Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton

I groan as I pull sunglasses over my eyes, a headache wreaking havoc on my brain. Looking to my right, I find a mass of people waiting outside the building where auditions are being held. The location we chose was supposed to be secure. Only the people auditioning were supposed to know where they were taking place. But here we are, with a hundred screaming fans outside the door I’m supposed to be walking in.

I rub my temples, hiding behind the tinted glass for a few seconds longer. I know I’m late, but I woke up this morning with a raging hangover and no desire to come here at all.

The screams outside the SUV window do nothing to help ease the tension in my head. I’m two seconds away from telling my driver to take me back home, to let Monica and anyone else decide which dancers to hire for the tour.

But I’m already here. And if I’m going to have other people sharing my fucking stage, I might as well have a say in who it’ll be.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I look over at Sebastian, one of my security guards. “I’m ready.”

He wastes no time opening his door, the roar of the fans drowning out any other sounds around me. My eyes track his movements as he rounds the front of the car and then stands like a brick wall in front of my door.

I stare at the dark hair on the back of his head for a few moments, giving myself one last chance to bow out of this shit show. I take a deep breath in before I knock my knuckles against the window three times, letting him know I’m ready to exit the car.

Sebastian swiftly turns around, opening my door and ushering me safely out of the car. The fans go crazy, their screams meshing together in one ear-piercing sound. I fall in step with Sebastian, walking one beat behind him as he directs us toward the door.

“Nash!”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Oh my god, it’s him!”

The fans are excruciatingly loud. I try to aim a smile in the direction of the noise but cameras flash in my face, so I stare at my feet, trying to hide behind my sunglasses and hat.

“Please stop, Nash!”

I used to stop and sign something for every single one of my fans. Now, that is nowhere near possible for me. Every place I go is leaked to the press and in no time there’s a swarm of people—half paparazzi, half fans. If I stood outside and signed something for each and every one of them, smiled for every photo op, I’d never release another album let alone go on tour.

I just don’t have the damn time.

But in the press, they call me cold and callous for no longer interacting with my fans the way I used to. The fame has gone to my head in their eyes.

What they don’t seem to understand, is with more fame comes more responsibility.

If people want me to do the things they love me for, like write songs, I can’t spend all my time appeasing them.

But I tell a fan not to grope me, and I’m the asshole.

If I don’t smile because I’m late and have shit to do? I don’t care about the people who support my career.

I’ve learned the hard way there’s no way for me to win in these situations.

“Step back,” Sebastian orders, scolding a fan that’s slipped through the barricade.

My face is plastered all over her T-shirt. The photo is of me stripped down to my underwear for a popular brand’s new line of underwear. The shirt makes me cringe.

“Move!” Sebastian yells, no longer a warning tone.

The girl begins to cry. “Nash, I love you so much.”

She somehow manages to further press her body against the door. There’s a good chance she’s going to have to be peeled from the glass at this point.

When she adjusts her hand, she leaves behind a sweaty palm print on the door. Tears stream down her face as she begins to sob a few feet away from me.

There are still screams echoing behind me as Matt, another one of my bodyguards, walks up to her and asks her to move one last time. The crying fan doesn’t move, which causes Matt to have to escort her out of the way.

As he leads her back to the barrier between me and the other fans, she looks over her shoulder and makes direct eye contact with me. “I just wanted you to see me!”

The words sit deeper in my gut than I’d care to admit. It’s not that I don’t care about my fans or don’t want to get to know them, the problem is I can’t spend all my time doing it.

Her words are still ringing in my ears as we shuffle through the entrance to the studio, the sounds of the fans outside fading as the doors shut.

“You’re late.”

I don’t have to look up to know who it is. I’ve heard that exact phrase fall from Monica’s lips many times before. She’s lectured me so many times in my life that I’m nearly desensitized to it by now.

As I pull the hat from my head and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans, I step closer to her. “I’m fucking here. What more do you want from me?”

Monica swivels on her heels and starts walking down the hallway. “I want you to give a damn about your own tour, Nash. That’s what I want.” Her words bounce against the walls of the empty hallway.

Sebastian clears his throat behind me. Not bothering to look at him, I follow in Monica’s footsteps.

“Who said I didn’t care about this tour? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

She stops in her tracks, her thin shoulders moving with a deep breath. I wasn’t expecting her to turn around and retreat in my direction, but in no time, she’s standing directly in front of me, a wrinkle forming on her forehead. A wrinkle no amount of Botox could get rid of when she’s pissed.

Her voice gets incredibly low when she says, “You didn’t have to say the words. Your indifference to every single thing with this tour says enough. You used to be involved in tour planning. Now I don’t think you can even tell me what your stage setup will be, can you?”

My teeth grind together as I flex my jaw. I let my staff design most of this tour because they’re the experts on it. I was busy trying to write decent fucking songs to perform on tour, but that doesn’t seem to register with Monica and probably others. They want me to be this damn circus animal that does everything.

Monica smiles at my silence. “Take some time to get your shit together before you walk into auditions. We need these dancers, and I can’t have this indifferent asshole of a popstar walking in, solidifying their probably already shitty perception of you. When you walk through those doors,” she points to two metal doors down the hallway on her left, “you better have a smile on your face. Understood?”

