Dub glances at me before nodding and walking off.
Dub is barely out of earshot before Malcolm is speaking again, his voice almost arctic.
“You listen here, little girl.” His sharp glance slices over my face. “Dub Shaughnessy is the best there is, and we aren’t using anyone else until I say so.”
I’ve always suspected Malcolm’s slick demeanor hid something hard and cold. Now I know it’s a knife.
“I’m not your little girl,” I say, my voice only a few degrees warmer. “And I’m the one out there every night performing. If I say I need a new choreographer, I think we should at least explore other options.”
“Except you don’t get paid to think.” Malcolm slides his hands into his pockets and leans close enough for me to smell the garlic he had for lunch. “You get paid to sing and dance and look like every man’s fantasy every night. I do the thinking. You stick to that, little girl.”
“I’m not getting into this.” I turn to walk away. “I have a show tonight to prepare for. We’ll talk about this later.”
His meaty hand around my arm pulls me short. I look from the fingers clamped around my arm to the hard lines of his face, but he doesn’t let me go.
“We don’t have to talk about it later.” His mouth becomes a cold curve, his teeth like icicles in his smile, fat blurring the line of his jaw. “You should have read your contract a little closer, sweetheart.”
Dread creeps over me. I read the contract, but Rhyson and I were fighting, so I didn’t run it by him and didn’t know anyone else. I just wanted out of LA. I wanted space between Rhyson and me. I wanted this opportunity, so I signed a two-year artist development deal. It seemed pretty standard to me at the time, but maybe there were some fine print details I overlooked.
“I own you, lock, stock, and barrel for the next two years,” Malcolm confirms. “According to your contract, all creative decisions are mine, including who choreographs your videos and shows. And I made sure it’s so airtight, even your famous ex-boyfriend won’t be able to get you out of it without sidelining you until your contract is fulfilled. Even if you won’t work for me, you can’t work for anyone else.”
He drops my arm and straightens his tie.
“You want to wear Converse instead of high heels, go right ahead. I don’t give a fuck,” he says. “Everything else, I decide.”
I don’t know if it’s my fever or the horror of what I’ve gotten myself into, but something makes me sweat and sway a little on my feet. Malcolm’s hand snakes back out with false solicitation to steady me.
“You really should go get some rest.” He offers a warmed over smile. “It’s been a long three months, and we have a lot more ahead of us. You go on your way. Don’t worry about letting Dub know it was all a misunderstanding.”
His eyes land on me like a fist.
“I’ll handle that. I’ll handle everything.”
A hand on my shoulder distracts me from the icy stare down I’m having with Malcolm.
“Hey, drink this.” Ella offers me a cup of the magic tea that has kept my voice on life support the last few weeks. She flicks a glance between Malcolm’s stony expression and mine. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. I’m off to go find Dub.” Malcolm smiles for Ella’s benefit, I assume. “You’ve done an amazing job on the tour, Kai. Kill it one last time for me tonight.”
He walks off, leaving me with Ella’s questioning eyes.
“You sure it’s all good?” Ella glances over her shoulder, watching Malcolm’s bulky figure all the way backstage. “Malcolm seemed even creepier than usual.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I sip the hot tea, swallowing my pride. “This is perfect. Thank you for this and a million other things you’ve done for me on the tour that have nothing to do with makeup.”
“Hey, you’re a sweet kid.” Ella shrugs one slim shoulder. “And you’re the real deal. Your tour will be twice as big as Luke’s next year. Maybe I’m just getting in on the ground floor of something great.”
“Yeah, you’re such an opportunist.” I roll my eyes because she’s the genuine article. Few and far enough between in this business. “You’ve taken care of me, especially the last few weeks when I’ve been under the weather. I’ll never forget that.”
“And you need to get to the bottom of whatever you’re under.” Ella gives me a stern look. “The lingering cough. The aches.”
She presses the back of her hand to my forehead.
“You have a fever. I think we should call a doctor.”
“After the show.” I start walking toward the exit and the promise of a nap in my dressing room.