Yes, but Cade would worry as to why Kylie wasn’t texting him. Oh God—a horrible thought occurred to her. “This isn’t going to be in the tabloids, is it?”
“Nope,” Snoopy said, texting something on her phone. “Management’s statement is that you were drinking too much and tripped. You know how everyone on Daphne’s tour likes to party.” Snoopy’s voice was flat, and the smile she gave Kylie was thin.
Kylie snorted, and then winced because that hurt, too.
“Yeah, it’s all bullshit,” Snoopy said. “Everyone’s tired of Daph’s shit, but we’re stuck because . . .” Her voice trailed off and she stood up. “Management’s coming in. I need to vacate the premises.” She looked over at Kylie and crossed her fingers. “Good luck. I’ll be waiting outside if you need anything.”
Good luck? Kylie stared after Snoopy’s retreating back, confused. A moment later, the hospital door swung open again, and a tall, thin man in an expensive suit walked in.
Mr. Powers from the record company. Kylie recognized him and his small, bitter smile.
“Hello,” Kylie said, touching her bandages again.
“Miss Daniels,” he said by way of greeting. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, my head hurts,” she said meekly. She wanted to ask Why are you here? But she had a feeling that’d be coming out soon enough. So she waited.
“That’s too bad,” he said in a voice that had zero emotion. He moved to the end of the bed and set a briefcase down. He opened it, pulled out a stack of papers, and offered it to her.
“W-what’s this?”
“This is your contract,” he said in a chilly voice. “I wanted you to read over it again so you could refresh yourself with things.”
Kylie stared at the paper, but the words were so tiny and blurred together that her eyes couldn’t focus. She put it down a moment later and shook her head. “I’m kind of unable to concentrate at the moment. Can you give me a summary?”
“I’ll recap it in three words for you: You cannot sue.”
Her head throbbed in time with his voice. Kylie squinted at him. “Huh?”
“I’ll repeat it. You cannot sue, Miss Daniels. It says explicitly in your contract that any injuries or mishaps while on tour are paid for by the label. We’ll cover your hospital room. We’ll cover any prescriptions and the cost to get those stitches removed. But that’s all we’re paying for. And your contract states quite specifically that you cannot sue Miss Petty.”
Not that Kylie was planning on suing, but this guy was making her feel like she was the one at fault, and she didn’t like it. “You do know she hit me in the head with my flowerpot? And that was after she was caught going through my purse?”
He put the contract back in his briefcase and rustled a few papers. Just those small noises made Kylie’s head throb. “I have spoken with Daphne prior to coming here. I am told by Miss Petty that it was provoked.”
“P-provoked?” Kylie stumbled on the word. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You agitated her, Miss Daniels. According to staff, you were arguing with her over makeup choices before she found your phone, and when she did, it set her off.”
“She was snooping. As for what set her off, why not blame the drugs instead of me?” Kylie protested, shocked. Her head was throbbing even harder. “We were talking about shades of lipstick. That’s not arguing.” She shook her head. “You know she’s on all kinds of things right now? Her mood’s all over the place.”
“That’s another reason why I’m here. We need to discuss your agitation of Miss Petty.”
“M-my agitation?” Was this man serious? He couldn’t be serious.
“Yes. You signed a conduct clause.”
Her head hurt. Her vision swam, and she wanted to rub her temples, but she was pretty sure that would only make things ache more. “I don’t understand. What’s a conduct clause?”
“It’s a clause we’ve recently added into all staffing contracts. One, I might add, that you happily initialed without reading, I’m guessing.” At Kylie’s silence, he continued. “The clause states that if your actions or conduct interfere with the tour or Miss Petty’s ability to perform, you can be held liable for damages.”
Kylie felt sick. “Damages?”
“That is correct. As of right now, Miss Petty is refusing to perform her show tonight. We have rescheduled it for forty-eight hours from now, but if she still refuses to go on, ticket sales will be lost. The label will be looking to recoup those losses. And since you signed a contract stating that you would have no personal conduct that interfered with Miss Petty’s ability to perform . . .” He gave her that horrible, thin-lipped smile again. “You see where I’m going with this.”