Cheers exploded inside the arena on Friday night, and Geneviève was so moved by the outpouring of love from the fans chanting her name all across WiZink Center that she didn’t want to leave the stage. She considered debuting her new song, “Hands on You,” even though her voice was hoarse, but she remembered that the chorus needed work, and decided against it.
Waving at the crowd, Geneviève reveled in the moment, soaking in their praise and adoration. Children were crying, couples were dancing in the aisles, teenagers wearing I Love Geneviève T-shirts were screaming at the top of their lungs, and cell phones flashed all over the arena. Geneviève was proud of her performance and her kick-ass, all-female band. They’d wowed the audience, given them one hell of a show, and she planned to reward them for their hard work when they returned to the States.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Demi and Roderick waiting in the shadows, and wondered what they thought of her performance. As usual, her sister had her eyes glued to her iPhone, oblivious to the world around her. Roderick flashed a broad grin that made his eyes light up, and butterflies swarmed Geneviève’s stomach.
Damn, he’s sexy! His denim shirt was open at the collar, enhancing his sex appeal, and his slim-fitted jeans and casual shoes complemented his stylish appearance. The attorney had the wow factor, and his inherent charm and charisma were undeniable. But what stood out most about Roderick was his kindness. And what a dynamic kisser he was. That’s why Geneviève had been flirting with him on the phone every night. And why she’d been sneaking around with him for the past five days.
Fond memories warmed her heart. All week, she’d been hanging out with Roderick, and aside from Demi, no one knew about their secret rendezvous. Geneviève would have been perfectly content relaxing in his suite, eating junk food and watching telenovelas, but Roderick insisted on taking her out on the town. At his request, she’d ditched her bodyguards, her iPhone and her beloved baseball cap.
Every date with Roderick was a thrilling adventure, and an opportunity to experience something new. On Tuesday they’d explored museums filled with historic masterpieces and sculptures, on Wednesday they’d strolled through markets and high-end boutiques buying souvenirs and, last night, they’d traveled from one tapas bar to the next, drinking, socializing and sampling the local cuisine. That morning, Roderick had persuaded her to join him in the hotel restaurant for breakfast, and what should have been a quick meal lasted three hours. If Demi hadn’t come calling, she’d probably still be sitting on the deck with Roderick, discussing pop culture and the music business.
The sound of foreign languages yanked Geneviève out of her thoughts.
“Geneviève, te amo!”
“Tu es le meilleur!”
“Du bist ein star, Geneviève!”
“Encore, encore, encore! Give us one more song!”
Exhausted and thirsty, Geneviève was anxious to return to her private dressing room, but she decided to spend a few more minutes with her fans. Crouching down in the first row, Geneviève signed T-shirts, magazine covers bearing her image, homemade posters and even ticket stubs. She posed for pictures and selfies, and the crowd lost its mind, cheering louder than ever before. It was the perfect way to end the show, and when her band members whisked her offstage, Geneviève thought her heart would burst with joy.
After two decades in the spotlight, she was ready for the next chapter of her life, but Geneviève was going to miss connecting with her fans, hearing them sing her songs and seeing their faces light up every time she took the stage. She’d never reveal the truth to anyone, not even Demi, but she wanted to disappear to a private island where no one—including the paparazzi and her mother—would ever be able to find her.
“Gigi, you were amazing!” Looking sporty and athletic in a white, knee-length dress, canvas sneakers and a baseball cap, Demi swiveled her neck and snapped her fingers in the air. “I’ve seen you perform hundreds of times, and I didn’t think you could outdo yourself, but the acapella version of ‘For All the Wrong Reasons’ was fire!”
Roderick kissed Geneviève on the cheek, then handed her a bouquet of carnations. “I agree.”
Desire warmed her skin. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him close, but since Geneviève didn’t want her band or anyone else backstage to know she had a crush on her attorney, she said, “Thanks. I’m just glad there were no mishaps during the show. I hate when that happens.”
“Let’s celebrate with a sister selfie!” Demi lobbed an arm around Geneviève’s shoulder, raised her iPhone in the air and snapped multiple photographs. “Smile, Gigi! You should be happy. You killed tonight, and you looked fierce doing it!”
