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“He works with Oliver Ryan!” Davis exclaims triumphantly, the way someone might announce that they’ve won the lottery.

And okay, I know whothatis. Obviously. He’s currently one of the hottest actors in Hollywood. After spending his teens and early twenties working on family sitcoms, last year he had a breakout performance as the lead in a romantic drama that was based off a best-selling book. And now his newest movie is premiering at the end of next month, if I remember correctly.

It takes me a moment to figure out where my manager is going with this, and then my stomach sours.

“Davis...” I start nervously.

“It’s perfect!” he says. “Oliver’s agreed to engage in a PR relationship with you, which will coincide with his movie premiere. It’ll bring buzz to the movie and distract from your scandals.”

“I don’t know.”

He makes a loud huffing sound. “Riley, I assure you this is the best path for you to move forward. We’ll fly him to Nashville and have the two of you photographed around the city so that people will see you’re back, and they’ll immediately start speculating on whether the two of you are together. Then you’ll go to L.A. with him and go on a few obvious dates, then attend the premiere as his girlfriend. Once the movie has left theaters, we can consider fading things out, or we could keep the relationship going if it works for both of you. Either way, by the time you start promoting your next album, everyone will have forgotten all about you and Skyler, and more importantly, about that photo and the questions of your sexuality.”

It occurs to me that during everything that’s gone down, my manager never once actuallyasked meabout my sexuality. And I’m not sure if that’s because the idea that I might be anything other than straight is ludicrous to him, or if it simply doesn’t matter to him one way or the other.

As far as he’s concerned, Riley Rowland, America’s Country Sweetheart, is straight. And she will continue to date lots of men, break up with them, and then write sad and sassy breakup songs about them.

That’s the path my career has taken from the start, and I don’t think Davis is willing to imagine any deviations from that path. Despite how I might feel or what I might want.

“I need to think about it,” I tell him. Although my gut is screaming at me not to do this, I should at least consider my manager’s advice.

“Riley. Hon. Trust me that I know what I’m doing here.”

I sigh. “I trust you, but...”But I also need to start trusting myself.“But I’m getting tired of PR stunts. And you saw how everyone reacted when the truth came out about the stunt with me and Skyler. If I want my fans to forgive me, I can’t keep lying to them.”

“It’s not alie, per se,” he says. “Come home and meet the guy. He’s hot, you’re hot. Who knows, you might really hit it off.”

No, we won’t. Because I’m already falling for someone else.

For a moment, I almost tell him the truth. The main reason I want to stay where I am for a while longer. As long as possible, really. But ultimately, I chicken out. If he’s going to react badly, I’m not ready to hear it.

“I want more time here,” I say, settling on part of the truth. “I’ll think about the Oliver thing, but in the meantime, I’m not ready to jump on a plane. This break has been good for me. I’ve been writing and—”

“Excellent!” Davis cuts me off. “That’s all the more reason to get back here and work with the producers to start recording tracks.”

“Not yet,” I try again. “Just give me a little more time.”

Hopefully enough time to figure out my own plan. A plan that doesn’t make me feel like a shitty person.

Maybe even enough time to make a generous, cool, sexy woman fall in love with me?

Davis lets out a long sigh like he’s in physical pain. Then he says, “Fine. We can hold off on Oliver Ryan for right now. But if you’re going to do it—and I’mstronglysuggesting that you do—we can’t wait too long. Because his team will have no problem finding someone else who’s more than willing to date him for the publicity.”

I’m sure that’s true.

“I told you I’ll think about it.”

“Yes. Well,” he says. “Think quickly, hon. I’ll call you in a few days.”

I want to argue that a few days is much less than the amount of time I’m asking for, but he hangs up on me without even a proper goodbye.

Think quickly, he said.

The problem is, I don’twantto think about fake dating Oliver Ryan. I don’t care how hot or popular he is. I don’t care if it might be the right career move. I’m sick of making moves—or more accurately, having people make movesforme. I just want to live my life and do whatever makes me happy.

Making music has always made me happy. But a lot of the stuff that comes with it, not so much. I don’t like faking relationships. I don’t likeworrying about optics. I don’t like the way my personal life has become an easy joke for jerks who have nothing better to do than go online and trash people they don’t even know.

And I also don’t really like the grueling tour schedules anymore. It was exciting when I was first becoming famous, and I got to see the world, and everything was new to me.