by Caisey Quinn
“So I already put my stuff in the front bedroom,” Kylie informed her while gesturing towards the back of the bus. “The middle suite is the biggest. If you want to snag it before Lily you should probably put your stuff in there now before she gets here.”
Dark green eyes widened slightly as Mia’s forehead wrinkled. Well good. At least she’s as put off by me as I am by her, Kylie thought. “You didn’t want the suite?” Mia asked, looking mildly confused and majorly wary.
“Nah. I don’t have much stuff so no point in all that space.”
Mia narrowed her eyes as if she suspected this was a trap. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go unpack then.”
“Okay.” Kylie waited to see if there was anything further, but the other woman turned her back, tossing her hair behind her as she went.
Once she was out of sight, Kylie slid back into the booth and rubbed her temples. This should be interesting. And miserable. A heaviness settled onto her chest. She missed Trace like hell already.
LILY WAS an hour late, which meant the girls arrived in Phoenix an hour behind schedule. It also meant that the two hours Kylie had spent waiting on the bus could’ve been spent with Trace. Both facts left her more than a little annoyed.
Where Mia was quiet and seemed to be silently judging everyone, Lily Taite was oblivious. To pretty much everything. And she hadn’t stopped yammering since she stepped on the bus the night before.
Kylie had just woken up and stumbled into the cramped kitchen area to make coffee. Already Lily Taite was keeping up a steady stream of chatter. “So my dad like totally promised I was getting the master suite on the bus, but I guess you guys decided to do a first-come-first-serve thing and that’s cool,” the tiny blonde chirped from the back of the bus as she sorted through what looked to be a lifetime’s worth of clothing from enormous Louis Vuitton bags. “I mean, it’s not like I could help being late. My driver got lost, but whatever.”
When neither Mia nor Kylie responded, Lily kept chattering. “Maybe we could like switch off from week to week so that each of us would get to have the big room at some point,” she suggested.
“Actually, Oklahoma was here first and she chose the front room so I took this one,” Mia piped up as she entered the kitchenette. Kylie cringed as she listened to their conversation. It was already starting, the tense girl drama she’d so successfully avoided all throughout high school. Passive aggressive insults and cold-shouldered silent treatments here we come, she thought bitterly.
Thankfully the Vitamin Water people were smart enough to send along a mediator in the form of Brian Miller, a tech guy who was supposed to help the girls with the blog they had to keep up with during the tour. He wouldn’t be with them for the whole tour, but he would meet up with them in a few cities to check in. Probably to make sure we haven’t murdered each other.
Once they’d parked in Phoenix, Brian made his first appearance. “So each of you gets one of these,” the freakishly tall but boyishly cute computer guy said as he handed each girl a tiny camera. “And you each have the app on your phone for the blog so you can upload pictures directly from there as well.”
Kylie sat sandwiched between Lily and Mia in the booth in the media area of the bus. The zebra print upholstery was cute but she couldn’t get comfortable. Lily was clearly holding some sort of grudge that Mia had gotten the master suite and her anger seemed to spill over onto Kylie as if she were somehow responsible.
But that was nothing compared to Mia. Tension radiated off of her in waves. It was so powerful it distracted Kylie while she tried to listen to Brian. With each passing minute, she was further convinced that she should’ve just stayed in Nashville and finished her album. And hung out with Trace until he left on his tour, her subconscious added. Good plan. Just stay home and be the little woman. Go ahead and throw your career away before it even starts, just like Lauryn McCray, it snapped at her.
“Kylie?” Brian was staring at her as if waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” She bit her lip and tried not to squirm under the awkwardness of the situation.
“I asked if you’d ever had a personal blog or website before.” Brian smiled but she could hear Lily snickering beside her.
“Um, no. But I have been maintaining my own artist Facebook and Twitter accounts and stuff.” Surely that counted for something.
“Okay, then. Mia, since Lily and Kylie are new to this, they’re going to need your expertise. Think you can help them out?”
