I’d been more than patient up to this point. I’d been a damn saint while she harassed me for months on end and dragged my reputation and my privacy through the music charts—but this was something else. Now I had to consider Sloan.
What if she had come home with me? Or shown up like she did last night? How would I even explain this shit? We were too new for this.
And what would Lola have done if Sloan had been here…
My jaw clenched. “I want you out of here. Let’s go.” I took her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. I just wanted to get her out of my way so I could go inside, but I could feel the wobble of her body from the grip I had, and I knew that if I let go, she’d fall. Jesus, she was a fucking mess.
I nodded to the Hummer I’d seen parked outside the gate. “Call your chaperone to come get you.”
She chuckled mirthlessly. “Awwwwww, are you mad at me?”
“You wrote a fucking song about me,” I snapped. “What were you thinking? Were you trying to ruin my damn career? I have an image to maintain and you wrote me naked and drunk on a fucking beach!”
She grinned lazily, drawing again on her joint with her eyes closed, her bracelets clinking down her wrist. “Well, you inspire me, Minnesota. Never had something so clean before…” she slurred.
I shook my head at her. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to you. I don’t know what your fascination is with me, what you’re on, or what your problem is, but I wish you’d figure it out and leave me the hell alone.”
She blew her smoke sideways and smiled like a cobra. “So we’re not doing this, huh?”
My nostrils flared. “No, we’re not.”
“You’re something else, Jaxon. You snapped your fingers and I came all the way over here…” She dragged her eyes down my body and stared at my dick. “At least let me do that thing you like.” She looked back up and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
I glared at her. “Don’t ever come here again. Do you understand me?”
She smirked and yanked her arm down. The second I let go of her she teetered in her heels like a baby deer. She lost her balance and tumbled backward onto the lawn, laughing. I could see her bodyguard making his way up the drive, right on cue. She was cackling and giving me the finger when I scaled the metal steps with Tucker and slammed the door behind me. Two loud thumps that I guessed were shoes hit the side of the trailer.
I called Ernie. He answered groggily on the third ring. “If you’re calling me with a cop car parked behind you, I’m going to need you to swallow the drugs,” he joked.
“Lola was just in the yard.”
He groaned. “Ah, shit. Give me five minutes.”
By the time Ernie met me outside, Lola was gone. Her stilettos sat abandoned on the grass.
“I checked the security cameras,” he said, meeting me by the pool in boxers and an open robe. “She used the gate code to get in. I don’t suppose you gave that to her.”
“No, I didn’t. I also didn’t tell her where I live,” I said, dragging a hand down my mouth.
He blew a breath through his nose and looked around the yard. “Well, I can reset the code. That’s not a big deal. But we have bigger problems. You’re not gonna be happy.” His eyes came back to me.
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “Due to the substantial financial commitment that your label is now making for your international tour, they would like to bring in another headliner. It’s pretty standard. I’ve seen this before. It’s not a lack of faith, it’s more of an insurance policy to make sure they don’t lose their fucking shirt.”
“Okay…”
“They want to bring in Lola.”
I dropped my arms. “No. Absolutely not.”
“They like the tie-in. You’ve got three potentially hit singles with her on the soundtrack. They want you mainstream and Lola is as commercial as they come, so attaching you to her is beneficial. And say what you will about her, but everything she fucking touches turns to gold. And Jason, she wants it. She wants it bad. In fact, I think it was her idea.”
There was no fucking way. It would be a shit show. Lola was a disaster. She’d be plastered the whole time, I’d be scraping her off the floor and propping her up on stage, peeling her off me like duct tape. “I’m not doing it.”
“Yeah, well, I thought you might say that. I did what I thought you’d want me to do, which was to tell them to go to hell in the nicest way possible. I said if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Your US tour dates are selling out nicely and you don’t need the help. And I made a point that Lola’s a hot fucking mess and she’s one overdose from a ninety-day stint in rehab.”
I nodded. “Good. What did they say?”
“They thanked me for my feedback and said they’d take it into consideration.”
I stared at him. “Can they do this?”
“They can do whatever the fuck they want. They’re paying for it. This is just like the fog machine and the fucking pyrotechnics. It’s their call.”
I raked a hand through my hair. “No.” I looked him in the eye. “If they dump her on me, I’m out.”
“So now comes the fun part.” Ernie ticked off on his fingers. “You walk, and they sue you for breach of contract. You have to pay back your advances, plus their expenses, plus any projected revenue from the tour. The damages will be in the millions. These guys don’t fuck around. You could have a kid in the hospital and they’d expect you to be there, onstage as scheduled. Barring a mental fucking breakdown or a life-threating illness, you’ll be there. Even in a coma you might be there. They’re not above operating you like a puppet with their hand up your ass.” He dipped his head to look at me. “And the icing on the bullshit cake? If you do manage to get a tour canceled for anything less than some medical emergency, you can kiss your fucking career goodbye because nobody’s going to touch you after that.”
I felt the color drain from my face.
“I don’t understand,” I breathed. “I don’t fucking get why she’s pushing this. Why me?”
He scoffed. “You’re probably the only guy who didn’t do lines off her ass and smack her around before he fucked her. She’s gotta tour with somebody, so why not the guy who held doors for her?” He shook his head. “We are between a rock and a hard place, my friend. I gotta tell you, if you would have asked me a month ago who the worst person to bring on tour is, I’d have said a girlfriend. But Lola? She’s my fucking tour nightmare. You see the shit in the tabloids this morning? She threw a beer bottle at a photog’s head. She’s like a rampaging hybrid of all my ex-wives, on cocaine.”
Sloan.
A cloud of doom rolled over me as I realized for the first time just how far-reaching this was.
I wouldn’t be able to bring Sloan on tour. I wouldn’t even be able to fly her out to visit. It would be uncomfortable for her at best. At worst it would be downright dangerous. Lola had a history of instability and violence and some weird fucking fixation on me. Who knew what she’d do? Even locked gates couldn’t keep her out. Even if I got Sloan a bodyguard, I couldn’t guarantee Lola wouldn’t get to her with more than a year of close proximity to try. Hell, Kanye had bodyguards too and a lot of good that had done. Not to mention all the lewd shit I knew she’d throw at my girlfriend just to piss me off. I couldn’t subject her to it.