Micdrop a standalone ene.., p.1
#MICDROP: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance, page 1
#MICDROP
N.N. BRITT
Copyright © 2024 by N. N. Britt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design by Sarah Kil
Edited by R.C. Craig
Proofreading by Virginia Tesi Carey
Due to strong language and sexual situations this book is intended for mature audience only.
3/12/2024
CONTENTS
Foreword
Prologue
1 Rain
2 Billie
3 Rain
4 Billie
5 Rain
6 Billie
7 Rain
8 Billie
9 Rain
10 Billie
11 Rain
12 Rain
13 Billie
14 Rain
15 Billie
16 Rain
17 Billie
18 Rain
19 Billie
20 Rain
21 Billie
22 Rain
23 Billie
24 Rain
25 Billie
26 Rain
27 Billie
28 Billie
29 Rain
30 Billie
31 Rain
32 Billie
33 Rain
34 Billie
35 Rain
36 Billie
37 Rain
38 Billie
39 Rain
40 Billie
42 Rain
43 Billie
43 Rain
44 Billie
45 Rain
47 Billie
47 Rain
48 Billie
49 Rain
50 Billie
51 Rain
52 Billie
53 Rain
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by N.N. Britt
FOREWORD
Hi reader,
This is the section where I’m supposed to say a few words about the story you’re about to read, maybe warn you about the difficult themes it contains, or the things that will make you question me as an author. Or rather my creative choices.
But I think as authors we reached that point where we are not scared to talk about the things in romance we used to avoid. Especially indie romance.
And I suppose this story is just a story that reflects the world we live in today. We are free to choose whatever we like, forge the path we want, love the person our heart connects with. And somewhere along the way, we learn how to let go and move on.
And that’s what #MICDROP is all about.
Hope you enjoy it.
PROLOGUE
@celeb_updates
3-31
Hey TikTok! Can we talk about Rain Sinclair and her latest stunt for a second?
Like who does that?
The woman needs to be hospitalized.
For those who haven’t heard it yet—last night Rain Sinclair assaulted a reporter who approached her while she was leaving a club in West Hollywood.
♡ 32.1 💬15.1
@PIXELLOT
3-31 Reply
she’s lost it
@EpicAmour
3-31 Reply
crazy rain did it again
@PoppyJordan
3-31 Reply
You’re fucking Rain Sinclair. You don’t care what others say
@CyberQueen93
3-31 Reply
Girl needs a straitjacket
@GiveMePeanuts
3-31 Reply
She about to pull a Kayne
@DualNotion
3-31 Reply
what the hell
@Maria
3-31 Reply
why is this news?
@MusicLover
3-31 Reply
Like father like daughter
@User1282983332434555
3-31 Reply
#CancelRainSinclair
@Theunrealslimshady
3-31 Reply
Proof money can’t buy class
1 RAIN
It’s Time Rain Sinclair Gets Canceled for Good
“You have no idea how many variations of this title I’ve seen in the past five years, Ellis,” I tell my manager as I spin in my chair in front of the makeup station.
For a second, when I’m facing the mirror, I see the angry expression that’s twisting my features, and the image scares me.
It’s weird since fear isn’t something I experience often.
And when I do, it typically has nothing to do with my own reflection.
“It’ll be old news tomorrow.” I toss the iPad with the article on the makeup station and try to concentrate on the task at hand, which involves my remaining still for the next hour until Kiki finishes my makeup and hair.
I have to do a photoshoot. It’s for another rock ’n’ roll magazine. The name eludes me because it’s my third feature this month and I’m no longer keeping up.
Ellis will keep up for me.
That’s what he’s here for. That’s what my father’s millions are paying him to do.
“I’m being very serious right now, Rain,” he says in what I call his machine gun voice. It’s the voice he uses when he’s about to give me another lecture. “Besides, I’m too old to be cleaning up your messes.”
“This guy will shut up when you offer to cover the cost of his medical bills.” I roll my eyes. “That’s what most of these fools hope for as they try to get in my face for no apparent reason when I’m not in the mood to talk to reporters.” Which is pretty much always.
Kiki bites her lips as if she has something to add, but she knows better. That’s why she continues to apply foundation to my face in silence.