Kylie glanced over and watched Mia force a smile. “Sure, no problem,” the girl next to her said. But it looked like the only thing Mia wanted to help them out of was the window.
“YOU’VE GOT to be kidding me, Noel.” Trace slammed his hand down as he pushed away from the table. “The answer is no. Hell no.”
Noel Davies crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “It wasn’t a question, Corbin. Negotiations have ended. You got what you asked for. Dates are pretty much set. This is the deal. Take it or leave it.”
Leave it, the voice inside his head commanded. But there was more to it than that. This was his chance to finally do a tour his way. Pick the venues, make the set list, play the songs he’d wanted to for so long. Stop being their damned puppet and focus on his kind of music. “And if I leave it?” he asked, being careful not to look at his manager or his agent as both would probably be getting good and pissed about now.
“Then you go it alone on your next album.” Noel shrugged as if this was of no consequence to him whatsoever. Cocky prick.
Trace stood and paced for a minute. Let the bastard sweat. Pulling off his hat, he ran a hand through his hair before replacing it. Part of him wished he could talk to his girlfriend about now. She was smart as hell and always had a clear-cut perspective when it came to music. Hell, she’d toured with his sorry ass when no one else would. And she was about to be huge. He could feel it. Whether or not he’d be by her side when she made it remained to be seen. But one thing was for sure—if he pansy-assed his way out of this deal then he definitely wouldn’t be. At least not career-wise.
“And Gretchen is a sure thing? It’s her or no one?” Feigning nonchalance, he leaned forward on the back of the chair he’d vacated.
“She is. You two are the best fit for this tour. She’s already committed. If you pass, Bryce Parker has volunteered to replace you. Honestly, this was offered to you as a professional courtesy since you’ve been with the label the longest.”
Trace glanced over at his manager to verify Noel’s threat. Pauly Garrett nodded discreetly. Damn. Of course Parker would be happy to replace him. Dude was pretty much making a career of being his cheap knockoff stand-in as it was.
“I want my own bus,” Trace demanded. Gretchen Gibson was even more of a mess than he was. He knew firsthand his girlfriend would lose her shit once she knew they were touring together, much less sharing a bus. Or she would just worry when she should be focusing on her own career. Either way he’d be causing her some type of stress. And that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
“You’ll have yours. She’ll just be on it as well. She doesn’t have one of her own and right now the label isn’t willing to spend any more money on either of you.” Noel was starting to look bored with the whole thing.
Trace could feel his blood pressure going up. His mouth was dry with the need for a drink. It’d been over a week since he’d had one, and sobriety sucked so far. “So what you’re saying is it’s my tour but she’s going to be on my bus whether I like it or not? Just to be clear.”
Noel leaned forward, the sleeves of his suit jacket sliding up as he did. “Just to be clear, what I’m saying is what we have here are two major artists who let their personal problems interfere with business. In order to salvage not one but both of your careers, the label is going to give you each one more shot. One last shot, that is. It’s going to be a medium to large venue tour with you and Gretchen as co-headliners. We’re not going to spend any more money than we hav
e already. Am I being clear enough for you, Mr. Corbin?”
His fists clenched. If Noel wasn’t the son of the President of Capital Letter Records, he would punch the fucker in his smart mouth. As it was, his options were pretty limited. This was his dream tour. Even if it did involve the devil herself. He’d made his bed by skipping shows and acting like a jackass of epic proportions. Now he had to lie in it. Truth was, he knew exactly what his girlfriend would say. Damn near word for word. There are people out there, real people with real problems, who show up to work day after day, night after night. But you think you can just do whatever the hell you feel like. Or not. She also had a not-so-subtle way of reminding him how many people out there would gladly replace him. There was at least one tight jean-wearing fucker waiting in the wings that he knew of.
Rubbing his hands roughly over his face, he shoved up the sleeves of his plaid button-up and dropped back into his seat. “Where do I sign?”
Once he’d signed the next four months of his life away, he stood with his manager and prepared to leave. Do not go get a drink, he reminded himself.
