Trust (London Love #5)

They’d supported me through every whim. Paid for singing lessons. Driven me to Manchester for workshops and auditions. Bought me the clothes I’d picked out from fancy websites. Let me grow my hair. Let me make my own decisions. Hugged me when I’d stutteringly explained to them that marrying the lovely girl from across the road would never be an option. And instead of thanking them, I was slobbing on their sofa like a big lump of useless jelly, feeling sorry for myself.

The fact that I’d had a very successful ten-year career seemed to have completely escaped me. That was my father’s very apt observation over lunch…before he’d sighed and gone for his afternoon nap.

I tried to ring Reuben, the only thing I thought would pull me out of my funk, but he didn’t answer even though I knew it was his day off. I knew his schedule. Stalkers were a weird breed, and I was right here amongst them.

I was starting to understand why people went mad. I felt so incredibly pushed into a small corner, and I had no coping mechanisms to pull myself out of it.

I’d have left, but the thought of doing so made me feel physically sick.

My phone rang, and for a second, I was hopeful, but no. Not Reuben. Michelle again. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears. Releasing a massive sigh, I hit answer.

“Look, Gray,” she said before I even opened my mouth. “I just got off the phone with the Blitz management office. Pardon my French, but what an utterly fucking unpleasant person they have working there. Anyway, it seems that Lauren is currently on extended leave, and nobody else is working for you, but I managed to intimidate some other lowlife in that place and got my hands on your schedule. I also have a proposal for you.”

“Okay?” I felt soft. Weak. Vulnerable in every ridiculous way. She could probably have told me to fly to the Moon, and I would have agreed. Luckily, she didn’t.

“I want to manage you. An interim agreement of sorts, covering all parts of your career from now on, if you would be happy to be party to that. Usual fees apply, but you understand how that works, so I won’t bore you with the small print. I’ll email you a contract for you and your legal team to have a look at.”

“Okay.” I sat myself up a little straighter, tried to get my head in gear.

“It might not be what you want, but I’ve already got you on my books, so it makes sense. But there are a few upcoming things I want to discuss.”

“Everyone hates me,” I said. God, how pathetic. I’d sat through weeks of media training. I could do better.

“Graham,” Michelle said sternly. “You know as well as I do that this whole circus you have going on is good for your public persona. You’re everywhere right now. People are interested in your next move, and we will handle exactly that. Work on your next move. Which brings me to my next question. You’re writing a book?”

“Ehhr…” I mumbled.

“Thought so. Is writing a book something you’re interested in?”

“Absolutely…not.” I was quite proud of that response. For once, I was saying something that resembled a no.

“Good. Let’s bin that project then. Fine. Moving on…”

I laughed out loud. Okay. I could work with this.

“The music is on hold, also fine,” she said, like she was ticking off a checklist. She probably was. “That’s not an issue this end. You’re booked in for a photoshoot for Rebel magazine next week. Are you willing to do that?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked. Honestly, I had no idea what else I’d flunked out on lately. I’d done that other photoshoot with another bollocks interview.

“Rebel has a good team, and I’m quite chummy with the editor. I think…” She hummed gently in my ear. “Let me suggest to them that we push this shoot, with the promise of an exclusive deal when we get ourselves together. When we have big things to talk about that don’t involve all these depressing lawsuits. I don’t think the timing is good. Let’s just sit this one out. Figure out how we can get you working on some decent projects. Exciting things. Nurture you forward.”

I had no idea what she meant, but it sounded good. And a little less stressful.

“Great! You’ve been a dream to work with so far. I’m really happy with what we have achieved. Great to have you on the team, and don’t worry too much. This is just one of those things. People suck. Timings suck. The world still keeps turning. Chin up. Tomorrow is another day. All that jazz.”

I sighed, wanting desperately to hang up so I could retreat under my blanket.

“You know it’s all bullshit, don’t you?” She was smiling, right there in my ear. I could hear it. “Gray?”

“I don’t know anything,” I whispered.

“You’re a nice guy. Let all this bollocks run off your back. Chill. And I’m not the witch they make me out to be either. Be honest with me. Talk to me when you need to. If anything is too much or clashes with things that are important to you, as long as you let me know, I can fix that. Deal?”

“Yeah.”

“And Gray?”

Deep breath.