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Julian woke at ten the next morning.
He felt as if the lazy mornings he had enjoyed over the past few months already outnumbered all the sleep he had stolen in his previous life.
He picked up the BlackBerry from the bedside table and checked his messages.
Saul had sent a report earlier that morning.
The transition was moving more smoothly than expected.
Several department heads welcomed Julian’s arrival, though there were also plenty of opposing voices.
None of that surprised him.
Before leaving, the Hefner family had almost certainly left a few traps behind.
And some people would lose money or influence now that the company was changing hands, especially the people in charge of the online streaming business Julian had already marked for execution.
Those people were easy to handle.
Offer them new incentives, and most would switch loyalties with impressive speed.
The harder problem was the old guard.
Some had worked inside the group before Julian was born.
They had survived Hugh Hefner, his daughter, and now, if Julian counted himself, three regimes.
Many were key people in the company’s existing businesses, not easily removed, and their relationships with one another would create real resistance.
“Damn internal politics,” Julian muttered, rubbing his face.
He booked the earliest flight to Chicago.
When he left the bedroom and entered the dining room, Danielle, Faith, and Taylor were having breakfast while two maids moved busily in the kitchen.
“Julian, today you need to help Aunt Faith deal with her car,” Danielle said.
“Taylor will stay here with me so we can talk through the arrangements.”
Danielle looked pale.
The hangover had not fully passed.
She had been so drunk by the time Faith arrived that much of the night was a blur, and hearing that Julian had helped Taylor revise a song had left her more stunned than sober.
“Fine,” Julian said.
“Also, I fly to Chicago tomorrow afternoon.”
“By the way,” Danielle said, suddenly concerned, “were you hurt last night?
The maids came in this morning and saw blood on the sofa.”
“Yes,” Julian said, his expression awkward.
“It is nothing.
Just a small cut.”
“Do you need me to bandage it?” Taylor asked innocently.
“Why are you asking?” Faith snapped, setting down her cup a little too hard.
After breakfast, Julian drove Faith to the repair shop in the Dodge Ram from the previous night.
Her Lincoln had been towed in earlier.
Before leaving, Faith had dressed carefully: a pale lavender knit dress, a classic Burberry trench coat, and Ray-Ban aviators that covered most of her face.
At the shop, every mechanic in work clothes stared when she stepped out of the truck.
Faith kept the habits of a star.
Her clothes were immaculate, her skin seemed almost lit from within, and her presence was not something ordinary people could fake.
While Faith paid the repair bill, Julian was recognized.
That earned him a small taste of celebrity treatment, including several photos, before he finally escaped.
“You should wear sunglasses like me,” Faith said once they were back in the truck.
“Gossip reporters are everywhere.
They get into places you would not believe.”
With the car handled, Faith did not forget the real business.
She called the head of Big Machine while Julian listened.
“Good afternoon, Scott.
It is Faith Hill.
Taylor has been doing very well.
You know I like the girl.
I will be honest with you, though.
Your company is not equipped to develop an artist from the ground up.
If it were, you would not have needed me.”
She listened for a moment, then continued.
“Yes, she has talent.
But can you guarantee she will become famous?
If she fails, you lose everything you have put in.
Think about the risk.
I have a more mature plan now, and I have money behind it.
You can take that money, start over, and sign artists who are closer to ready.”
Another pause.
“Yes.
An acquisition.
Julian wants to take over the company…
Interesting.
You think the partners do not understand the business either?
Then this is simpler.
If the other shareholders are willing to sell, you and your team can stay.
Keep the price in the low seven figures.
Speak to every shareholder and call me when you have authority to negotiate for the company.”
Faith looked at Julian as she set the boundary.
“Good.
I will wait for your answer.”
She hung up and nodded.
“Scott Borchetta.
I met him at the ACM Awards in 1996.
He is the CEO now, and he discovered Taylor.
He is smart.
He is willing to approach the other partners before they push him aside.
The deal is moving, but it is not done.”
Even a low seven-figure buyout was, in Julian’s memory, barely a rounding error on one of Taylor’s future endorsement deals.
“Beautiful work,” Julian said.
“As for your salary, how does two million a year sound?”
“Can I ask for more?” Faith lifted an eyebrow.
A large company had paid her only a fraction of that to teach Taylor.
Producing the album had not brought in much more.
“Of course.
Anything I can promise, I will promise.”
The new record company would need Faith to run it, and she had just done him a major favor.
This was not the moment to be stingy.
“Forget it for now,” Faith said.
“You still need cash.
Raise my salary next year.”
“What do you want for lunch, Madam Director?” Julian asked as he started the truck.
“The most expensive restaurant in Nashville,” Faith said, stretching lazily.
“This time, I’m not holding back.”
Half an hour later, they arrived at a luxury Italian restaurant on the top floor of a commercial building in downtown Nashville.
After ordering, Julian gave the waiter one more instruction.
“And open two bottles of grand cru Burgundy for us.”
Faith whistled softly.
“The last time I drank wine that expensive was ten years ago at a label celebration, when one of my records went platinum.”
A platinum record meant sales had crossed one million in the United States.
It remained one of the clearest measures of a singer’s commercial power.
Faith’s career had been brilliant.
Her influence was still real, especially in country and crossover circles.
But compared with the global force Taylor would become, she belonged to a smaller scale.
That did not make her weak.
It made her underused.
“Then I should contact the winery and buy a few cases,” Julian said generously.
“A man should keep his promises,” Faith said from behind the menu.
“Of course.
I remember who helps me.”
He continued, “Beyond money, I will try to push you back into the market.
We can rerecord classics, and I will have Danielle reach out to old friends for new songs.”
Faith’s smile widened.
“Jules, I will drink to that.”
Julian clinked his glass with hers and looked at her still-striking face.
“If I were your husband, I would not divorce you even at gunpoint.”
Faith laughed.
“You have misunderstood something.
I am not married.”
“Can I ask why?”
Faith did not avoid the past.
“I loved someone once.
He was a country singer too.
He broke my heart badly enough that I gave up on the idea for a long time and focused on work.
Then one year became another, and suddenly it was the new millennium.”
In this parallel world, Faith Hill had never lived out the famous romance Julian remembered.
She had remained single.
“And after that?” Julian asked.
“No one suitable?”
Faith shook her head with a bitter little smile.
“I have never been lucky that way.”
“Maybe you never really moved on.”
For a star, suitors would never have been the problem.
“How could that be?” Faith’s smile became less steady.
“You already lost the first half of your life to the past,” Julian said gently.
“Why not let it go and enjoy what is in front of you?”
He was advising her as his mother’s friend.
That was the official explanation, at least.
Faith drained a full glass and set it down hard.
“You are not wrong.”
“Then maybe start looking at what is right in front of you.”
‘The person in front of me is you.’
How many young artists were truly as talented as Taylor?
And how many singers had been forced to trade pieces of themselves just to climb?
Faith had been in the industry long enough to know plenty of things no one said aloud.
She stopped talking and drank glass after glass.
Neither of them noticed the two men entering the restaurant.
Both wore loose hoodies that looked out of place in the room.
They chose a table with some distance from Julian and Faith.
From that angle, they could see the table clearly without being obvious.
A backpack rested against the edge of their table, pointed directly toward Julian and Faith.
A closer look would have revealed a small round opening in the fabric.
Inside was a camera lens.
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