Page 8 of Not Your Golden Boy

Nikky just wanted peace, and for him, peace came through not being perceived. Which was why he was so psyched to get started with his plan to tank his image by pretending to be with Harry. Harry was exactly the kind of guy who could suck up all the attention in a room and leave Nikky happy in the shadows.

He was so confident in his plan that by the time they reached the studio, Nikky actually felt happy and hopeful about his entire trip to London. He was about to spend the next few weeks recording an album with one of the best producers in the industry, which had always been his dream. Yes, he still loved acting and was booked solid for the rest of the year with carefully chosen indie projects. But by giving more time to his music, he was opening a door to a different, quieter sort of celebrity. Everything was coming up roses.

“Nikky Smith.”

Nikky stood quickly from the chair where the studio’s receptionist had asked him to have a seat when a handsome, middle-aged man with a strong jaw and gray at the temples of his black hair came toward him from a side hall, hand outstretched.

“Dean Albion,” he introduced himself as he took Nikky’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person at last.”

Nikky knew exactly who the man was. Everyone who had ambitions in the music industry knew who Dean Albion was. The man was responsible for some of the most dazzling careers in the music industry and had won more Grammys than any other producer still living. When Dean Albion called saying he wanted to work with you, you knew your career was set.

“I know who you are,” Nikky said, then immediately felt like a complete idiot. “I mean, everyone knows who you are. We spoke on the phone. It’s great to finally meet you at last.”

God, he needed to shut up. Albion was going to think there was something wrong with him instead of trusting him to be a professional at the top of his game who was ready to make a massive career move.

Fortunately, Albion laughed. “Everyone knows who you are these days, too, Nikky Smith,” he said, pivoting to stand beside Nikky and to usher him back down the hallway he’d come from and into a deeper part of the building, where the recording studios were located. “You’re having quite the meteoric career launch. People are still talking about Cooked and your chemistry with Dean Oberlin months after the show aired.”

“Cooked was a once in a lifetime experience,” Nikky said, the maelstrom of emotions that the show gave him welling up as Albion led him past a series of recording booths and on to a large office with windows looking out on London. “We had so much fun filming it and Drew is one of my best friends for life now. But the hype and attention we’ve all gotten because of the show’s success has been a lot.”

“I’m sure it has,” Albion said, gesturing for Nikky to have a seat in a large, vibrantly upholstered armchair while he took a seat in the matching chair across from it. “I’m a little surprised that you want to shift your focus to music when you could book any role Hollywood or anyone else wanted to throw at you.”

The prickling self-consciousness that Nikky always felt when people implied that he should be reveling in his new celebrity and milking it for all it was worth made sitting still in the big chair nearly impossible. It made him feel like the same fidgety kid he’d once been, wondering if the social services worker who had come to visit Brad and Pamela was there to take him or one of the other kids away.

“I love acting, don’t get me wrong,” he said, gripping the wide arms of the chair and digging his fingertips into the soft fabric. “But music has always been my first love. I hope I can continue to act in interesting projects, but I’d really love to be known as a musician first.” Because musicians could get away with being a disembodied voice blasting through headphones instead of putting themselves front and center in the public eye all the time.

“Right, right,” Albion said, nodding and steepling his fingers, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Of course, you know these days musicians are out there getting noticed in the world as much as actors are.”

“They can be,” Nikky said carefully, desperate not to offend Albion by having a different idea of what being a rockstar meant than he did. “But they can also just be known for their music without constantly being on the red carpet or giving interviews or being chased by paparazzi.”

Just saying the word paparazzi sent a spike of anxiety through Nikky’s entire body. Holberg hadn’t tried to contact him in weeks. He might not be aware Nikky was in London. But that didn’t mean the man wouldn’t pop out from behind some corner when Nikky least expected it, camera pointed, invasive questions at the ready.

“But you love all that stuff,” Albion said with a smile.

Nikky blinked, his eyes going wide. “Actually, I don’t.”

“Sure you do.” Albion shrugged. “You’re a natural in front of the cameras and on those red carpets. A young, hot guy like you? The public loves you, and you eat that stuff up.”

“Really, I don’t,” Nikky said, feeling smaller and more in the spotlight with each passing second.

“Well, the public loves you,” Albion went on, shifting the way he sat. “They love your approachable, good guy image. You’re Hollywood’s current golden boy.”

If Nikky heard those words pinned to him one more time he might scream.

“I never set out to cultivate that image,” he insisted, scrambling for a way to get the conversation back to a place where he felt comfortable without offending or contradicting Albion. This was Albion’s world, after all. He needed the man to get to where he wanted to be in life.

“Don’t you worry about cultivating your image,” Albion said with a smile. “I’ve spoken with your agent and your manager, and that’s something my team will take care of. Your job right now is to sing your heart out and to shine as brightly as we all know you can.”

“Um, okay.” Nikky sank lower into his chair, uncertain how the conversation had ended up in such a terrifying place already. At least Albion had been in touch with his manager, Charlotte. Charlotte was one of the few people he trusted in the industry. She was incredibly busy, but she would be coming to London the following week to check up on him.

“Now, I’ve got a whole selection of songs that will be perfect for you written by some of the most talented pop composers in the business,” Albion went on, clapping his hands together like he was eager to get started. “I’ve been sitting on a few of these songs for a while, waiting for the right talent to come along and record them. The best of them were written by Charlie Darling.”

“Charlie Darling?” Nikky’s heart sank. “The songwriter who writes for Kitty Faraday and Ollie Sandbourne?”

“That’s the very one,” Albion said, his smile wide and his eyes glittering with enthusiasm.

Kitty Faraday and Ollie Sandbourne were two of the shiniest, most sickly-sweet bubblegum pop stars currently making waves in the music industry. They were the polar opposite of the image and career Nikky wanted for himself.

“To be honest, Mr. Albion—” Nikky began.