“I will,” he said.
“Cady, this is Matt,” Eve said, as if the smile on her face and the delight in her eyes didn’t give it away. “Matt, meet Cady.”
“Nice to officially meet you,” Matt said with a nod. “I’m a big fan.”
“Thank you. I’ve heard so much about you from Eve.”
“That’s not good,” Matt said easily.
“It wasn’t all bad,” Cady said, to laughter.
“He’s been a fan almost as long as I have,” Eve said. “Your first Maud concert was when?”
“The Slowdown, five, no six years ago,” Matt said.
“Wow, that is a long time,” Cady agreed. She’d been nineteen, on her father’s shit list for refusing to go to college, singing wherever she could get a gig and eating ramen noodles out of Styrofoam cups. “I was still singing covers at that point.”
“Yeah, but you had something,” Eve said. “We all knew it.”
“Thanks,” Cady said again. She was too tired to think of something more creative to say, but with Eve she didn’t have to. “I really need to get going. Emily has school tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Eve said. “Get some rest, then come see me. I’d love to have you at Eye Candy when you’re ready.”
“Ms. Ward won’t be taking any engagements for the next few weeks,” Chris said smoothly.
“It’s not an engagement,” Cady said. “It’s a favor for a friend. A very dear friend.”
Chris gave her a look reminding her that she needed to rest her voice. Only a few people knew about the upcoming album for which the label planned a surprise Beyoncé-style drop around Valentine’s Day, less than three months away. The thought made her stomach turn a slow loop. Chris chalked it up to nerves, to exhaustion, to creative fatigue, to anything but Cady’s growing uncertainty that the album was the right thing to release now.
Chris broke the silence. “We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to rest up. I’ve booked a car for you.”
“Hello, remember me? I’m taking her home,” Emily said.
“Even better.” Chris slid his phone back into his jacket pocket. “With you she’s totally anonymous.”
Emily’s eyes darkened behind the mask of makeup. “Our time together starts now,” Cady said cheerfully. “Let’s grab my suitcases and we can head out.”
Cady, Eve, Matt, and Chris scuffled over who would carry the two enormous suitcases she’d lugged all over North America on tour buses and the occasional plane for the last eight months. Matt and Chris finally won, and followed Emily’s runway catwalk stride through the backstage area to the arena door. Eve and Cady trailed behind them.
The cold air instantly froze the sweat still drying in her clothes. Cady shivered, and Chris immediately pulled her back inside. “No way are you going out there without a coat and a scarf,” he said. “Em, pull the car around for her.”
He unzipped one suitcase and flung the lid back. The thick, spiral-bound notebook Cady used as a diary and scratch pad for songwriting slid out of the unzipped mesh pocket, onto the floor. Cady crouched down and gathered it up, tucking it back into the pocket along with an assortment of cocktail napkins and scraps of paper.
“Working on anything new?” Eve asked, helping her gather the loose paper. She’d been around Cady long enough to know that her process was firmly twentieth century.
“I am,” she said, shooting a defiant glare at Chris across her suitcase. With a total disregard for her privacy, he rummaged through a stack of underwear and her nightie, shifting heels and Converse, and two of her favorite T-shirts, in search of her scarf and coat.
“She’s always writing,” Chris said, extracting the thick green scarf and her down jacket from the bottom of the bag. “Put these on. Hot water with honey. Bed.”
“I know the routine,” she said. She shoved her arms into the coat sleeves and wound the scarf around her face and throat.
“Part of the routine is me reminding you to take care of yourself,” Chris said.
“I know,” she said, this time softly, in apology. Snapping at Chris was a sign of her exhaustion. He’d been her manager and agent, her advocate and supporter, since the day he saw her singing on a street corner outside a Harry Linton concert, tracked down her YouTube channel, and signed her.
He smiled back and zipped up the suitcase. Properly mummified, Eve opened the door again. Em’s Corolla was idling by the arena’s loading dock. Matt and Chris stored the suitcases in the trunk while Cady slid into the passenger seat. Heat blasted from the vents, almost making up for the cold air billowing in the open door.
“I’ll call you,” Chris said, leaning over the frame. “We need to talk about your security.”
“No, we don’t,” Cady replied.