Текст книги "Out Of The Blue"

Автор книги: Carina Adams

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Out of The Blue

by Carina Adams

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Out of The Blue

By Carina Adams

Copyright ©2015 Carina Adams

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the author.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Images Copyright

Cover art created by Sara Eirew

 

Cover photo by Sara Eirew

Cover model Mike Chabot

Editing by Kristen Switzer of Switzer Edits

PR by Ardent PRose

For Apple and Samms,

You make me laugh when I want to cry.

Then, you make me laugh until I cry.

You tell me I can when I think I can’t,

And you always have my back.

(Plus, you wouldn’t let me kill Mike)

This book exists because of you.

I’m honored to call you my friends.

Prologue

~ Mike ~

I hate country songs.

I fucking despise the whiney ass pathetic excuse for music. I’m not a psychologist, but I’d bet big money that there is a direct link to the rising depression rates in America and the songs played on country radio. Everyone’s heard that horrible joke: “What do you get when you play a country song backward? You get your wife back, you get your home back, you get your dog back, you get your kids back, and on and on.” Truer story has never been told.

Grown men singing songs about the world doing them wrong, and crying about their achy breaky heart, disgust me. Fucking grow a pair, you useless douche. You lost your job? That sucks, guy. Really. Okay, you had five minutes to be pissed, now man up and get another one. Your woman left you? I’m actually not surprised. At least one of you has some common sense and she realized that she was more of a man than you are. Can’t live without her? Get off your ass and go get her back instead of singing a song that reminds her how worthless you are. Your attempt at a love song won’t make her realize her life is shit without you. Because it isn’t. The world’s problems won’t be solved in the bottom of a whiskey glass while you are hiding from life. Moron.

Fucking hate country music.

Yet, here I sat, at the bar in Hooligan’s Pub, nursing my third Tennessee Honey. The same place I went every single Wednesday. For Country night. Every week, I’d tell myself it’d be my last, that I would not come back the next. But I never fucking listened.

Fred and Darcey, the middle-aged couple that owned Hooligan’s, saw me there enough. I ran security for them Thursday through Saturday, and then manned the door on Mondays and Tuesdays. It’s a great gig. The money was decent. I worked with like-minded guys so there weren’t any annoying co-workers that wanted to shoot the shit and dig into my personal life, and my shifts didn’t start until eight, giving me the whole day with my son, Jake. Plus, the bar was located exactly halfway between my apartment and my hometown. The same town where Jake lived with his mom and stepdad.

I lucked out when I got the job seven weeks ago.

I’d stopped in for a drink on the way back to my apartment after an interesting exchange with my ex-wife, Julie. And, by interesting exchange, I mean the kind of argument that would make a lesser man thank fucking Christ he didn’t have to deal with her brand of crazy anymore. Her new husband is a douche nozzle, but he’s the unlucky dickhead that took her off my hands. I’d passed this place more times than I remembered, but had never stopped. At that moment, I needed a drink more than I needed air, so as soon as I saw the sign, I pulled over.

And walked into the middle of a brawl.

The normal bouncer had gotten called away and it was just Fred working security. He’s a moose of a man, don’t get me wrong, but the guys that frequented this place some nights were in a league of their own. That night it wasn’t just frat boys looking for an easy lay. Fred had his hands full. I could have turned and walked away. It wasn’t any of my business, but I’ve been a nosy son of a bitch my whole life, and I never mind my own. So, I’d jumped in.

Maybe the idea of beating on someone had encouraged my involvement. Knocking the shit out of some disrespectful little fuck is definitely a great way to let off some steam. It’s a helluva better stress reliever than that yoga shit my roommate always pushed on me. And, after the last few months, I needed to de-stress. After we got control of the situation and kicked the offending party out, Fred turned and offered me a job. My only stipulation was that I wouldn’t work country night.

Like the glutton for punishment I am, though, every damn week I came back here, parked my ass on a stool, and got twisted while listening to the music I couldn’t stand. I never thought I was a masochist. But I’d sit here and torture myself, gritting my teeth through every Billy Ray Cyrus song, just to hear the familiar chords of the outlaw country I’d missed.

