Lost in You (Lost in You 1)

“Yeah, I’ll go,” I shout loudly.

CHAPTER 40

Hadley

I throw down my headphones and push the microphone out of my way. My producer stands, his hands pressing down on the table that holds his mixing board. He’s leaning over it, staring at me through the glass. If the look on his face is supposed to be menacing, he’s missing it by a mile. I can’t do this anymore. These songs, the ones I thought I wanted to sing for my new album, aren’t cutting it. I wrote them shortly after I left Ryan. Putting my feelings down on paper helped a little, but I never thought I’d be standing here in a studio recording them.

I’m not sure I can do it. There is so much anger. Pain and sadness fills my lyrics, but when I say the words, I hate them. I hate myself for letting Ryan go. In my mind, he was going to wait. He was going to be ready to take me back, forgive me for my stupidity and everything would be perfect.

He was the smart one. He moved on. I can’t blame him, even though I want to. How come he didn’t know I’d be back? Because I didn’t know I’d be back, that’s why.

I can’t do this, not today. I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I open the door only to find Ian standing there with his arms against the doorframe, blocking me from leaving. He’s shaking his head and his lips are curled into a sneer.

“Get back in there and get this done.”

“I’m not feeling it today. I need to leave.”

Ian straightens. This is his ‘I’m the boss’ stance. It works with the media and others who cower to him, but not me, not anymore. Not after everything that has gone down in the past few months. He’s supposed to be my friend, my confidant. I should be able to trust him, but he showed his true colors, repeatedly.

“I don’t think you understand.”

“No, Ian, I don’t think you understand. Your contract with me is up in a couple of months. If I was you, I’d start kissing my ass in the hope that I’m willing to re-sign with you.”

“Excuse me?” He steps back, which I don’t expect. I figured he’d push me into the room and shut the door so he can read me the riot act.

I step forward, finding a bit of confidence within. “You heard me. Don’t act so shocked. Yes, I know your contract is due for renewal and you bet your ass that I’m shopping around. You work for me, not the other way around.”

“You wouldn’t fire me. We’re family.”

I scoff. “You can’t throw the word ‘family’ around when it’s convenient for you,” I say as I point my finger at him. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll move out of my way.”

“You’re a spoiled little bitch, you know that?”

I shrug. “Whatever, Ian, I don’t care what you think. Not anymore.”

I walk past him, purposely bumping my shoulder into his. I slam the door behind me, hopefully conveying my anger. I doubt it did though. I opt for the stairs. I don’t want to see anyone out front. I don’t want to be stopped by the nosey receptionist who is supposed to order my lunch this afternoon. I just want out.

As soon as I’m out on the street, I’m heading to the local coffee shop. Today is not the day to be accosted by fans, but I see it coming. I can’t even stand in line without someone pointing and whispering. Yes, people, believe it or not, Hadley Carter buys her own coffee. Better call the paparazzi and let them know that I do mundane things. The cashier asks for my autograph and I stare at her. Really? Isn’t there some unknown code where people waiting on you know better than to ask for an autograph?

I slap down my money and tell her she can keep the change. I don’t even know how much that is, but I’m hoping it’s nothing more than a few pennies. I take my coffee and smile. I hear the word bitch as I turn my back.

Whatever.

I’m done.

I pull out my phone and call Alex. “I quit,” I say as she answers.

“Okay.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“No, but I do think you need a break. You’ve been through a lot and you didn’t take any time after you and Ryan. And then there’s Cole and the media all over you because he’s dating someone new and they're desperate for a story that isn’t there. So, I don’t blame you.”

I stand at the corner and wait for the traffic to clear or for the signal to change. As beautiful as it is today, the streets aren’t that crowded. I walk into Central Park and find a bench to sit on. There are a few street performers, but none who catch my attention. What I’d really like to do is sit here with my guitar and just play for people; people who don’t care who I am or what I do for a living.

“You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”