Page 8 of Fa-La La-La Land
“You did. I even pitched it to the label, but they weren’t keen on hiring someone outside LA who didn’t have ‘industry connections.’” I didn’t agree with them—but I didn’t fight it either. One more regret on a list that’s getting longer by the day.
“So what made them change their minds? I mean, other than the ton of trouble you’re in.”
I push off the counter and wander toward the back door. I need the ocean air before I can say what’s next. “I told them you were the only person I’d trust…that I wouldn’t work with anyone else.”
Stella goes quiet. I hold my breath and stare out past the rooftops on the hill, toward the waves rolling in below. If I listen closely, I can hear them.
“Really?” she asks softly.
“Really. You sold the story of Georgia and Zach dating when they weren’t. Dex and Britta said your posts about Frothed doubled their business and the donations for their homeless programs.” I pace along the edge of the pool as I talk. The day is cooler than usual for September, but I’m sweating anyway, probably from nerves more than heat. I sit down on the cement and dip my feet into the water. The shock of it clears my head.
“Thanks, Rhys. That’s really solid of you.”
Her praise makes me happy I pushed for her.
“Danny wants to meet tomorrow afternoon at VibeHouse’s offices,” she adds. “Will you be there?”
“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “Didn’t even know about it.”
Once again, the label’s steering my life without asking me to hold the wheel—but at least they’re finally listening aboutStella.
“Why do they want to meet me without you?” she asks.
“I reckon to see if you’ll write the story they want you to tell about me.”
“Is that the story you want?”
I bounce my foot in the pool, making small ripples. “I want to keep the label happy.”
“Whatever story you tell, Rhys, there has to be truth in it. Georgia and Zach were in love—they just didn’t know it yet. That’s why her fans believed it, why their story still resonates. People want fantasy, but they also want to believe the fantasy is real.”
I sigh. “I’m not sure what the truth is anymore. I only know the story peoplewantto hear. That’s why I wanted to talk to you before VibeHouse did—to come up with a plan. Something that shows fans I’m still the person they think I am.” I wince. Even saying it out loud makes me sound like a fraud.
“Hmmm,” she says, thinking it over, and I remind myself this is what I like about Stella. Aside from the first time we met, she’s never been much impressed with my fame. She’s not afraid to tell me no.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Let’s do coffee first thing tomorrow at Frothed. I’ll tell Britta to create some privacy for us, and you can come in through the back door.”
I smile. “Beaut, Stella. Cheers.”
When we hang up, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Partly because maybe I can still turn this mess around—but mostly because I get to see Stella again.
Chapter Four
Stella
After ending my call with Rhys, I’m smiling. He was actually less gruff and guarded than usual. In fact, if Rhys was as personable in real life as he was on our phone call, I might take his calls. I won’t ever go back to screaming like a giddy teenager every time I see him—like I did the first time we met—but I’d at least pick up when he called. I might even consider having dinner with him.
The car ahead of me inches forward, and I follow. On impulse, I pull up my Christmas playlist and hit play. “Fa-La La-La Land” blasts through my staticky car speakers, reminding me thatthisis the Rhys James I thought I wanted to grow up and marry. Luckily, those dreams ended long before we had our real-life hallway collision.
I refuse to have that run-in be my forever meet-cute moment. Rhys and I willnotbe retelling that story to our grandchildren while holding hands and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.
Nope. My meet-cute will involve romance, insta-love, andme wearing a killer outfit. The kind of meet-cute Mom and Dad had. That’s a story worth telling.
Not,I made a damn fool of myself because he was even more devastatingly handsome in real life than he was in any of his posters I’d hung on my bedroom walls as a teenager.
Not,I jabbed his shoulder to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
And definitely not,I told him I’d planned our wedding when I was thirteen.