As much as I’ve complained about the classics sung by hillbilly hicks, I longed to hear the familiar tunes I’d come to love. Give me Gary Allan, Eric Church, or Nate Kelly. Men that aren’t scared to move away from their genre’s conventions; men that are men, goddammit, and aren’t afraid to tell the world exactly who they are. That’s music I could get behind.

That’s the music of my life.

So here I sat, on my night off, waiting to hear the songs I’d heard played thousands of times while my friends sang to sold-out stadiums. They reminded me of a time when my job was to protect the man on stage at all costs, and life was a helluva lot better than it is now. I’d drink my whiskey until I couldn’t remember why I gave up the job that I loved, why I didn’t want to go home alone, or why every woman I saw was a redhead, even if she wasn’t.

I’d just lifted my empty glass, signaling for another refill, when I felt someone slide into the stool next to me. I didn’t even glance her way; I didn’t need to. She could’ve been the hottest piece of ass to ever walk in here, or she could’ve been completely deformed. It didn’t matter, because there was only one face I’d see.

I’d gotten good at waiting for them to approach me. So good, I didn’t even have to acknowledge her before she started talking and buying me another drink. Before it’s gone, she’ll have me in the back room, or in her car, both of us pretending the other is someone else.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” this one told Fred, who merely raised a single brow at me before nodding. “So, you come here often?”

I almost snorted at the obnoxiousness of her question. Does anyone really ask that? Instead, I offered a nod, still not looking at her. This one at least sounded the part. The voice is almost just like the one I missed, and I didn’t want to ruin the illusion by looking at her. Fred slid her drink toward her, and then tapped the bar in front of me, moving his eyes to her really quickly when I glanced up. She must’ve been hot. It didn’t matter to me, though, so I pursed my lips and frowned at my drink.

“This is actually my first time here,” the woman next to me continued as if I’d asked her the same question. “I didn’t even know it was here. But a friend told me I’d find what I was looking for.” And there it was. She was looking for a hookup. The one night stand that wouldn’t call her or bug her the next day. That’s me, honey. I definitely won’t call you, ‘cause I don’t even see you now. She muttered on, but I didn’t hear a word she’d said, too busy lost in my memories.

As suddenly as she’d started talking, she stopped. The quiet threw me, and I waited, expecting her to make the first move. After several minutes of nothing, I grew antsy and tipped back my glass, intending to gulp down the drink and bite the bullet. Before I could, she slammed her drink down on the countertop and swore.

“For fucks sake, Mikey, you’re seriously gonna sit there and ignore me?”

The glass tumbled out of my hand, but I was too busy looking at the woman next to me to notice if the amber liquid spilled all over me as well as the bar. Anger-filled green eyes met my own, and an infuriated redhead glared at me with a fierceness I’d missed. “Lee?” I thought I asked, but I wasn’t sure if it came out mumbled or spoken.

She snorted as if I were the biggest idiot she’d ever talked to, and placed her hands on her hips. “How much have you had to drink, you ass? I’ve been talking to you for a half hour. Who in the hell did you think it was?”

I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion. Why was she here? Isn’t she on her honeymoon? On tour with Nate? I didn’t even realize I’d asked the questions out loud until she leaned in close. “If you ever answered your goddamn phone, you’d know exactly where I was and what I was doing.”

I shook my head again. “I told you I’d call when I wasn’t busy.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “You look real busy, Mike. Real fucking busy holding up a barstool. I can see how that’s important.”

Suddenly, I was tired. Beyond exhausted. “Why are you here, Lia?”

Her beautiful face contorted into a scowl. “I’m here to get your sorry ass and bring you home.”

Chapter One

~ Molly ~

Anyone who has said that you are your own worst critic has never seen their picture splattered on the covers of the tabloids or posted on every gossip site known to mankind. Oh, you think you look great in that dress? Just wait until a million people, whom you’ve never met, start weighing in on Twitter. They’ll complain about everything: the color, the cut, whether you’re showing too much skin—or not enough—the cellulite on your thighs because the photo hasn’t been edited…or the thigh gap because it has. Nothing, not the little birthmark on your shoulder or the scar on your elbow, is off limits to the strangers that sought to pick you apart.

They say this is the price of fame. And holy hell, the cost is high. Strangers watch as your relationships fall apart over rumors, loyalties are tested daily, and even if you’re surrounded by a hundred people, you feel alone. Some days you wonder if it really is worth it.

