Do Not Enter.
But she pushed through it. “Excuse me.” She smiled and held her hand out. “I’m Gigi Cavanaugh.”
Emmie grabbed it. “Oh, hey. I’m so glad to meet you. Your song was amazing. I’m Emmie Valencia Vaughn, and this is Irwin Ledger.”
“Hello,” she said to both of them. Then, she smiled at Emmie. “Your kids are adorable.”
“Oh, sure. You have a flashy dance troupe on stage. We have toddlers.”
“Yours are way cuter.” Gigi felt the USB stick in the palm of her hand. “Irwin.” She looked him right in the eyes. “I can’t tell you how nervous I am to meet you. You’ve always been my brass ring.”
His gaze slid over to Emmie’s with a subtle look that said, Save me.
Emmie jumped right in. “Irwin’s not taking on any new clients at the moment, but—”
Gigi never broke eye contact. “I know you only work with musicians that blow your socks off.” She handed him the stick. “So, it would mean the world to me if you’d give me a chance. Even if you only listen to the first song, that’ll be enough to get a feel for my sound.”
He looked at it like it had eight hairy legs.
Emmie reached for it. “Thank you. We look forward to listening.”
“No, you don’t, and I understand that. You see me as a Lollipop. Look, I got discovered in a karaoke bar when I was nineteen. I’d love to tell you that dropping out of USC and signing with Clean Beatz was a brilliant decision and that I have no regrets, but I can’t do that. I did it because the boy I’d loved with all my heart broke up with me in the worst way possible, and from what I could see on social media, it looked like he’d moved on and was having the time of his life. I wanted him to see pictures of me as a superstar, living my best life.” Her heart thundered, her palms went clammy, but she powered on. “I gave up the most essential part of me—my music—to stick it to a boy. But I’m back in my own skin now, and I’d like you to listen to my original songs.”
Irwin watched her carefully, like she might rip off her facemask to reveal the clown underneath.
The ground beneath her feet turned to quicksand, and she wanted to hurry up and get sucked into it.
But, then, the legendary Irwin Ledger spoke to her in his English accent. “I don’t listen to pop or country music, and while the song I heard tonight was lovely, it’s more along the lines of a country-pop mash-up. If you’re shopping a demo, I’d suggest committing to one style or the other as a starting point.”
“I don’t see myself as either.”
“And yet, if I said I work with country artists—and your voice certainly lends itself to that sound—would you be willing to buy some cowboy boots and add a little twang to your voice?”
Okay, so he was going to make fun of her. She’d expected to be dismissed not ridiculed. “I already own cowboy boots, and I’ve just spent the last seven years being a puppet for a tyrannical record label. And, actually, I’m really glad I met you, because I’d turned you into this mythical creature in my mind, but I know this is a business and money is the bottom line, so I understand you’re trying to fit me into a market that will bring your label money.” A calm settled over her. “The thing is, I’m done fitting into someone else’s idea of who I should be, and I think…I think I’m okay with spending some time building my own brand. So, the next time you’re bored of hearing the same old same old, look for me on SongCloud. You might like what you hear.” She turned to Emmie. “I appreciate everything my manager’s done for me, but I don’t think we’re on the same page anymore. If you’re looking to add another artist to your roster, I’d love to work with you.” Then, to both of them, she smiled and said, “Thank you for your time. Goodnight.”
Body bruised and aching, Cassian only had to get through one more repetition in the seven-on-seven passing drill. But, dammit, he needed to get this one right.
His rookie receiver flashed open on the right side, and Cassian released the ball. He knew the moment it left his hand that he’d fucked up. The angle was off. Didn’t get the height.
So, when the assistant receivers coach lifted his paddle to disrupt the throwing lanes and swatted the pass away, Cassian lost it.
Pulling his helmet off with both hands, he fired it to the ground.
The line coach jogged over, reaching for the ear pad that had popped out from the force. “Take a break, man.”
“No, I’ll do it again.”
The guy turned his back to the field and lowered his voice. “Go home. Start fresh tomorrow.” The compassion in his tone got Cassian’s attention.
He was fucking things up for everybody. With a curt nod, he left the field. It was the end of the day, anyhow. He’d head home. Start fresh tomorrow.
Inside the cool locker room, he sat on the bench and untied his cleats, peeled off his uniform, and dropped it on the floor.
He needed to show up for his team. He needed to get his head in the game. Hell, he’d spent his entire career playing with half a heart. Nothing new here.
Heading to the showers, his legs felt stiff, like he’d forgotten how to walk, like the connection between his mind and body had been cut. He stood under the spray, tilting his chin down, and letting the hot water pour over him.
Eyes closed, alone in the locker room, he let it sack him.
I lost her.
I fucking lost her.
He didn’t think he could stand going back to a life without her.
Squirting soap onto his palm, he lathered up and scrubbed the sweat off his body. As he rinsed, he reminded himself he wasn’t going to win her back by turning into a sad sack of shit. His only hope was to clean up his reputation. Slamming his fist against the faucet, he stepped out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.
Would she move on before he could put into action all the things he needed to do to make his world safe for her? She loved him. He knew that. He just…
I’m scared shitless I pushed her too far away this time.
He came back into the empty, dead-quiet locker room and put on his boxers, jeans, and a faded Lollipop T-shirt. Grabbing his sneakers, he turned to sit on the bench and found Dean, in his grass-stained practice pants, watching him.
Without a word, his closest friend opened his arms, and Cassian just fucking crashed. Dropping his shoes, he walked right up to him and leaned in. It didn’t take more than a couple seconds for him to give Dean all his weight.
His mind went completely still for the first time in the three weeks since he’d lost her, leaving him nothing but pain and desolation. He languished in it. Tears burned, and he blinked furiously. “I want her back.”
Dean grabbed his shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “You can have her back…but not until you make a choice between her and us.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Right now, you’re dividing yourself between your teammates and Gigi—and she’s come out the loser.”
“That’s bullshit. I would choose her over football any day. You know that.”
He shook his head. “That’s not the choice you need to make. Look, you can take your teammates on all the trips you want, buy them a new fancy watch every year, but if you’re not winning, they’re not going to like you. They’ll consume you, but they won’t like you. They need you as a leader.” He dropped his arms. “Winning requires leadership—not weeklong parties where you’re, essentially, babysitting them. You’re George S. Patton, and they’re the troops you’re leading into battle. They need to believe on an emotional level that you’re going to lead them to victory. If they do, they’ll follow you anywhere. They’ll take personal pride in being on your team. So, put your energy into being the best damn quarterback you can be, in energizing the guys on the field. When you do that, Gigi’s not competing with the guys anymore, right? She’s the priority of your personal life, and football’s your career. You get me?”