Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I knew it,” Marcus murmured that humid summer morning after a handful more lines. “I could feel it in my bones like when I bumped into Noah at a music store.” He joined me in the sound booth, his grin brighter than the stage-inspired lights above us. “Why are you hiding such talent?”
“Are we really having this conversation?” I asked, well aware I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
Marcus and I had met a couple of years earlier. We were the only singles left in the group of friends, so naturally everyone thought we were a match made in heaven.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. Marcus is a great guy who is also incredibly handsome. There’s just no spark between us. We were instant friends, but it will never amount to more than that. Marcus knows it, and so do I.
We can talk for hours about everything and anything, though, and it was during one of those conversations Marcus let slip that he is an all-rounder. He encouraged me to consider more than a career as a songwriter by forcing himself to do the same. He co-produced Rise Up’s second album while assisting me in creating a demo EP.
Nothing came from his dedication until around a year ago. Somehow, my demo CD landed on the desk of an up-and-coming music executive. He liked what he heard, scheduled an interview, and the rest of the story is my slow and scary claim for fame.
The route wouldn’t be as painful if I’d take Marcus up on his numerous offers of a personal introduction with Rise Up’s manager, Cormack McGregor, but I’m already slandered in the media for my friendship with Emily, Jenni, and Marcus. I don’t need more campaigns smearing my family name.
The paps continually make out it is impossible to be single, happy, and friendly. Almost every article starts with the same headline: “Watch Your Men, Ladies. The Single Friend Is in Town.”
Thankfully, Emily and Jenni know the gossip is nothing more than manufactured lies to sell magazines. They encourage my friendship with the Rise Up band members, and although they voice caution about my wish to find my own path to success—since they’ve seen firsthand the bad side of show business their first two years in the industry—they also understand it.
They’ve been endeavoring to do the same even while paired with rock star partners. Jenni is making a name for herself in the fashion industry with world-class designs, and Emily is being scouted by agencies across the globe who want her to be the publicist for their superstar clients.
Their knowledge of the entertainment industry has been invaluable over the past five-plus years, but since I don’t want my career handed to me via association instead of hard work, I pulled back on public engagements with the band, slapped an alias onto any feelers I sent out, then continued writing songs while finalizing my studies.
With the royalties of a handful of the songs I co-wrote with Noah still earning even now, I can’t say I’m a struggling artist, but it will be nice once the endless hours I’ve put in the past twelve months pay off.
I’ve been working nonstop on an album due to be released at the end of this month, and the press junket Knox Records organized will squeeze every available minute I have over the next three weeks.
I’m exhausted just thinking about my upcoming schedule, and it has me looking at my bed as if it is four in the morning instead of the afternoon.
“Knox said I should spend the evening resting.”
Jenni rolls her eyes before drifting them to me. “Because he can’t be here to watch your every move.” When my lips twitch, she arches a strawberry-blonde brow. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been around enough the past week to notice how possessive he is of you. He gives Isaac a run for his money.” Isaac is her brother-in-law who takes her personal security so seriously that even when she isn’t clinging to the side of her famous husband, a bodyguard shadows her every move. “And he’s the most possessive man I know.”
She doesn’t seem icked by her statement.
She’s more flustered than turned off.
After screwing the end of a lip gloss container into its lid, Jenni spins to face me. “Are you sure he hasn’t hinted at wanting more?”
“Who? Isaac?” I couldn’t sound more shocked if I tried. I’ve performed at Isaac’s clubs a handful of times while endeavoring to get my stage name out there, but he’s never presented as anything more than friendly. He is also head over heels obsessed with his wife, who gains as many admirers as him when they enter a room.
“Not Isaac.” An expression I can’t quite work out crosses her face. “Knox.” She props her hip onto the edge of the vanity mirror she’s spent the last hour hogging while Emily and I rummaged through her latest collection of dresses—we get first dibs on her creations before the leftovers are mass marketed for well-known clothing chains—then asks, “His possessiveness screams more ownership than concern for your safety.”