The expectations are unreal. Heaven forbid a girl doesn’t wear full makeup or designer jeans when she makes a quick, last minute run to the drug store. I glared down at the cover of Star Magazine, completely appalled. The words, “Molly’s Pregnancy Shocker!” made my heart ache, but they weren’t the worst part of this nightmare.

The picture they used front and center was of my pink sweat-pant clad form rushing out of Walgreens, clutching a bag—which supposedly carried a home pregnancy test—to my chest. I’d been completely shocked when cameras greeted me, and in a very un-Molly like fashion, I hadn’t been able to hide the fear on my face.

In the middle of the picture, there was a giant white arrow pointing to my very bloated belly, claiming you could already see my baby bump. Even the people that read this shit couldn’t be that stupid, right? If you could see my baby bump, why in the fuck would I be buying a test kit in the middle of the night? I rolled my eyes and kept reading.

The corner picture, the one that led to the secondary headline in the swill—claiming the father of my baby had finally admitted his mistake—was the worst part of this entire article. Me being the mistake, of course. The image was of my best friend, reaching for his very beautiful wife as she strode away from him in what looked like anger. Knowing Nate and Lia as well as I did, I knew the photo had been taken out of context. Especially considering he’d never had anything to come clean about in the first place.

The “news” articles were just as bad as the headlines, even though it was nothing I hadn’t read before. I was the home wrecker, out to steal Nate back from his wife, and that Nate and I had been sneaking around for a year while poor Lia lived in denial. The pictures inside at least weren’t that bad; most of them highlighted my negative behavior as I flipped off the photographers and threatened to punch the one that wouldn’t get out of my face. Just another day in the life of temperamental Molly Ray.

What the fuck? Seriously. What the fuck?

Anyone that knew us knew it was all lies. Nate and Lia had been happily married for a couple of months now and were still disgustingly in love. She was on tour with us, and went almost every single place he did. When she wasn’t with him, she was with me. When, exactly, were Nate and I supposed to have had time to sneak away and make our secret love child?

Eww, by the way. Just eww. I pretended to be his girlfriend last summer, and that was hell. Nate was repulsive and had the most disgusting little ticks. He made this obnoxious noise while he ate, and unless he had a concert or was meeting with industry people, he believed in the “showering is optional” philosophy. I could probably sell that story to the tabloids, but no one would believe anything derogatory about the great Nate Kelly. Being stuck on a bus with a bunch of sweaty men, who don’t feel the need to bathe regularly, really makes you see past a person’s looks.

Yeah, he was pretty. And talented. And he was funny as hell. The world loved him. But Nate had eyes for only one woman, and he would never do anything to jeopardize his marriage. Plus, in my mind, Nate was family. He was the big brother I never had, the sibling that protected me from everyone—including myself—and my biggest fan. I loved the man and would do anything for him.

Okay, that’s a lie. I’d do almost anything for him. Contrary to popular belief, even I had my standards.

A knock interrupted my thoughts and I groaned, dreading what would come. I didn’t need a lecture from Mr. Kelly himself. Before I had a chance to move, the door opened and a redhead hurried in.

I didn’t have a chance to greet my friend before Lia threw herself on the other end of the couch, glaring at the magazine in my hand. “You saw it already.” She was breathing hard, as if she had run from her hotel room to mine, up the two flights of stairs, and down the hall. “I was hoping to get up here before you did.”

And I hoped she hadn’t seen it at all. It was the last thing she needed. “I have a Google alert set up,” I explained, suddenly relieved it was her and not her other half that was here. “So, I asked Tim to get me an actual copy for the scrapbook.”

Yep. I kept a scrapbook of all stories that were published about me. And every time I was on a cover, I made sure I kept that, too. So far, I hadn’t made the cover for anything I’d actually done, but a girl could hope that one day I’d be recognized for being more than a home-wrecking whore.

Lia pursed her lips and tipped her head, watching me as if trying to find the right words to say. Finally, she shook her head. “One day, you and I are going to burn that book.” She didn’t wait for me to respond, but rubbed her hands up and down her jean-clad thighs. “Why were you alone when that picture was taken?”

I appreciated her subtlety, even though we both knew she really wanted to ask where in the hell my security detail had been that night. “I didn’t think I needed him; it was just a quick trip to the drug store, which was literally next to the hotel.”

