Blackmailed.

Contract.

Billie's POV.

Cleo. Cleo Thomas. 22 years old. Journalist for Vogue right out of college. Impressive. Hated her job. Hated her "boyfriend". Brother was her best friend. Was broke as fuck. Had a bitchy boss named Miranda. I learned a lot about Cleo from her phone and wallet. But I didn't learn if she was gay.

Of course I was gay. Everyone knew already, I tried to tell the record label that. It was no surprise. It was expected of me.

I wasn't supposed to come out or get caught with girls that I was romantically involved with, I really wasn't even supposed to be romantically involved with girls at all but if I was; there had to be a gag order. I just wanted a wife and kids. Why couldn't I have what the rest of the U.S. was allowed to have? I sold my fucking soul away, but I was young dumb and thought I was straight when I agreed to all this shit. I couldn't help but shake my head at my own memory of signing the contract and trusting the record label to do what's best for me and my mental health.

But everyone prioritizes money. I mean, look at Cleo. She fell out of a fucking tree trying to get a good story on me that would literally ruin my life if it got out. That's why I was ignoring her crying right now. Fuck that bitch.

I was half hoping she would say she was gay when I asked her. She was a pretty girl, girl next door type. She had a petite body and big green eyes and freckles. Her hair was messy but it was the sexy kind of messy that some girls can pull off effortlessly. I don't even think she was wearing any makeup. I wanted to be on top of her so badly.

"Billie?" Howard walked into my room without knocking. He never does that.

"What's up?"

"Cleo needs...you. She's asking for you," Howard stammered.

I chuckled,

"Yeah I bet she fucking is,"

Howard's face fell serious and he said,

"I think it's a girl thing or something...she keeps telling me to get out."

I got up and stretched my legs,

"Alright Howie, I'll go in."