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“Give me a minute,” Sterling said to the security guy who was at the door, about to let in the next fan.
“We need to keep this moving,” Jeff said.
“I. Need. A. Minute.” The steel in Sterling’s voice had the power to make even Jeff shut up. His manager’s cheeks went red, but he didn’t argue.
There was nowhere to go in this tiny room. Sterling sat down at the table again and rested his head in his hands.
Breathe. A little less than an hour. Then you can fire Jeff and get out of here.
That was the other reason he couldn’t wait to end this meet-and-greet. He was letting Jeff go after a few years of moving Sterling away from the direction he wanted to go. Jeff would be furious, but he couldn’t do a thing about it.
Sterling had already hired Morgan Colter, his childhood best friend, to replace Jeff. She had called last week to let him know she left the band she had been working with and wondered if he needed someone. The timing was too perfect when she approached him.
Morgan understood that he was a raging introvert. She knew the things in his history that made him broody.
“I get you, Sterling. And I’m going to help you get your reputation back on track. We’ll hire someone to handle social media and all that, to do your PR. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. The focus will be the amazing music you make.”
Sterling’s only hesitation was that he suspected Morgan used to have feelings for him. Ones beyond the friendly ones he had for her. She had never said anything, so it was hard to be sure. Famous or not, Sterling didn’t want to assume every girl in the world was into him. Hopefully, he was wrong about Morgan.
They hadn’t seen each other much over the years. They had both succeeded in the music industry—Sterling on stage and Morgan behind the scenes. Morgan was based in L.A. and Sterling lived in Nashville when not on tour.
If nothing else, Sterling knew that he could trust her. Morgan wouldn’t keep signing him up for these personal appearance events where he had to spend hours talking to people. Hopefully.
But it was a chicken and egg problem. These kinds of events were the personal connection that could help with public image. But the more of these events he did, the worse Sterling’s public image seemed to be. Hours of talking to people left him drained and short-tempered. That kind of thing was hard to hide from fans. They assumed he was an ungrateful diva, not that being around people left him totally exhausted.
Being a musician seemed to be a circular problem these days, any way you looked at it. Streaming services and the death of CD sales meant a constant touring schedule to make money. Touring made it harder, at least for Sterling, to write new music. Without new music, interest would dry up. If he kept pushing back his new album, Sterling would soon be considered a “classic.” Then he could do a has-been tour, like New Kids on the Block and the Backstreet Boys.
Morgan had promised to help him with all of these things. But Sterling didn’t know if his career was fixable.
Maybe he needed to go back to the beginning and remember why he was here. He could trace his roots to the day his dad walked out on them. Sterling had been eight, May had been two. His mom had been crushed—Sterling had heard her many nights, crying after she thought he was asleep—but put on a brave face. She continued to smile, volunteer at his school, and go to church, as though his dad leaving didn’t shake the entire framework for his universe. That’s really when Sterling started to become more introverted, more withdrawn, moodier and more cynical.
It’s also when he picked up a guitar and a pen.
Music had been a refuge. He could lose himself in the sound and rhythm, pouring his emotions into the lyrics. Playing shows used to leave him feeling energized and whole.
But now it often felt like less of a refuge and more of a trap. His writing had all but slowed to a stop. The passion that once moved from his fingertips to the frets of a guitar had disappeared. The tour he would be starting in a week made him feel claustrophobic.
Six years later, it all felt heavy to him. Maybe it was time to walk away. This idea had become more and more appealing to him over the last eighteen months.
“Tick tock,” Jeff said.
Sterling dropped his hands to his lap and gave Jeff a humorless smile. If only he knew how true that statement was.
Sterling reached for the pick on the table, but it was gone. Not surprising. They disappeared constantly. He pulled out a replacement and twirled it around his fingers. One more hour.
“I’m ready,” he called to the security guard. A new group of crying and screaming teens came through the door.
Tucking the pick back in his pocket, Sterling reached for his marker and forced another smile.
Chapter Two
“I cannot believe you let me make a fool of myself in front of him,” Reese groaned. She held her hands over her ears as the Diet Dr. Pepper dropped in the machine. The sound triggered a minor earthquake in her brain. Staci insisted it was impossible to be hung over after one glass of wine, but Reese still had a headache two days after the unfortunate meet-and-greet with rock star Sterling James.
Maybe it wasn’t an alcohol hangover, but a humiliation hangover?
Staci shook her head as they walked back to their desks. “We’ve been over this. You’re the one who engineered fake passes to get us in. As usual, the whole thing was your idea. I’m just your half-willing partner in crime. I had no idea you’d get tipsy on one—one—glass of wine.”
“I didn’t either!” Reese said. “Since that was the first alcohol I’ve ever had. First and last. Never again. How do people do that every weekend?”