Lia shook her head. “Mols…” she sighed in exasperation. She hated it when I ditched my security. “What did Eli say?”

I almost didn’t want to tell her I had been avoiding his calls, and I told Lia everything. Instead, I sucked it up and admitted the truth. “I haven’t talked to him yet. But you know Eli. He’s old school and thinks any press is good press.”

She rolled her eyes; despite Nate’s trust and kind feelings toward my manager, Lia hated him.

Before she could say anything, I asked what I’d been dying to know. “How pissed is Nate?”

She shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. “Pissed.”

“On a scale of one to ten, ten being he’s getting ready to fire me from the tour, how pissed is he?”

She scoffed. “Nate’s not going to fire you, silly.”

Something seemed off. The way she glanced away set my nerves on edge. “Lee?” Even I could hear the panic in my voice. “He’s not going to fire me, right?”

To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. He had to practically beg—and definitely call in every favor owed to him—just to get me hired as his opener last summer. We both knew it was my one shot, and we did what we had to do so I could have the career I’d always wanted.

I’d been on cloud nine when country radio started playing my songs, and then amazed when a few singles began climbing up the charts. I’d been lucky enough to get recognition from our peers and was asked to present at the Grammy’s. Nate’s label had been impressed, and didn’t argue when Nate insisted on making this year’s concert a joint headliner.

We all knew that it was in name only, though. This was still Nate’s tour, and Nate was a Kelly—country music royalty. His grandfather was the late, great C.C. Kelly, a founding member of outlaw country. Nate had grown into a legend of his own; men all over the world wanted to be him, millions of women thought they were in love with him, and everyone, it seemed, listened to his music. All it would take was one phone call from him, and I’d be forced to mysteriously come down with a cold and be booted from the tour so I could “recuperate” in peace.

“Mols!” Lia snapped her fingers, pulling me from my thoughts. “Nate isn’t going to fire you. You know he loves you. He’d fire one of the boys before he would let you go. And that will never happen.”

I nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I narrowed my eyes at her. I did know that he loved me as much as I loved him. We were family. But there was definitely something Red wasn’t telling me. “But?”

Lia bit her bottom lip the way she did when avoiding something. I waited. “But”—she wrinkled her nose, forcing out the next words—“he fired Tim.”

My face fell. “He what?” He couldn’t do that. None of this was Tim’s fault; I’d gone out without him, making him stay in the hotel room because I needed a few minutes alone. Plus, Tim was the head of my security, not Nate’s. The only person with enough authority to do that, other than me, was Eli.

Before I could demand answers, my phone rang. Glancing at the screen, I stifled a groan. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, right? I took a deep breath, holding my index finger up to Lia so she’d know this conversation wasn’t even close to being over, and brought the phone to my ear.

“I was just thinking about you,” I answered warmly as I stood up and walked toward the small set of windows overlooking a forest.

“Young lady,” came the cool reply.

I rolled my eyes at the Sunday-preacher tone. Obviously, Eli had his manny-panties in a bunch, and I was in for an ear-full.

“I have tried. Lord knows I have. But I have never, and I mean never, had a client that is as reckless and difficult as you. Do you think it’s easy to get a girl that looks like you work in this town?”

I took a deep breath, trying desperately not to tell him to go to hell.

I’d heard all the complaints from him before, and right now, they were the last thing I needed to hear from the man that was supposed to be the one person always on my side. Eli Cahill wasn’t the best manager Nashville had ever seen, but he’d been around since before dirt was invented and knew everyone. Those that didn’t like him at least respected him, which is a great asset to have in this industry. He might’ve been a giant pain in the ass, but he knew what he was doing.

When no one would take me on, Nate sent my demos out to all of his grandfather’s old friends. After more refusals than I care to remember, we got amazing news—Cahill Management was willing to meet with me. However, when Eli took one look at my pierced face, tattoos, purple hair, stomach-showing tank and ripped jeans, his face turned bright red and he shook his head violently.

“Nathaniel, you know I only manage country artists. I don’t know how to market grunge, or heavy metal, or whatever the hell it is she sings.”

Nate laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard. “Come on, Eli. This is the face behind that voice you told me you loved so much.”