“Hey, Trace—hold up a sec.” Noel called out. “I need to speak with you for just a minute. Privately.”
Trace turned as Pauly and his agent—a woman in her sixties named Maude who could easily have kicked all their asses—glared back at the suit.
“Relax, it’s not about the tour.” Noel smirked, and Trace nodded at his manager and agent as they let themselves out of the office.
He shut the door behind them and folded his arms. “What can I do for you, Davies? You’ve already fucked me up the ass. If you’re expecting a blow job, I’ve got bad news for you.”
“Cute. Actually I had a question for you. And I’d appreciate an honest answer.”
Well, this was new. Noel Davies was usually more about giving orders than asking questions. Trace relaxed his stance and waited.
“It’s about Kylie Ryans.”
Swallowing hard, Trace scratched his jaw and stepped forward. “What about her?” If Noel Davies thought he was about to divulge his personal secrets like they were a couple of teenage girls at a sleepover, he was sorely mistaken.
“What do you think of her? About her?”
She’s beautiful, smart, quick-witted as hell, and she possesses more raw talent than all of the artists at Capital Letter combined. Right now I’d much rather be buried deep inside of her, listening to her moan my name as she comes than standing here with your sorry ass.
What he actually said was, “She’s all right. Why?”
Noel let out a snort as if he knew there was a lot more to it than that. Tough shit, buddy. “She’s on our list of prospective artists to sign. The rumors alone about you and her have increased your album sales noticeably. I’d be interested in hearing your take on whether or not she’d be a good fit for this label.”
Trace scoffed. “Oh, so now you want my input. Five minutes ago you were bending me over this table without the courtesy of lube, but now you need my advice?”
Noel shrugged. “Whether you think we should sign her or not isn’t really that important to me. But if and when we do, we’d like to consider the possibility of you two touring together in the future. I wondered if you thought she was capable of holding her own in that situation—long term.”
Been wondering that myself. “I think she can hold her own no matter who she tours with. I’ve never seen anyone as hungry for this as she is. And having seen her up on stage, I can tell you she’s already more of a professional than I am. Not that that’s necessarily saying much.” Trace turned and pressed his hand against the door. Aw hell. The guy at least deserved some kind of a warning before dealing with his favorite hothead. He turned and smirked at the suit. “Do whatever you want. Just know she’s not some pop princess pushover you can bully into becoming something she’s not. Kylie Ryans would as soon tell you to fuck off as look at you.” With that, he left.
“GOOD NIGHT, Kansas City! Y’all are awesome! Thank you!” Kylie finished her set, struggling to catch her breath from the intense high performing always left her with. Mia stood in the wings and ignored her as she passed. So far there hadn’t been much progress in that department.
Eleven weeks, she told herself. Surely she could make it through eleven weeks. Not that she really had a choice. She had rent to pay. And studio time didn’t come cheap.
When she made her way back onto the bus, she thought for a second it had been vandalized. Clothes were everywhere, makeup was poured out all over the small table, and a false eyelash was stuck to the bathroom door. At least that was what it looked like. She started to back off the bus and yell for help when Lily came bounding out of her room.
“Oh thank God, you’re back! I need help!”
She could say that again. Kylie stepped over a pair of red stilettos. “Yeah, um, what the hell happened in here?”
“Huh?” Lily glanced around then back at Kylie as if the bus did not, in fact, look like a hurricane had plowed straight through the center of it.
“Lily. Jesus. You have a room. This is ridic—”
“Kylie, there’s no time for cleaning up! Mia’s onstage now and I still haven’t picked out what I’m wearing! And I need help getting these damn eyelashes on. Why Vitamin Water couldn’t spring for some hair and makeup people is beyond me.” The girl took a breath long enough to look around.
Kylie noticed that one eyelash did look significantly thinner than the other. Snatching the other one off the bathroom door, she handed it over.
