Love Song (Stage Dive #4.7) - Kylie Scott Page 0,2

check is real, and you are who you say you are, why not just take the money and run?”

I sighed. “I thought about it. That album has been the bane of my existence ever since it came out. I can’t go anywhere without hearing the damn thing. Bars, gas stations, the grocery store…it’s like I’m being musically stalked.”

“The songs aren’t exactly complimentary toward you,” she allowed.

At this, I rolled my eyes. A terrible habit, but I couldn’t help myself. If someone said something breathtakingly obvious, my first impulse was always the silent and deadly, duh. “I’m not getting into that with you. It’s private. Well, it should be private. Though it would be fair to say that Adam’s version of our relationship and mine differ significantly. But the fact is, he’s been working on making it in the music business since long before I met him. It was his dream, and he worked hard and saw it through. Kudos to him. If he’d just sent me his share of the rent and so on for the period we lived together, then I wouldn’t be here right now. Because this check…it’s too much. Way too much.”

“Seven digits is impressive. But he can afford it, if that’s your concern.”

“I’m sure he can, but that’s not the point.”

“You’ve never given any interviews about him. Never sold any photos from when you were together. I’d have been alerted to it if you had.”

“And?”

Her gaze scanned my body, up and down. “Are you pregnant?”

“No.”

“Do you hope to get pregnant?”

“Good Lord. Get your mind out of my uterus. I just want to talk to him about the check.”

For a long moment, the manager chick, Martha, just stared at me. Then she said, “Interesting. Come with me.”

Then she was off, striding in those elegant towering high heels. I bet she could sprint in those suckers. It was like the whole world was her runway and she had places to be.

“Where are we going?” I asked, not quite jogging to keep up. Short legs sucked sometimes.

“You want to talk to Adam?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Yes or no, Jill? I don’t have time to screw around.”

“Yes, I want to talk to him,” I said, brows drawn down. “I need to talk to him.”

The various dressing rooms and storerooms and who knew what else gave way to larger hallways. Props, lights, and all sorts of things sat in neat piles here and there. Plenty of people moved to and fro, and more just hung around. Out through a pair of big double doors, and we were in a tunnel with a couple of security guards waiting alongside a large, shiny black Mercedes Benz SUV.

Martha opened the car’s back door. Once more, her cell sat in her hand, her gaze glued to the screen. “Get in.”

I hesitated. Of course, I did. Because where I came from, being lured into vehicles by relative strangers was generally believed to be a bad thing. And this woman didn’t even have the decency to first offer me candy or a kitten.

“I repeat, I do not have time to screw around. In a little less than two minutes’ time, Adam will be rushed straight through the backstage area and out here to the car,” said Martha, sounding vaguely bored. “Your choices are either getting in said vehicle, or having Bon return you to the audience area. Which will it be?”

The security dude gave me a glance. Pretty sure those bulges beneath his suit coat weren’t from carrying an excess of chewing gum or Kleenex. Nope. Bon was packing. How insane this whole world was.

“Truth is, I shouldn’t even be doing this,” she continued. “But you’ve ever so slightly woken my cold dead heart. Turns out, I happen to know what it’s like to be in your position. Someone wrote an album about me once, too. Not what you’d call a pleasant experience.”

Huh. Though, in Martha’s case, I’d hazard a guess that any lyrics about grinding a guy’s heart beneath five-inch heels would be deadly accurate.

She tapped her foot against the concrete. “So?”

“Where will Adam be going?” I asked, stalling.

“Straight home, if I have anything to say about it. But I can’t guarantee that.” Her eyebrows bent with the merest hint of a frown. “Sometimes he can struggle to unwind after a show.”

Interesting. I resisted the urge to smile at the irony. I’d had trouble getting Adam off the couch. And now it seemed the new woman in his life had trouble keeping him there.

In all honesty, the whole