Her lips clamp shut and a frosty silence descends. I can tell she’s angry with me, but I don’t care. After I left Los Angeles, I made the mistake of looking at the tabloids one too many times. I saw all I ever needed to see about Ryder’s activities once I left Los Angeles behind — the DUI arrests, the drugs charges, the court appearances. The girls hanging on his arms like party favors as he stumbled, bleary-eyed, from one club to the next, his hotshot new A-list friends by his sides.
Every article I read, every picture I saw, every headline I memorized was just another nail of validation in the coffin of my choices.
It was right to leave.
I had to walk away.
There was no other option.
“You know, I don’t recall you being this stubborn, before.” Francesca’s head tilts. “Or this… cold.”
“You mean back when I was eighteen and naive enough to sign away my future to a label that cares more about their bottom line than their artists’ happiness?” I snort. “People change.”
“They certainly do,” she says carefully, her eyes flashing with thoughts I can’t decipher.
Blowing out a long breath, I stare at the woman who I once considered, if not a friend, at least an ally. As much as I’d like to hate her, to blame her for all of this… I can’t. None of this is her fault. It’smine. My mess. My bed to lie in.
Despite my objections, despite my defiance… we both know it’s an empty facade. I have no choice but to do this tour. I accepted that fact the moment I picked up Jerry’s phone and changed my flight destination from Boston to Los Angeles.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean I can’t negotiate the terms of torture in my favor…
“Four months,” I say finally, making her brows lift. “Four months, not six. No overseas shows. Plus separate travel accommodations, so I only have to interact with—” I swallow harshly. “—withthe bandwhen absolutely unavoidable, while we’re actively on stage performing or in the studio rehearsing. If you can make that happen, I’ll go on the tour. If you can’t… you can call my lawyer and deal with him instead.” I lean forward, eyes narrowing in what I hope is a threatening look. “Based on his track record, I wouldn’t suggest that.”
It’s a bluff, of course. The in-house Route 66 legal team could crush a sweet family attorney like Jerry Perry faster than a baseball bat would a cantaloupe. But Francesca seems to take it seriously enough, her expression somber as she turns over my offer in her mind.
“Four months…” she murmurs.
I nod sharply.
“We’ll have to accelerate the schedule. Rearrange the entire tour route. Maybe even drop several smaller cities from the lineup…” She tilts her head in contemplation. “You’ll be doing multiple shows a week. Tours are grueling enough when you’re getting proper amounts of sleep and not pushing your vocal cords to the limit. The timeframe you’re talking about here… It’ll be rough on your bodies, even rougher on your minds. Frankly, it’ll be hell.”
“It’ll be hell either way.” My voice is hollow. “The way I see it, four months of burning is better than six.”
“I’ll have to run it by my boss. And his boss. And probablyhisboss. But… there’s a chance I can make it work.”
“I thought Francesca Foster could makeanythingwork.”
“Within reason.”
Reaching out, I grab a heavy fountain pen that probably costs more than my entire outfit off her desk and scrawl a series of digits on a nearby notepad. “Here’s the name and number of the hotel I’m staying at. Ask for Joy Winters at the desk, they’ll connect you.” I glance up with a grim expression. “I’m only staying there tonight. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I’m heading home. And I won’t be back until your lawyers fly their asses to my front doorstep and drag me kicking and screaming.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Francesca’s lips twist. “I’ll have an answer for you by the end of the day.”
“Great. Then we’re done here.” I push to my feet and start walking toward the door.
“Felicity, wait.”
I freeze in the frame, not looking back.
“If I can make this happen… if I can get my bosses to agree and put together a tour at lightning speed… ” She sucks in a sharp breath. “You do realize you’ll have to see him. Sing with him. That, even if I get you your own tour bus, book you in separate rooms at the hotels…someinteraction will be necessary.”
My eyes press closed. I don’t want to think about that part yet — the Ryder part. I can’t. I’m barely able to process the fact that I’ve agreed to go on this blasted tour. It’s too much to contemplate who I’ll be going on itwith. Too much to consider what it’ll be like to see him again… to make music with him again…
“Felicity? Are you listening?” She clears her throat awkwardly. “Your fans want to see Wildwood. That includes Ryder, both on stage and off. No matter what personal hangups you two have, the world wants to see you together.”
When I speak, I barely recognize my own voice. “I know.”
“And… you’re okay with that?”