I laugh, tired of taking orders from her when I’m the boss. All I do is walk away, strutting by the doors that music is blasting out of as I continue down the hallway.

I keep walking until I feel far away enough from the people who are suffocating me with their expectations. After pushing through a different door, I step into a small office. There’s an old leather loveseat resting against one of the walls, a desk sitting on the other. I barely notice any of those things, however, as my gaze is focused on the tiny woman staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

“Riley, I have to go,” she says breathlessly. She presses her screen and then shoves the phone into the pocket of her small backpack.

The barely clothed stranger blows a piece of long brown hair from her face. She shifts her weight, causing the paper pinned to her chest to rustle in the silence.

The two of us are locked in on each other. She rakes her gaze all the way down my body then works her way back up to my face.

I snicker. “Like what you see, Rose?”

“My name isn’t Rose,” she bites out.

Damn, I wasn’t expecting that tone from her. She looks sweet as can be, but apparently she also has thorns.

“Well, you didn’t give me your name before you decided to assault me with your eyes, so I just had to come up with a nickname. The color of your cheeks is as red as a rose, Rose.”

She takes a step back, her one foot hitting a stack of books and causing it to topple over.

The two of us look down at the array of books on the floor.

“You’re Nash Pierce,” she muses.

I take a few steps closer to her. “That is the name my parents gave me. Sometimes I answer to it.”

“Cute,” she whispers, her thick eyebrows drawing together.

“You think I’m cute?” I joke, resting a hip against the old wooden desk.

The stranger and I are standing only a few feet apart. I’m close enough to see the glean of sweat on her chest. My eyes flick down to her bare stomach as she pulls it in with a deep breath.

It’s clear by the sweat, along with her outfit—a tight pair of shorts and sports bra—and the number pinned to her chest, that she’s auditioning to be one of my dancers. And the fact that she’s still here a few hours after auditions started must mean she’s not bad.

“I didn’t say you were cute, I said your smartass comment was cute. Which, now that I think about it, was me being a smartass myself.”

A genuine laugh escapes my lips, and I don’t miss the fact that there’s very little I find humorous in the world anymore. “At least you admit it.”

“My name’s Nora.”

“Nora.” I play with the name, toying with the way it falls from my lips.

She takes a step toward me, her smile showing off a row of straight teeth. “That is the name my parents gave me. Sometimes I answer to it.”

“Look who’s being a smartass now,” I tease, after having my own words thrown back at me.

She looks over my shoulder. “I should probably get back to auditions. Don’t want to miss my callbacks.” She attempts to step around me, but I reach an arm out, blocking her path.

I quickly pull my arm back to my side, not wanting my bare skin to be against hers any longer than it should. I already hate the way I felt that small touch all the way down through my body.

No longer leaning against the desk, I find I’m almost a whole head taller than her. “You’re not missing anything.”

Air escapes her lips in a small sigh. “Yeah, says the guy who doesn’t have to audition for anything.”

“They won’t start without me. I’m the star,” I say sarcastically.

Her hazel eyes narrow, staring so deeply at me it makes my skin crawl. Not because I’m uncomfortable or creeped out, because no one ever looks at me this deeply. “You didn’t actually just say that. Cocky much?”

I shrug. She can call me cocky all she wants. It doesn’t take away from the fact that I’m telling the truth.

She pats me on the shoulder as she steps past me. The gesture reminds of me when I was a child and an adult would pat me on the head when I voiced an opinion and they thought it was adorable in a way that felt a lot more like condescending.

“In case you didn’t know, they’ve been holding auditions for two hours—without their star.”

I’d be offended if there wasn’t humor in her voice. Nora crosses the small office space, and I turn my body in her direction.

“Well, you could say I wasn’t very enthusiastic about having dancers on my tour. I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to get down here,” I admit.

She nods, letting my words soak in. “You know, I think when you go out there, you’ll see there’s a lot of talent in that room. Maybe you won’t be so against it then.”

“Maybe.”

Nora looks like she’s about to leave the room, but before she does, her tiny body turns toward me. There’s a cautious look on her face. “Are you…okay?”

My eyebrows raise, her words taking me off guard. “Why would you ask that?”

She plays with her hair, the long strands cascading down her shoulders. “I don’t know. I should mind my own business, really. It’s just…when you came in here, you looked upset. I just wanted to ask if you were okay before leaving.”

My lips part but no words leave my mouth. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me if I was okay. It dawns on me how sad it is that the person that has is a complete stranger.

“I’m fine. You saw nothing,” I respond defensively, upset that she read me like an open book.

Her hands fly up in front of her. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Forget I said anything.” She retreats toward the door.

“Gladly,” I reply, unsure what else to say.

Nora whistles, the doorknob squeaking as she pushes it open. “Pleasure to meet you, Nash. Really.” With that, she leaves the room, not even waiting for a response from me.

I should chase after her, apologize for turning into a complete asshat, but I don’t.

I’m too wrapped up in the way she had way more of a pull on me than I’d care to admit. And even though I despise every small feeling she drew out of me in that insignificant amount of time we spent together, I know without a shadow of a doubt that for some reason, I want her as a dancer on my tour.