Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Another pic, my arm over TJ’s back, laughing, face close to his.
And another. Another. Another. Then Ian lowers his phone. “I told you to be careful,” he starts.
“It’s not—” I cut myself off, crossing my arms, my first instinct being to dismiss this all away. Because really, who cares? “They’re pics of me out with just a friend.”
“Just a friend?” He thumbs over more pics and lands on one of me taking TJ’s hand tenderly into mine, unmistakably romantic, as we were heading back to the hotel. All of them obviously taken in Houston, all at the same time, probably by the same person. “Just a friend, Chase? You wanna keep insulting my intelligence?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been out since my debut. It shouldn’t be any surprise to anyone that I’m hangin’ with a guy. I’m touchy-feely even with my pals. Wily’s straight, and I’ve probably kissed his cheeks in more pics than I can—”
“I told you what the label expects,” he cuts me off. “It’s vital right now that you’re single and remain that way. You’ve seen the numbers, you’re soaring for the sky, we’re moving up, Chase. Why do you want to sabotage that with a scandal?”
“I’m not sabotagin’ a damned thing.” I let out a laugh, at once back to blowing it off. “Tell the label to fuck off. We clearly know what we’re doin’. These new songs are killin’ it. It’s all viral sexy singin’ cowboys online. Let me have a boyfriend if I want.”
“Boyfriend?” He nearly drops his phone. “Chase …”
I choke back a chuckle. “Don’t talk to me like that, like you’re talkin’ down to your daughter.”
“You know what the label said to me? They handled it. They did their magic, whatever it is they do to leaks like this. It’s taken care of to the best of their ability. But they told me—I quote, and yes, real quote here—to ‘keep him in line’. Him. That’s you. They want me to do the impossible fucking task of keeping you in line. How am I supposed to do that when you disrespect me, disrespect your label and your image, disrespect your team, and do whatever you want anyway? Aren’t we supposed to be …” His tone softens. “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”
“You tell me,” I sass back.
“I stay transparent with you. But you aren’t doing the same with me. Why are these pics blindsiding me? Why did I look like a total jackass talking to Drew and Irene for over an hour convincing them I have any idea what’s going on in your personal life?”
“Transparent? Really?” I shake my head. “You’ve been feedin’ me fake compliments about my music for how long? When in fact it’s turned to shit. People call me a sellout now. And this new stuff I’m cookin’ up? It’s the most brilliant work I’ve put out since we started this. Everyone’s on fire about it. Everyone except you.”
Now it’s Ian who looks tickled with laughter like he’s losing his mind, hands going up to his head and hopefully not to rip out whatever hair remains on it. “I don’t think you quite appreciate the severity of this situation, Chase, and it’s taking every last cell of restraint in me not to pop off right now.”
“Please. Do us both a favor. Save some time. Pop.”
He shuts his eyes, choosing instead to swallow it all down. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and nods next to him without speaking. I pocket my phone and take a seat there, then lift my eyes to his and patiently wait.
When he speaks, it’s deathly quiet and calm. “You got sloppy. You used to not be. I remember your exes. Both of them, first year we were doing this. Then the guy two years ago who drifted in and drifted right back out of your life. Just a few little pics can paint a big picture, and soon, you’re hiding a secret fiancé, then Facebook groups and IG private chats pop up with wine-mom fan girls and suburban sleuth squads storyboarding all your personal business. They’re the ones buying all your tickets. All your merch. Wearing it. Sharing posts. Mashing those like and subscribe buttons. They made Chase Holt. They can destroy him. That’s what they believe. You owe them everything. Your life. Your time. Your music.”
“They aren’t like that. You don’t understand my fans.”
“You don’t,” he says right back, eyes burning into the side of my face. “The second they feel their Chase Holt slipping away, you got fans feeling betrayed, hunting you down, burning your merch in a backyard bonfire live on YouTube with 10 million viewers. We have to shut this down,” he demands.
I started shaking my head at some point. “No,” I finally say. “I don’t think they’re like that. That’s not the fan base I have. I know them.” I turn to the brick wall of Ian and his flared eyes. “Why not lean into it? Into me havin’ someone? I’m a singer with a backlog of a hundred songs about the one damned thing I ain’t allowed to have. Why? Love is somethin’ I deserve to actually experience, too, not just sing about.”