I love her for that.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I ask my manager snappily.
The incident in question flashes in front of my eyes briefly when I shut them—I’m on my way from the club to the car. Donovan, my bodyguard, whom Ellis insists I take with me to all the crowded places, is a step behind. I’m buzzed, and on top of that, I’m pissed off because the DJ refused to play Björk. When I asked him to put on “Play Dead,” he looked at me as if I’d ordered him to open a gateway to hell.
My goal is to cross the sidewalk, get in my car, and leave this shitty place that has no idea what good music is behind. But no, some jerk who works for some trendy lifestyle website decides he needs to find out whether I plan on releasing an album this year at all or will continue making waves in the press by getting in trouble.
It’s clear, even from the short video snippet someone outside the club recorded, that the jerk neglected to respect my personal space. Ellis has made me watch this video a thousand times. He says it’s for educational purposes.
Just so you know what an assault looks like, kid.
Okay, I hit the reporter jerk on his head. With a bottle. It was plastic. And almost empty.
And now he’s taking his revenge to TikTok.
But in my defense, he smelled like garlic.
I haven’t told that to anyone. I doubt, in the grand scheme of things, that it matters. “Don’t I have some right to privacy when I’m trying to walk?” I arch my brow at my reflection and then catch Ellis’s gaze in the mirror as he stops pacing for only a moment.
Ellis was my father’s friend back in the day and he is loyal as fuck. But he’s an asshole.
“There will be a point in your life when you sink so low that I won’t be able to pull you out of that hole.”
Although there are three more people in the room with us, I know he’s addressing me.
I’m the only one who’s being ridiculed and discussed in the tabloids and on social media every second of every day.
And that’s fine.
I’m not aware of any other way to get through the shit that is my life. Most would probably call it Stitch’s legacy.
Whatever.
“Just because you’re a Sinclair doesn’t mean you’re untouchable,” Ellis begins his nagging.
I hate when he does that. I also hate when he drags my father’s last name into it.
Another reminder of my existence being merely a sorry byproduct of Gia’s wild love life. Gia doesn’t have it in her to keep the fact—that I was an accident—to herself when she’s surrounded by paparazzi.
She still refers to my conception as being “knocked up” in front of the press. Or anyone who’s still willing to listen to the nonsense that comes out of her mouth.
I almost wish she’d never left rehab.
“Are you listening to what I’m saying, Rain?” Ellis barks.
“Yeah.”
“Then get your head out of your ass and start using your brain.” He points at the iPad. “Things lik
I nod.
Kiki grinds her teeth as if she knows I don’t mean it but remains quiet.
Ellis's phone pings in his pocket, and by the way his face lights up when he looks at the screen, it’s clear it’s either his husband or one of the advertisers he’s trying to land for us.
He leaves the room to take the call and doesn’t return until Kiki is almost done with my hair.
By then, using a dummy account, I’ve already looked through several dozen TikToks trying to cancel me.
My mood had dropped significantly.
I’m not a happy person in general. But the jerk of a reporter with his witch hunt is starting to get on my nerves.
Mostly because after years of countless attempts to secure an invitation to Midnight Case, Duke von Braun has finally agreed to have me on his show.
You’d think Duke von Braun would have jumped at that opportunity right away.
You’d be wrong.
The man has always hated my father. Rumor has it that Stitch slept with his girlfriend back in the late 90s.
I guess I’ll never know the truth since Duke isn’t the kind of guy who kisses and tells. He keeps his personal life a secret. And the other party involved in the gossip…is six feet under.
I don’t believe a jinx is a real thing, but as I spin in the chair and inspect the results of Kiki’s labor, I still cross my fingers for a second.
Just in case, you know.
I can’t afford for Duke to back out of the agreement.
He’s the one guy in the music industry whose opinion about my songs I will gladly hear. He’s also the guy who’s famous for being a dick.
The number of invites to Midnight Case that Duke has withdrawn in the past surpasses the number of times my mother has gotten a Botox shot.
Duke also sued Marty Perez a decade ago. For assault.
I mean, drunk Marty and his intentional right hook clearly speak for themselves.
An empty plastic bottle giving the jerk’s forehead a light tap when he’s trying to drown me in his garlic breath is not an assault.