Geneviève blew out a deep breath. “Don’t post these. I’m sweaty and gross—”
“Sis, relax, they’re pictures, not stickers,” Demi said, giggling. “No one can smell them.”
Roderick chuckled, much to her chagrin, and Geneviève playfully swatted his shoulder. “Enough of that. You’re my attorney, not hers, so don’t laugh at her jokes.”
Clutching the flowers to her chest, Geneviève closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet, fragrant aroma. She marched down the hallway, listening to Demi and Roderick praise her show, and pride flowed through her veins. All of the planning, rehearsals and late-night meetings with her band in her hotel suite had been worth it; they’d delivered the performance of their lives, and Geneviève couldn’t be happier.
“Allow me.” Roderick opened the dressing room door. “After you.”
Geneviève went inside, sank into the red, velvet sofa and kicked off her studded pumps. The space was bright, decorated with designer chairs, ornate chandeliers and mirrors, and a walk-in-closet so plush it would make the Duchess of Cambridge green with envy.
“There’s my talented, amazing daughter!” Althea stood in front of the wall-mounted TV with a bottle of Cristal in her hands. Pretty in a tie-waist dress and silver accessories, Althea sauntered across the room with a pep in her step. “Gigi, I am so proud of you I could weep! You were sensational, baby girl...”
Bending down, Althea gave her a hug and a kiss. Her mom smelled of strong liquor, and Geneviève suspected Althea had made several trips to the concession stand during the concert. Or had a miniature flask in her clutch purse.
“You brought your songs to life, and left your fans begging for more. Well-done, Gigi!”
Touched by her mother’s words, Geneviève hugged her tight.
“Roderick, please excuse us,” Althea said, straightening to her full height. “I’d like to have some quiet time with my daughters. You understand, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. It’s no problem at all, Ms. Harris.” Roderick gave a polite nod. “Ladies, enjoy the rest of your night. And Geneviève, congratulations again on your show. You were incredible.”
Roderick left, closing the door behind him, and Geneviève strangled a groan. She wished he’d stayed, and her mom had left. Experience had taught her that when Althea said she wanted to spend “quiet time with her,” it was never as innocent as it seemed, and Geneviève wanted to relax, not discuss her career.
“Gigi, I have great news!” Althea announced, in a shrill, animated voice. “Cosmic TV Network is giving you your very own reality show!”
Geneviève scoffed. “And that’s good news?”
“Of course it is. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Mom, if you think it’s such a good idea then you do it.”
“I wish I could, but I’m not one of the hottest pop stars on the planet. You are, and the network is willing to pay big bucks to sign you.”
Althea’s eyes lit up like a casino slot machine, and Geneviève knew her mom was thinking about the financial terms of the deal. What else was new? These days that was all Althea cared about, and Geneviève didn’t understand why. They had more money in the bank than they could ever spend, but it was never enough for her mom. Althea was always on the hunt for the next multimillion-dollar deal, and her quest for more fame and fortune—often at Geneviève’s expense—was frustrating.
I wish things were the way they used to be. Cherished memories came to mind, warming Geneviève’s heart. Over the years, she’d had wonderful times with her mom—collecting seashells at Asbury Park, perusing music stores for vinyl records, participating in their first Mother-Daughter Charity Walk and attending the Essence Music Festival in Durban, South Africa. Her mom used to be easygoing and agreeable, but the more successful Geneviève became, the more demanding Althea was, and they hadn’t been on the same page for years.
The same page? quipped her inner voice. You’re not even reading the same book!
“Filming starts in June, which coincides with your break, and that’s not all. The network is willing to fly you out to LA, put you up in a five-star, boutique hotel and provide you with a chauffeur during your stay.” Althea popped the cork on the champagne, strode over to the mini fridge and filled three glasses to the brim. “The show is tentatively titled One Night with a Pop Star, and the network thinks it could be the runaway hit of the summer!”
“One Night with a Pop Star?” Demi repeated, glancing up from her iPhone. “That’s a dumb title. The network needs to go back to the drawing board. They need to come up with something fun and playful like Geneviève Gets a Man to entice viewers.”
“That’s brilliant!” Althea whooped for joy. “I love it! Way to go, Demi.”
