“Sam asked.Nate looked up, his fingers paused momentarily on the strings of his guitar. Distracted, he tried to remember what meeting he was supposed to be ready for.“Oh, the new publicist, right,” he said finally. He strummed the guitar strings, stopping to tighten a tuning peg. A single plucked string filled the studio with monotonous sound before he stopped to make another minute adjustment.“Ms. Montgomery will be here in half an hour,” Sam said, not moving.“Fine,” Nate answered. He swung aro...und on the stool, putting his back to his manager. He could still see him in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the opposite wall. “You know where to find me.”“Why are you being so difficult?”Nate leaned over the instrument cradled in his arms. “Publicists aren’t high on my list of favorite people right now, Sam.”“I know you had a problem with the last one—”“He offered me drugs, Sam,” Nate said, his voice low and tight.Unbidden, the memory of that moment swam up into his consciousness.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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