Eli raised a single eyebrow in disbelief. When Nate didn’t back down, he turned his judgmental eyes to me. “You want a chance to work with me?” he asked, annoyance evident in each syllable. He only scowled after I nodded frantically. “Then, go get yourself cleaned up. Once you look like a respectable young lady, we’ll talk.”

Going against every single fiber of my being, I’d done just that. The purple streaks were removed and a new wardrobe had been purchased—one that would ensure my tattoos were covered whenever I was in public. Even though I hadn’t wanted to, I’d removed my double tongue balls, Monroe, spider bites, nose stud, and even took out my eyebrow ring, leaving only single holes in my ears and the piercings that you couldn’t see when I had my clothes on. I smiled and giggled and acted like a good, respectable girl. Eli had been my manager ever since.

Vowing not to get into an argument with him—and to try to make the next few minutes pass as painlessly as possible—I closed my eyes, attempting to focus on the words of wisdom he tried to impart.

“There are six women that get airtime on country radio consistently. Six. You know how many of them had singles on the charts this week?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, even though I listened to the countdown faithfully every Sunday. “Three. And do you know what they all have in common?”

“They’re all blonde, skinny, and perfect little Barbie dolls?” I answered petulantly.

Eli sighed angrily. “No. They play their part. They smile for the cameras and act like proper young women should.”

“The way women should have acted fifty years ago.” I interrupted. “It’s not 1952 anymore, Eli. Proper is boring.”

“Proper sells albums. The majority of people that listen to country music are women. They want to hear songs that make them feel. And they want them to be sung by women they can picture themselves being friends with. They do not want to support, listen to, or care about someone who can’t respect the sanctity of marriage.”

I snorted at that. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Eli snapped, agitation morphing into anger. “I’ve told you repeatedly that your behavior would bite you in the ass. Now look what you’ve done.”

I felt my fist clench as blood rose to my cheeks. “What I’ve done? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“We both know that Nate isn’t the father, because he would never jeopardize Lia for a girl like you. But all the world will see is that you aren’t in a committed relationship. That baby will constantly be speculated about and will forever be linked to Nate. Have you thought about what that would do to your child? To Nate’s career? And you can kiss your own goodbye.”

My mouth had fallen open halfway through his tirade, but now snapped shut, barely missing my tongue. “Tampons!” I snapped. “It was a box of fucking tampons!” The silence that greeted me would have been comical if I hadn’t been so pissed off; Eli hated hearing about my monthly cycle or my “womanly needs” as he called them.

“You’re not pregnant?” was the first thing he asked when he recovered, but the disbelief in his voice made me want to throat punch someone. Preferably him.

“No, I’m not pregnant!” I yelled, unable to keep my voice down.

“Well, that’s the first good news I’ve heard today.” Papers rustled in the background, and I could picture him sitting at his disaster of a desk. “I’d say we’d avoid addressing the headlines, but they’ve already started to spread and it’s now trending on Twitter. We’ll start scheduling interviews so you can laugh off the worst of it. I’ll see about setting up a few small venues in a couple of months so the world can see that there really is no baby bump.”

“They’ll see it just fine while I’m on tour.” No way I would be able to add my own small shows to the crazy tour schedule and still have time to work on new material.

“I’ve already pulled you from the tour.”

It took a few heartbeats for his words to sink in. “You what?” I hissed, barely able to speak. He couldn’t pull me from the tour, this was the biggest opportunity I’d had. Biggest I might ever have.

“It had to be done,” Eli said dismissively. “Fans flock to those shows to see Nate. You’re the woman who could wreck his marriage. His sales would have dropped dramatically if we didn’t separate you.”

I couldn’t turn and look at Lia. Had she known? “We? Nate knows?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure he’ll be told soon.”

“So you just decided, without talking to either one of us?”

“I didn’t need to talk to you.” Eli’s voice sounded cold as ice. “Fans think you did something wrong. They don’t want to see you perform, and they sure as hell don’t want to see you and Nate together. I made the best decision I could to save his career.”

There was so much wrong with everything he’d just said. I’d done something wrong? Talk about double standards! I was the other woman in the fake scenario, yes, but Nate was the married one. If he was having an affair, shouldn’t women be out to crucify him as well?

