Torn(29)

***

"You don't get to decide those things, Asher." She taps her fingers over her phone's screen. "This isn't just about you."

"I'm Asher Foster," I say it just the way it sounds, laced with arrogance. "I decide when I perform."

She puts her phone down an audible thud. "We signed contracts. Those contracts have provisions if you don't show."

"I get that." I lean back, crossing my legs at the knee.

I didn't want to meet in this restaurant. I would have been happy to have this conversation in my apartment but Dita, my manager, insisted we meet in public. I know what that's about. It's not her love for the sea scallops at Axel NY. It's the handful of paparazzi that hang out across the street, waiting to snap the picture of anyone even remotely notable who walks in or out of this place.

Dita is the first to shove me in front of a camera if it means I'll get more coverage in the media. She lives and breathes by the notion that no publicity is bad publicity. She's a f*cking fantastic manager, but we butt heads. I wouldn't trade her for anyone else at this point. The woman knows her stuff.

"You think that if we pay the fines for backing out that everything is great." She snatches her phone from the table before swiping her finger across the screen again. "You're going to get a reputation for being a flake. Is that what you want?"

A flake? What the f*ck is her problem?

"I backed out of two dates for small venues in Europe, Dita. If we're going to be blunt they were test runs for the real deal. We all considered them dress rehearsals for the tour." I glance at the menu. "This isn't going to make or break my career. We'll reschedule. They'll still get their shows."

She huffs because she can't possibly argue the point. I'm right. I know it. I'll get our social media manager to release a twenty second clip of me playing my new, and still unreleased, song in the recording studio and that will shift everyone's focus from the postponed dates. It's simple.

"I want your family in Europe for the kick off of the world tour."

"No," I say firmly. "That's not going to happen."

"Why not?" She volleys back without even raising her gaze from her phone. "It's a great opportunity to showcase your family bond, Asher. We'll snap a few pictures after the show and they'll go viral. You know how your fans love the Foster family posts."

"My brothers are busy," I lie. "They don't have time to go to Paris for that. It's out of the question."

"I just emailed both of them." She waves her phone in the air, the brightly lit screen dancing in front of me. "Once they confirm, we're all set. Your folks already agreed to be there. I asked them both weeks ago."

I scratch the side of my head just as the server approaches us. "It's my decision whether they're there or not, Dita. You can't keep going behind my back to set up shit like this."

"What's your problem today?" She motions for the server to stay even though he's about to turn and walk the other way. "They're your family, Asher. Why the hell wouldn't you want them there?"

Even though it's a rhetorical question, I answer it. I don't care if she's ready to order her overpriced lunch. I'm the one paying for this f*cking farce anyways. "I'm telling them not to come. That's final."

She laughs. "Whatever problem you have with them, fix it now. They want to be there, Asher. That night is as important to them as it is to you. They're your family."





CHAPTER 23


Falon




"Can you tilt your head to the left, Mr. Bishop?" I tilt mine as I study him from behind the camera.

He's a beautiful man. I knew that before he even walked into my studio, forty five minutes late. His face is synonymous with the largest hotel chain in the country. He runs the organization from his office on Fifth Avenue.

When I was contacted by the marketing department of Bishop Hotels to do headshots for all the executives I was excited. Not only did it mean more than fifty individual sessions, it meant my savings account would have an actual balance in it.

I took the job without question and I've spent the better part of the past two months, fitting in these headshot sessions whenever one of the Bishop Hotel executives were available. Julian Bishop, the CEO and owner of the company, is the last.

Once this is done, and I've delivered all the proofs, I'll get the remaining half of my fee.

"Is this what you want?" He arches a dark winged brow, flashing me a smile. "You're making me look better than everyone else in the organization, aren't you?"

I wouldn't have to do a thing to accomplish that. He's tall, his thick hair almost black, his irises a shade deeper blue than my own. His face is strong with high cheekbones and features that are striking. He's been dubbed the sexiest man of the year twice by a magazine that caters to women my age.

He's older than me though. I read his bio when I got the job. He's twenty-eight, the very same age as my brother Bobby. That's where their similarities end though. Julian grew up in a world of private schools and luxury, not lifting bags of flour and sweeping floors in a bakery in Brooklyn.

"That's perfect." I press the shutter on my camera, capturing the look in his eyes.