need to let me shed this bubble gum image they’ve saddled me with and be me. I’m sure no one would’ve batted an eyelash if they didn’t manufacture bullshit to satisfy the ideals of rich suburban housewives. If the record company wants me back in the studio, they need to let me record my own songs. No more singing pop songs about being a girl written by a fifty-year-old man.”

Pete throws his hands over his head and paces like a caged wild animal. He walks back and forth a lot when things aren’t going his way. “I told you not to use that agency. What was wrong with the guys from Girl’s Best Friend? They were discrete. In two years, none of this shit happened with them. They’re vetted. This other company wasn’t. You have an image. Using any old business was an idiotic move, Cash.”

I can almost see the panic rolling off him in violent waves. He’s telling me how stupid I am, and I feel bad for him. I hate that I do, but here we are again, me sacrificing what I need to make others feel better. “I need some time, Pete. A minimum of three weeks. I need to get away from all this and clear my head. Figure out what I want. I’ve lived this life for others for a long time. At some point, don’t I get to live it for me?”

Pete has the decency to appear sheepish. He casts his eyes down and sighs loudly. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not telling you.” I zip my suitcase and pull it off the bed.

“Cash, you need to tell me where you’re going. What if there’s an emergency?” His question comes out as a whine.

I’m disgusted with myself for the years I let myself be talked into meaningless hit after meaningless hit in exchange for the giant paychecks rolling into my account. I’m frustrated at denying who I am for the pleasure of others. Ignoring my desires to appease a public that won’t care less about me as soon as I stop giving them what they crave. But most of all, I’m upset that I’ve abandoned what I love for fading fame and a spotlight that shines on me in ways I never wanted.

When I started in this business, I played for two people and my heart soared when my music touched them.

But then I sold out, grateful for the life-changing funds that turned my world on its head.

I don’t regret my decisions. They were right at the time and helped my family in ways we’d never dreamt of. My pop career paid my mother’s medical bills when she got sick. Something I could never do without singing about getting the boy as I shook my ass on stage.

When my mother died, I needed money to support my younger siblings. I was all they had.

After a time, I had more money than I knew what to do with, and I was empty inside. So, I filled it up with dull parties and mediocre sex. Sex that was always utterly boring, men who thought pleasing a woman was about getting on top of her and thrusting pathetically a few times until they came. I had a few lovers who had taken their time. They were gentle and eager to please, but I could never get off no matter what they did.

Until that one guy who was so fucked out of his mind that he flung me around like a rag doll and fucked me like I was trash. That guy made me come like Niagara Falls. I found out later that he was the bass player’s coke dealer, which made him off-limits for an encore. One thing I stay away from is addicts, and that’s a rule I’ll never break.

This scandal has shown me one thing. This isn’t the career I want. I want my words to mean something. I want to touch people. I want my music to have a tangible impact on their lives.

“You don’t need to know anything. I don’t have to give the record executives my answer until next month. You can give me three weeks to figure my shit out.” I look Pete in the eye, needing him to know the days when he could run me like a puppet are long gone.

I pull my suitcase off the door, lift the handle, and walk out. Once I’m outside in the fresh air with the scent of freedom, I can finally breathe for the first time in a long time.


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