That bitch better stay out of my way.
I slide into the backseat of my car and pull out my phone, dialing my attorney’s personal line.
“Jameson, my favorite client. How’s Music City treating you?”
“Wanna tell me why that restraining order on that crazy bitch was thrown out? Are you aware that she’s on the fucking set of my new show playing host? I pay you way too much to be dealing with this bullshit.”
“Maybe if you answered my calls, you’d know that you were due back in court two days ago. I told Austin to get your ass back here. There was nothing I could do.”
“What’d the cops do about her trashing my place?”
“They couldn’t prove it was her.”
“I have top of the line security installed. Don’t tell me she managed to avoid the cameras.”
“The system failed right before the break-in. I’m sorry, Jameson. Unless she attacks you in the open, you’re just going to have to deal with her until filming ends.”
“Fuck!” I punch the back of the seat in front of me.
I hang up and dial Austin. “Dude, why the fuck didn’t you tell me about Viola getting off for trashing my place.”
“I did try to tell you over drinks the other night, but you were caught up in Peyton and her drama.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose I let out an exasperated sigh. This shit is going to be a fucking nightmare.
“That bitch is trying to ruin my life.”
&
nbsp; Chapter 18
Nashville Gawker
Drama is heating up the set of that new reality show I have been giving you the scoop on. Viola Coretlla has been cast as the host. Yes! You read that right. The ex-girlfriend of the infamous playboy, Jameson Lewis. Do you think they will be steaming up the city nights together off and on the set? Sound off below. I know my thoughts…and Viola isn’t the name tattooed on his back. Sources say it’s the nickname of an ex-girlfriend from you guessed it—Music city. If I had to wager my money is on the mysterious chick from the nightclub who let him talk to the hand. Do you have a great story? I pay for leads on breaking stories!
Chapter 19
Peyton
Filming the promo spot for the show wasn’t as terrible as I thought it was going to be. Though at the lunch today they announced that we will all be living in a house owned by the production company to save on costs. I hope they only meant the contestants. I can’t spend all my time with Jameson lurking around every corner reminding me of our past. We are to report to the house tomorrow and filming will start in two days. I’m freaking out a little. This is all happening so fast. We aren’t supposed to give any outside interviews or have contact with family and friends except for when we are given permission. I was coached and prepped on everything at the lunch and to top it all off they want Jameson and me to pretend we don’t know each other when the cameras are rolling. I feel sick about the whole thing. America is going to brand me a liar. Mr. Grant promised me that I wouldn’t be made to look bad, but I am having second thoughts.
My father even had his partners comb over the contract, and I made a huge mistake in signing it. I am at the show’s mercy until I fulfill my part. And if I win then I become their puppet—recording, touring, and performing at their will.
Wes keeps blowing up my phone with I’m sorry voicemails. It’s gotten to the point that I just delete them without even listening. I guess he’s getting under my dad’s skin at the office too. Constantly bugging him trying to get him to talk to me on his behalf. I guess that is one positive about the show. Wes won’t be able to reach me during filming. When I get to my Nan’s house there is a manila envelope waiting for me on the kitchen counter.
“What’s this?” I open it up and it looks like more release forms. I scan them over and at the end there is a note that says that these need to be signed and returned today. I just want to scream. I should take these to my father but that would mean looking at Barb and there is no way in hell I am calling Wes for this.
I am not in the mood for more paperwork and stupidly sign off on whatever this is. It’s not like they don’t own me already. I’m at their mercy. Whatever they say goes pretty much. I shove the forms back in the envelope and down in my bag. I’ll hand them over when I get to the house that we are all moving into temporarily. My phone buzzes with a text from Ruby Jane inviting me to dinner.
RJ: I promise my brother won’t be here. I have pizza and that new Bradley Cooper movie.
I smile. She knows I have been wanting to see it.
Peyton: If this is a setup you are so dead.
I sit with my Nan for a few minutes longer but my desire to watch that movie and my grumbling stomach sends me walking down the street. I don’t even bother knocking. I’ve been in and out of this house so many times it feels more like a second home than my dad’s place does.
Rodney is asleep in the recliner, and Thea is in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading a book.