Lily’s face lit up as if she’d been handed the keys to Disneyland. “Ah! Thank you! I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” Kylie couldn’t help but smile. The girl was pretty easy to please. She and Mia had soothed her hurt about the big room by offering to let her close the next few shows.
“You’re welcome. But, Lily, seriously. This—”
“Okay, look—here’s the red dress, and I’d wear the red stilettos with it. Or should I wear the cream dress with the jean jacket and boots?” Before Kylie had time to answer, Lily grabbed another outfit that had been lying on the counter by the coffeemaker. “Ooh! Or maybe the silver sleeveless one with my pink heels. Or black boots.”
A dull, throbbing sensation began to make its way to Kylie’s temples. “Um, I like the red dress. Maybe wear the jean jacket and boots with it? Or the red heels. Whichever.” She watched as Lily chewed her lip, and a dimple appeared in her left cheek. The sixteen-year-old suddenly seemed very sixteen.
“You’re a genius!” Lily leapt at her, wrapping her in a hug she was both unprepared for and unable to return before the girl grabbed an armful of clothing and darted into her room.
After shaking off the overly affectionate encounter and carefully sidestepping the landmines of Lily’s crap, including an enormous hair dryer with something on the end of it that looked like it could inflict some serious pain, she made her way to her room. She’d no sooner stepped inside her haven, where she was safe from Lily Taite, than the girl yelled out again. “Kylie! I still need your help with this eyelash! I can’t get—Ow! Oh God, ow! Please come help me!”
Sighing, she headed back towards Lily’s room. Touring with Trace was starting to look like Heaven compared to this.
Once she’d removed the spiky eyelash from Lily’s eyeball and glued it in place where it should be, she told the girl to have a great show and finally escaped to her room. She wasn’t a neat freak by any means, but her version of messy was carefully contained chaos, whereas Lily’s version was more holy-fuck-we’ve-been-robbed.
After she’d changed out of the black dress she’d performed in, she slipped into her jammies. Grabbing the cellphone from the charger on her nightstand, she collapsed onto her bed.
She was just about to text Trace and see if he was up for a Skype date when she saw she already had several texts from Cora reminding her to blog, Tweet, and post a Facebook message about the show. And she was supposed to post photos as well. Damn. Why can’t I just freaking si
ng?
Well, she hadn’t taken any pictures inside The Hangout, the music cafe where she’d just performed, so she made her way to the main area of the bus and snapped a picture of the damage Lily had caused. She posted it online with the caption: Girls are slobs. Note to self: Do not ever leave Lily Taite alone on the bus again.
She Tweeted about how awesome Kansas City was and how excited she was about next week’s shows in Colorado and Texas. She commented on a few photos that fans had posted of them together before tonight’s show. Finally, after she’d hopefully done enough to please Cora, she sat back down on her bed and texted Trace.
Hey babe. Just finished my set. Lily Taite reminds me of Rae. If Rae was on crack. Miss you…
She knew he was busy with planning his upcoming tour, so she didn’t expect a response right away. But it came a minute later.
Miss you too. That sounds terrifying.
She laughed out loud and sent him the photo she’d taken of the bus. Within a few seconds he responded.
What the hell happened???
She explained about Hurricane Lily. And how she didn’t realize how good she had it touring with him. He sent a winky face. His response time began to increase. When she heard Mia come back on the bus, she knew she needed to get to the computer before the other girl did. One computer and three girls was a shitty idea to begin with. As was sharing a bathroom with Lily. She was kind of starting to wish she’d taken the suite after all.
Skype date? She texted as fast as her fingers would allow. Several minutes passed and no message came.
Her bedroom door slid open and a red-faced Mia Montgomery glared at her. “Did you tell Lily she could wear my jacket and my boots?”
Kylie set her phone down on the nightstand. “Um, no I didn’t.”
Mia folded her arms over the tight blue T-shirt she was wearing. “I just passed her as she was heading to the stage. She was wearing my shit. I asked her what the hell she was thinking and she said you told her to wear that.”