Crazy in Love. Crystal B. Bright

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her head, nearly losing her hat in the motion. “Let’s just cut our losses. I’ll sell the studio, pay this guy off, and go on—”

      Craig cut her off. “Go on what?” He pounded his fists on his desk. “This is it, little girl. Music is all you have. My life, my world, is wrapped up in this business, in you. I believe in you. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have made it here into my office. Now I’ve been waiting patiently for you to come back. I have made plans and backup plans and backup plans to those backup plans for when you come out. And when I present you with an offer, you turn your nose up at it? I don’t think so. You’re going to go down to the studio every day with Truman Woodley.”

      Shauna felt her eyes go wide. “His name is Truman Woodley? What is he, a Boy Scout?”

      “Maybe when you start working with him you two can decide on a suitable name change. It worked for you.”

      Adopting a new persona had helped Shauna in a way. She could delve into a character without revealing her true self while she performed. She doubted this guy wanted to do the same thing.

      “You are going to produce this album. All of this is going to lead you back to one thing.” Craig held up his index finger like God announcing her fate. “You’re going to sing again and to packed houses.”

      The tickling feeling disappeared and Shauna’s stomach churned. Although she’d said she wanted to sing, the idea of standing in front of a crowd hit her like a punch in her gut. She saw herself on stage again babbling like an idiot and fainting like before.

      She swallowed, hoping to calm her tightened insides, but instead her insides went in reverse. She recalled this same feeling the first time she’d sung on stage by herself at the tender age of fourteen. She bolted from her chair and ran to his glass doorway.

      Shauna’s pounding footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed in her ears. She ran past an office worker who must have recognized the international sign of being nauseous. He directed her to the bathroom but she only caught “…door on the right.”

      Shauna burst into the bathroom, pushed open a stall door, and collapsed at the toilet, purging her insides into the white, automatic bowl. As soon as she lifted her head slightly, the murky water swirled down, offering her a clean bowl to continue vomiting. She inhaled and caught the putrid stench of her predigested food.

      After her second heave and the toilet’s second auto-flush, she felt something over her shoulder. Shauna turned her head to see a crumpled white paper towel by her.

      “Thanks.” She accepted it. “God, what a day.” She said it to herself but also to the kind stranger behind her who had just offered her some compassion in the form of the gritty paper towel. She would have to put on her Shauna Stellar face to appease this fan.

      “Do you ever get the feeling like the world is laughing at you and you’re not in on the joke?” Shauna sat on her haunches for a moment before attempting to stand. “I get home today and I’m told to produce this country singer who I have never heard of. I don’t even listen to country music. And I have that guy’s career, my manager’s career, and my own career riding on everything that I do. It’s too much. Something’s got to give and I think it’s going to have to be Slim Pickens.”

      She heard a flush from a couple of stalls down from her and a creaky door opening and closing. When her stomach felt settled after she’d purged, both physically and emotionally, she sat up on her knees, still facing the toilet.

      “I just don’t think I can do all of this.” When she heard the water in the sink turn off, Shauna raised herself up from the floor. “I don’t know who you are, but thank you for listening to me make a fool of myself.” She smiled and laughed until she turned around and came face to face with her Bo Duke-Slim Pickens singing cowboy.

      Shauna peeked behind him briefly to catch the row of urinals. Among everything else, she’d run into the wrong bathroom. On top of that, she ended up confessing that she didn’t want to produce Truman’s album.

      She swallowed uneasily and attempted a clumsy smile, one that twitched at the corner and didn’t stop until she put her hand over her mouth.

      Truman towered over her. The gaze from his tobacco brown eyes bore down on hers until she felt smaller than the brain of an ant. Had she had a brain in her own head she would have remembered her own first rule of being a celebrity: never speak your mind in public. The truth always got twisted into something distorted and ugly. However, this time her rule hadn’t failed her. Her rude statements had stung her.

      She took a step back into the stall. Truman, looking like he had stepped right off his photo in jeans and white button-down shirt, scratched his head. His short, brown hair barely moved in the motion. He put one hand on the doorframe of the stall. The other hand held his cream-colored Stetson.

      He smelled like the great outdoors, which included a mixture of fresh cut grass, leaves, tree bark, and honeysuckle. When she spent summers with Craig and Delores in Virginia Beach, the outdoorsy scent used to calm her. Now she would always associate the scent with embarrassment, fear, and anger—Truman’s anger.

      He placed his hat on his head, tipped it back with one finger. “And I thought our first meeting would be awkward.”

      Even through his smooth country accent she caught his sarcasm. He walked out of the bathroom.

      She let out her breath, leaned against the cool tiled wall, and slid back down to the floor. “Great. Just what I needed, someone else to hate me.”

      The door opened. She expected to see Truman, ready to formally curse her out for her stupidity. Instead a young, pimply face man entered. He did a double take when he found Shauna in one of the stalls. He stared at her, then the urinals while hopping from one foot to the other.

      He opened his mouth to say something when she cut in.

      “Don’t worry. I’m out of here.”

      Chapter 3

      Truman stomped his way toward the elevator as some bald-headed black guy tried to stop him. In his suspenders and with a fancy gold watch, the dude didn’t look like security. Then again Truman never thought he would have seen a big star like Shauna Stellar on her hands and knees chucking her guts out in a men’s bathroom toilet.

      “Just wait, Mr. Woodley.” The pleading tone in the man’s voice sounded desperate.

      Oh, so now he was Mr. Woodley. So this guy knew him. Couldn’t have been from Truman’s shows at county fairs or the dive bars. Hearing Shauna talk, Truman wouldn’t have an album.

      Damn it. He didn’t want to go back home to Tennessee with his tail stuck between his legs. He wanted to prove he could make it, especially to his parents who would welcome him back with that I-told-you-so look and the keys to the family business he didn’t want to run.

      “I don’t know who you are, man, but you’re in my way.” Truman didn’t stop moving.

      “I’m Craig George.” He presented his hand. “I spoke to you on the phone a couple of days ago.”

      Truman had never turned down a man’s handshake. He grabbed Craig’s hand, gave him one solid hand pump, and marched toward the elevator.

      Craig continued. “I don’t know what just happened with you, but I would like to talk before you leave.”

      Truman СКАЧАТЬ