Page 14 of One More Made Up Love Song
AmI living all my dreams?
Or am I just living Freddie’s?
I reassure Mom one more time that I’ll let her know as soon as I hear from Carina—assuming Idohear from Carina—then we finally say goodbye.
I take a second to forward Mom’s Pirate photos to Freddie—he’s completely enamored with Mom’s donkeys, and he’ll love Pirate because of how tiny he is—then I key out a text to my sister.
Ivy
Hey! Just checking in. How are you?
I debate whether I should mention my conversation with Mom, but I don’t want to put Carina on the defensive, so I leave the message as is and send it, then shift back to her Instagram.
My little sister has always been more than a little enamored by my connection to Freddie, and she’s used that connection to ingratiate herself to several people in the industry. Which…I shouldn’t be surprised it’s worked. She’s gorgeous and charming and always up for a good time, so people are usually happy to have her around.
But it still feels startling to me when I’m scrolling her Instagram feed seeing images of her posing next to celebrities or influencers I’ve never met.
Once, right before Freddie’s tour started, I attended an industry event with him in Nashville, and Carina happened to be there. I’d had no idea she was even in town, but she’dsomehow become “best friends” with a country music artist who’d just made it big on one of those talent search TV competitions and was attending the event with her.
When she ran into us, Carina talked to Freddie like he was an old friend, even though they’d only met a handful of times, then gave me a crushing hug like it was perfectly normal for her to run into me, like she had just as much right to be there as I did.
Which, honestly, Ihateattending industry events. I will only go if itisn’tblack tie, and I will only stay as long as I absolutely have to. So it’s not like I cared that Carina was there.
But I do remember wondering if she was in over her head.
If the industry has taught me anything, it’s that it will chew you up and spit you out no matter how sweet and charming you are.
Behind me, a door creaks, and Freddie appears in the hallway, his jaw tight. “Hey,” he says as he approaches. “You okay?”
I slip my phone into my pocket. “Yep. Just talking to my mom. How was your conversation with Sloane?”
He frowns. “Super,” he says dryly, and I press my lips together.
“She was tough on you?”
“Only as tough as I need to be,” Sloane says, as she steps out of the control room.
I look at Freddie, eyes wide. “How did she hear me?” I ask under my breath.
Sloane stops and drops a hand onto each of our shoulders. “I hear everything, children.” She looks at Freddie. “I believe in you, all right? I respect the creative process, but Ialso respect your contract—a contract I reallydon’twant to renegotiate. You know I will. I work for you, not them. But trust me when I tell you they’ll ask for more than you want to give. Your life will be easier if you can record something and meet this deadline.”
Freddie nods. “I know. I hear you.”
Sloane nods, her expression softening. “Good. Now take care of yourself. And put on a good show tonight.”
Freddie’s eyebrows lift. “Why? Are you coming?”
Sloane purses her lips, like she hates playing into Freddie’s charm. “I’m bringing my niece,” she finally says.
“You have a niece?” Freddie asks, and Sloane nods.
“My brother lives in Chicago. His daughter is fifteen, and it’s her birthday.” She sighs like it pains her to admit this out loud. “She’s a fan. I’m currently staying in her bedroom, which means I get to wake up to a hundred different renditions of your face.”
I fight a grin. It’s not unusual for agents to be at the concerts of the musical artists they represent, but somehow, this feels different. Like we’re catching a glimpse of Sloane’s softer side.
Her eyes dart to me. “If you laugh, I promise you will live to regret it.”
“Not laughing,” I say, eyes wide, though the idea of Freddie’s very professional agent sleeping under a Freddie Ridgefield duvet is almost more than I can handle.
