Page 72 of Love on the Main Stage
“It’s nice if you’d say thank you.”
I glared. “For what, Max?”
“For teaching you how to writeandsing pop songs. Look, when they said you were going to do this, I laughed heartily. I thought I’d never see the day you embraced it without complaint, but you did.”
I rolled my eyes. “I fell into this. I wrote the damn song—just like I wrote the last one that completely outsold anything you’ve written in the past 20 years.”
“And who taught you to do that?”
“Me,” I said. “My mother. You exploited my talents and claimed them as yours, you sick bastard!”
He backed up, face turning from smirk to angry snarl.
“That girl—that precious, young thing? The one who you see covered in dollar signs? She’ll be better in your stable for longer if you don’t torture her like you did me.”
“I don’t know what you’re alleging?—”
“I am telling the truth.”
“Well, you can write a nice hook making you the victim, sweetheart, but that doesn’t make it reality.”
I set my jaw. “I write about what is real to me. That’s the best part.”
“Well, there’s no way you pull this revenge plot out. At your age, you’re lucky to have any options at all.”
“I have been more successful in this industry than most. I have had a long career. I amfortunate,Max. And I owe myself that debt. If teenaged me working with you was the end of the line, I’d have been fucked, Max Mikkelsson. Thankfully, I didn’t let that trauma define me.”
I saw the cameraman from the crew appear within my periphery—just outside the shop. My blood ran cold. They had no audio, but they could see my reaction and put it all together in post. Knowing I couldn’t make a scene, I panic-grabbed an assortment of chocolates and strode to the counter.
I declared with a smile plastered on. “I think I’m done, thanks.”
“Uh… great…” the kid behind the counter rang up the order.
Max stopped behind me. “You know, Marit, I made you and Icandestroy you. I want to be happy for you. Don’t make me regret that.”
“That will be $124.99, ma’am.”
My hand shook as I tapped my card. “You know, Max. You already tried. I survived. And no matter what you throw at me, I will bob and weave. I don’t let any man define my worth—not even someone as powerful as you.”
Chapter 28
To Get the Girl
MARY
Betty insisted I see her at Miragelite, but I wasn’t sold that was the best idea. After confiding in Pappa aboutwhyher showing up was a bad idea, he suggested we attend her horse show. In theory, it made sense. I had a day off shooting to relax before our big set. She needed a cheering squad, and I would rack up all the points.
So even though I felt as if I were losing my mind getting up at an ungodly hour, I resigned to drive two hours to see Betty compete in something called cross-country. I knew my bandmates were hanging out with edgy bands in the VIP while my Scandinavian ass was suffering in the heat at a horse show, but I couldn’t deny betty the reassurance my presence brought.
As I posted by the door, Pappa arrived, looking like a Swedish tourist in walking shoes, hiking shorts, and a polo. He affixed a ball cap with a Swedish flag on his head.
“Are you cosplaying Swedish?” I joked.
“I do not know that one,” he said. “We must represent ourselves against a Norwegian.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
“And here. Be low-key.” He handed me the LA Kings hat he’d insisted on at the airport.
