Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
"I need to get out of here," Irish murmurs.
I squeeze her shoulders. "Chris will think of something." I open the door to the control room where all the audio mixing and engineering takes place. "Sit in here while I get you something to drink."
I shut the door before Audrey can follow her daughter inside. It's then that I notice the videographer behind the older singer. "Are you recording this?"
"It's part of a documentary project," she admits.
"I don't consent, and neither does Clover, so you might as well put the camcorder down."
"We can blur out your face," Audrey suggests.
"And I can sue your ass from here to Paris."
The woman's face tightens, and some of her genial attitude drains away. "From the protective way you treat Clover, I'd think that kind of publicity would be something you would want to avoid.”
"Are you threatening us?"
The door behind me flies open, and Irish stomps out, pushing me out of the way. She shakes her finger in her mom's face. "Don't for a minute think you're calling the shots here." She spins to me. "When did this collab come about?"
"I don't remember. Before you made it into the press, but it was recent."
"It had nothing to do with you," Audrey offers, but it was the wrong thing to say.
"Of course, it didn't. When have you ever made a decision with me in your head?" Irish folds her arms across her chest. "But the press? This tiny-ass studio where we are practically stacked on top of each other when you both can afford something way bigger? That was all your idea. I guess because you aren’t famous anymore you decided that I was worth using as a PR tool, but you don’t get to do that. You lost that right when you walked out on Dad and me.”
“I used this as an opportunity to reconnect with you, Clover. You’ve ignored all my attempts to reach out to you.”
“Where were you when Daddy died? When I had to bury him?”
Audrey’s eyes widen, and she stumbles back. The videographer tries to catch her but can’t hold the camera and stop the older woman from falling. I leap forward and intercept Audrey before she can hit the floor.
“She’s fainted,” I state. “You—” I point to the receptionist. “Get some vodka. Or whiskey.” It’s a record studio. They should have a storage cabinet full of booze and maybe even drugs. I lift the slight woman into my arms and carry her into the control room. Irish pushes her purse off the sofa, and I lay the singer down onto the now empty cushions.
“I thought she knew.” Irish’s lower lip trembles. “I didn’t keep it from her on purpose.”
I press Irish’s face against my chest. “I know, baby.”
Her whole body shakes. “James called her. I know he did. He wouldn’t lie about that to me.” She lifts her tear-stained face, seeking reassurance.
“No. He’s very protective of you, but he wouldn’t lie about contacting your mom.”
“But she didn’t know.”
Or she’s a very good liar. “Yeah, seems that way. Come on. Let’s get your mom revived, and you can talk it out.”
Irish’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t know if I want to. Even if she didn’t know about Dad’s passing, she still abandoned us.”
“Then don’t talk it out.”
“You won’t think less of me?”
I cup her face and thumb away some of the wetness on her cheeks. “We could leave your mom unconscious on the sofa and I wouldn’t think less of you. This isn’t my call to make. I didn’t live your life. You get to make those decisions. I’m here to back you up. No matter what call you make, I’m going to support you.”
“What if I said it’d kill me if you sang a song with her?”
“I’m not doing that damned song. That was over the minute I figured out she was your mom.”
“Isn’t it supposed to help your Grammy campaign?”
“Baby, fuck the Grammys. You’re way more important than some dumb trophy.” I wrap my arms tightly around Irish and give her a hard, affirmative kiss until the tears have subsided and her trembling is more from arousal than anger or sadness.
A knock on the door has me reluctantly releasing Irish. Outside, the receptionist lifts a bottle of ammonia in front of me. “It’s cleaning fluid, but I think it’ll work better than all our vodka.”
I thank her and take the container to the sofa. Irish grabs the cleaning fluid from me.
“I’ll do it.” She crouches down by Audrey’s head. “I’m going to pour this lye on your face if you don’t sit up.”
Audrey’s eyes flutter open immediately. “Did I faint?” She struggles to sit up. Neither Irish nor I help her. Audrey’s mouth flattens into a frown. “What happened?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Irish sets the bottle onto the floor and then settles into one of the black leather rolling chairs. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out. Or make anything up.”