But it was the last part I focused on. He made the best decision to save Nate’s career. Not mine. My manager seemed more concerned about someone other than me. It wasn’t really a surprise, but it still stung. Hearing the words out loud were all it took, though.

“You’re fired.”

Eli had been talking again, about what, I couldn’t tell you, but it took him a second to realize I had spoken. “What?”

I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘you’re fired.’”

Eli laughed. The bastard actually laughed. “You’re firing me? Oh, young lady, I take back what I said earlier. THIS is the best news I’ve heard all day.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have the paperwork sent to you later. I’d say that I’m sorry it ended this way, but I’m really not.” Before I could respond, he hung up.

I turned, hurrying back to the couch and collapsing before my knees gave out. I was almost surprised to see that Lia was still here, her face as pale as I’m sure mine was. She slid closer, grabbing my hand.

“What just happened?” I asked her, desperately hoping it was all just a big misunderstanding.

“Something that should have happened a long time ago,” she assured me. “Hey!”

I turned toward her, meeting her eyes.

With a gleam in her eyes, she said, “This is a good thing!”

“I just fired my manager, Red. I don’t…” I broke off. I wouldn’t cry over a piece of shit like Eli Callahan, but I sure as hell didn’t know what to feel. “I don’t know how to do anything he did.”

My confession made her smile. “I’d be worried if you did. We’ll find you someone great to replace him,” she assured me, tapping the top of my hand in a motherly fashion. Then, her eyes lit up. “What about Nikki?”

Nikki Kelly Woods was the best manager I’d ever met. Everyone loved her. Well, almost everyone. And if you didn’t, you feared her. She was a force to be reckoned with. I would kill to have her take me on as a client. Or, at least, auction off some of my unneeded parts on the black market—a kidney or an ovary.

I shook my head sadly. “She won’t work with me. She said it’s a conflict of interest.” I understood that. Not only was she one of my closest friends, she was Nate’s big sister and had managed him since the early days of his career, back when he was just a songwriter who never thought he’d hear his songs on country radio, let alone perform to sold-out stadiums. Plus, she was super busy; not only did she manage to keep my best friend looking squeaky clean, but she also managed her husband and was mom to the most adorable baby ever born.

Lia pursed her lips in thought. “Maybe…” She trailed off, and I knew she was thinking just as hard as I was. “I hate to say it, but maybe we should talk to Nate.”

“No.”

“He might know someone,” she countered.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” I argued back. “I don’t want another Eli. Plus, I’m still pissed he fired Tim.” I needed to focus on one issue at a time; I could yell at Nate about his controlling asshole ways later.

“What about the band?”

Some of the guys in the band had managers, but they had a handful of other musicians on their client roster as well. I needed someone who could work yesterday, someone who could do damage control and hopefully save the rest of this tour, someone who would be on my side, and most importantly, someone who could stand up to Nate. I glanced over at the woman sitting next to me and a lightbulb went off.

“You could do it!” Last summer, Nate had hired Lia to be an interim manager while Nikki was on maternity leave. Lia had surprised us all when she not only did the job, but she did it just as well as Nik. Not to mention, she needed the distraction.

Lia’s eyebrows popped up. “I could do what?” Her voice was cautious, as if she was almost afraid of my answer.

I grinned deviously. “You could be my manager.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Lia argued. “I’m not a manager, Mols. I teach high school.”

“But you could! You kicked ass last summer. Even Nik said you could make it a career. Plus, you’re not teaching now, you’re staying on tour with us. You’re always telling me how bored you are.” Okay, so that was a stretch, she may have mentioned it once while the boys were fishing and we were stuck at some shitty little cabin with no internet so we couldn’t even download books to read. But it would definitely keep her mind occupied. “You are the one person I know who can stand up to Nate and win.”

Her eyebrows peaked as she stared at me. “You’re serious right now?”

I nodded, keeping my fingers crossed she’d say yes.

“You want me to manage you?”

I nodded again, and the pit in my stomach grew the longer she dragged this out.

She narrowed her eyes but looked as though she might’ve actually been considering it. After a few seconds, she sat forward. “You’ll listen to what I have to say? You won’t let it get personal?”

It was a pretty simple question, but I knew why she’d asked it. If push came to shove, Nate would side with his wife. She would always come first, and she didn’t want to come between my friend and me.