Brook, Giselle’s one true friend and a saint for putting up with all the woman had put up with over the last seven years, had left messages telling Giselle she missed her, hoped she was feeling better, and looked forward to having her back.
But that was it. Just her manager, her agent, and her assistant. Nothing from her band members or her backup singers. She had no friends—other than Brook—no family, no one close to her who cared.
She drank deep, wishing the wine would wash all her pain away—in her heart, in her head, in her throat. Yelling at Troy hadn’t been smart.
“Bastard,” she muttered around a fresh wave of tears. Why did he always have to be right? Why did he have to know her so well? Understand her so completely? While standing so adamantly in the way of what she was meant to do? Who she was meant to be?
She shook her head and forced him from her mind. With two hours to wait, she couldn’t hold off talking to Chad until she got to Vegas like she’d planned.
Her fingers shook as she scrolled through her contacts and tapped his number. She took another long drink as she listened to his phone ring.
“Giselle?” Chad answered, guarded hope and shock in his voice. “Is that you?”
She swallowed. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Oh, thank God. I was just about to send LAPD to track down Jax Chamberlin to locate Troy. Girl, don’t do that to me again. You damn near gave me a heart attack. I thought something horrible had happened.” As if he just realized he hadn’t asked, he said, “You’re okay, right?”
She couldn’t even go there. “I’m sorry about the communication. Something went wrong with my phone, and I didn’t realize it until today. Can you catch me up on what’s going on?”
“Oh, Giselle, it’s amazing. I wish you’d been here to experience it, what a rush.” He rambled on and on about Pepsi influencing Bud, Bud influencing the smaller sponsors, and all the interest influencing the promoters to throw deal offers together. “…until it was like carte blanche. What does Giselle want? Where would Giselle like to see her career go? What can we do for Giselle?” His laugh was rich and satisfied. “Anyway, when all the dust settled… Are you sitting down?”
Her stomach clenched—but not in a good way. “Yes.”
“Bud is partnering with AEG Live to offer you a headlining tour throughout North America with a hundred and four stops all across America, including all the biggest venues. One hundred and four, Giselle.”
Her mouth dropped open. She thought she’d been prepared for big, judging by his excitement in the messages, but this was so big. This was…unfathomable.
“Live Nation and Pepsi,” Chad went on, “are partnering to offer you an overseas tour immediately after in eight countries, including stops at four military installations, for a total of sixty-three concerts.
“Both promotional companies have thrown out guest stars for various stops on the tours, names like Miranda Lambert, Jason Aldean, Gretchen Wilson, Luke Bryan, Sugarland. I can’t even name them all. It still gives me goose bumps just thinking about it…”
He went on with details, but she was still grappling with the enormity of this breakthrough. This was that moment—the moment she’d always dreamed of. This was her break. This was her shattering the glass ceiling. This was her becoming a household name. This was her hitting the big time. This was…this was…
This was her biggest, deepest fantasy come true.
And she was sitting alone. In an airport bar. With a broken heart. And one friend. Miserable.
“How the hell did this happen?” She hadn’t even realized she’d thought the words, let alone said them, until they were out of her mouth.
“Hard work,” Chad answered, completely misunderstanding the meaning of her question. “Hard work, perseverance, talent, training, promotion, taking opportunities, and making opportunit
ies. That’s how this happened, Giselle. This throws you into a whole different sphere, honey. A whole different category of entertainment. You are a who’s-who now. You’re going to have more money than you ever dreamed of. There’s no limit to where you can go, what you can do.”
Chad kept talking—about ludicrous amounts of money, the things she could buy, the things she could have, the services she could employ, while the only thing rolling through Giselle’s mind were Troy’s words.
“You’ve got a ton of money, which you don’t even use. You’ve got the power of a celebrity, which you neither use nor want. You’ve got the hip and fast lifestyle of a musician on the road, which has done nothing but left you lonely and haggard.”
“Chad,” she cut into his monologue.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was getting a little long-winded.”
“What kind of time frame are we looking at?” She already knew it was significant. That much travel and that number of concerts could only be done—
“I’ve got it mapped out on a two-year plan,” he said. “It’s a little tight in places, but doable. When are you going to get back? We can take a few days to go over the plan.”
The throb in her head intensified and threatened to blow her skull apart. Her belly burned with anxiety, the kind that made her want to crawl out of her skin. Instead of laughing and jumping and clapping and ordering another drink—hell, ordering a round of drinks for the whole damn lounge—she inexplicably wanted to cry.
And she panicked over the bizarre reaction. “Um…you know… My head is still pretty bad. Did you get all my concerts at the Mirage covered to the end of my contract? Because…because…I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to finish them out.”