Geneviève glared at her sister. “Thanks a lot, Judas.”
“What? Don’t get mad at me. I’m just being honest.” Demi stretched her legs on the coffee table then crossed them at the ankles. “Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business.”
“Good, because I’m not doing the show.”
“Yes, you are,” Althea insisted. “I’ve worked hard on this deal, and I won’t let you ruin the plans I’ve made. You’re doing the show whether you like it or not, and that’s final.”
“No, I’m not. We’ve talked about reality TV before, and my position hasn’t changed. I have no desire to do a reality show, so kindly tell the network thanks, but no thanks.”
Anxious to take a shower, Geneviève stood, stripped off her accessories and dropped them on the coffee table. For the first time since entering the dressing room, she noticed all of the glass vases were filled with carnations. Did Roderick do this? Had he arranged to have the flowers delivered, and displayed around the room? Admiring the colorful, vibrant arrangements, Geneviève asked, “Where did the carnations come from—”
“Forget about the stupid flowers,” Althea snapped, tapping her high-heel-clad foot impatiently on the ivory carpet. “You’re a star, Gigi, a global icon in the making, and we need to capitalize on your celebrity before time runs out.”
“Mom, I’m still not interested—”
“Why not? Lots of singers have done reality TV with great success.”
“Good for them, but it’s not for me, so forget it.”
Anger flashed in her mom’s eyes, and her face wrinkled like a prune in the sun. “Why are you being difficult? For once, why can’t you do what I ask without giving me attitude?”
“Because I’m not a little girl anymore. I have dreams and aspirations and they don’t include being on a pathetic reality show, or touring ten months out of the year, either.” Geneviève wanted to say more, but thought better of it. There was no use talking to her mom; once Althea got an idea in her head there was no reasoning with her, and Geneviève didn’t have the energy to argue with her mom. Not after a two-hour show. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s a waste of time.”
“Not so fast,” Althea said, sliding in front of her with more finesse than MC Hammer. “We have to iron out the details of this deal tonight because we have a phone conference with network executives in the morning, and it’s important we’re on the same page.”
Geneviève raised an eyebrow. “But we’re going sightseeing tomorrow.”
“We’ll go another time. When we’re less busy.”
“No,” she said, drawing out the word to emphasize her point. “It’s my day off, and we’re going shopping in Barcelona. You said you’d clear my schedule.”
Althea shrugged. “Things change. Deal with it. We have several meetings scheduled after breakfast, and a magazine photoshoot, so you really need to bring your A game, Gigi...”
Like hell I do! This is my life, not yours, and it’s high time you realize it!
Geneviève stared at the dressing room door. She heard footsteps in the hallway followed by boisterous female voices, and guessed her bandmates were waiting for her in the corridor. After each show they usually went to a lounge to critique their performance over cocktails and appetizers, but arguing with her mom was draining, and now all Geneviève wanted to do was sleep.
Liar! argued her conscience. If Roderick called and asked to see you, you’d go running!
“I almost forgot to tell you,” Althea said. “You have a vocal lesson tomorrow, as well.”
“No, it’s my day off, so cancel the plans you’ve made, because I won’t be there.” Geneviève pulled her hair back in a bun. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“All right, baby, you do that.” Wearing a sympathetic smile, Althea reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “I know you’re tired, so we’ll talk about the TV deal later.”
Is she for real? Didn’t she just hear what I said? Realizing there was no getting through to her mom, Geneviève threw her hands in the air and entered the bathroom. She locked the door, then slumped against it. She could hear Demi and Althea whispering, and wondered whose side her sister was on. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t signing on to do the reality show, and there was nothing anyone could say or do to change her mind.
Geneviève glanced at her watch. She wanted to see Roderick, to vent about her argument with her mom, but it was too late to call him, and going to his hotel room after dark was out of the question.
A grin curled her lips. Excited about the plan taking shape in her mind, she turned the water faucet on full blast, then stripped off her costume.
Althea knocked on the bathroom door. “Gigi, I’m returning to the hotel,” she said in a cheerful voice. “Sleep well, honey. See you bright and early in the morning.”
No, you won’t, Geneviève thought, because by the time you wake up I’ll be long gone!