It’s self-defense.
No matter what Ellis and the rest of the haters on TikTok say.
But…doubt has already sprinkled some seeds all over my mind.
And when Ellis sighs heavily after returning to the room, I realize that for the first time in my life—not counting the night my father died—I’m really scared.
A whole lot of goosebumps prickle my skin.
Ellis runs his tanned hand over his slicked-back, touched-by-gray hair and jerks his chin in the direction of the door.
Kiki and the rest of my crew rush to leave.
“What is it?” I’m trying my best to keep my voice level. It’s not hard. Years and years of stage experience. Even if the roof is collapsing, my pitch won’t falter.
“Luxoré has just pulled out of the deal,” he says blankly and stares at me as if he wants to drill a hole in my head with his gaze.
“Good riddance.” As long as it’s not Duke, I don’t care.
All those partnerships can go to hell.
The rest of the day drags on like molasses.
Every time Kiki approaches me to adjust my hair or reapply the bright-red lipstick we’ve chosen for this shoot, I look at my phone.
As expected, TikTok is going crazy over Rain Sinclair’s latest stunt.
I grew up surrounded by paparazzi. The hazard of being a rock legend’s only kid. And because I’ve always been immune to what the sharks have said about my family or me, I know how to laugh at the online comments. Especially when they come from people who haven’t walked a mile in my shoes. Heck, they haven’t even put on the type of shoes I wear.
And let me tell you, these are some un-fucking-comfortable shoes.
But the sinking feeling that started to spread all around my chest earlier when I was still posing for the camera in the studio has intensified, and I can feel despair slowly creeping its way into every part of my being as Donovan drives me back to my Studio City home.
“Went well today, huh?” he says from the front seat.
He's a former Samoan boxer, who doesn’t talk much. But I guess even he can tell I’m uneasy right now and decides to distract me from my own dark thoughts.
“Went alright,” I reply, looking at the night city zipping by outside the window of the Navigator.
I have this urge to roll the glass down and feel the wind on my face, but I once had my photo snatched like that by some superfan on the sidewalk while we were waiting for the green light. It wasn’t my brightest moment. I was hungover after a night of partying, with destroyed makeup and in only my bra—because I’d lost my T-shirt somewhere. The unflattering images circulated online for months.
Ellis was pissed.
During my next tour run, I went out on stage topless and with my nipples strategically covered by black tape.
“You want to swing by Burger King before I drop you off?” Donovan asks.
The late-night munchies is sort of a tradition.
“I don’t see why not,” I jump at the offer immediately. “Let’s do it.”
Ten minutes later, we’re leaving the drive-through lane with two large orders of fries and a mountain of napkins and condiments.
Donovan hands me the bag and merges with the after-hours traffic on Cahuenga.
I fumble through the plastic dipping sauce containers, looking for ranch.
We’re a couple of blocks away from my house and I spend the rest of the drive eating.
When we finally pull up to the property and Donovan punches in the code to open the gate, I’m almost done with my fries.
“Where does it all go?” He laughs as he parks the Navigator.
“My brain.” I laugh back. “Those lyrics don’t write themselves.” I hand my bodyguard the paper bag containing the rest of the dipping sauces. “Can you hang out for a bit?”
Donovan is chill. I went through at least twenty bodyguards before he came along. He’s the best of them all. He keeps me company while he eats his fries.
I know his wife is probably waiting for him. I also know he lives far away. But I can’t bring myself to be alone with my thoughts just yet. Besides, Gia—my tongue refuses to acknowledge her as my mother—called me several times while I was on set. I’m sure she left me a scathing voicemail. Or five.
When I finally let Donovan go for the night, it’s almost 1 a.m.
I decide all my messages will have to wait until tomorrow.
I’m beat.
I hate photoshoots.
Especially the long ones.
My body aches all over from being stuck in a series of unnatural poses for hours on end.
I take a quick shower, put on my pajamas, and cozy up with my phone in my bed.
There’s a new email notification.
Must have come in while I was washing away the rest of Kiki’s makeup.
I have no idea what kind of devil possesses me to open my inbox. I literally have Ellis do that for me because someone has to filter all the junk and hate mail.
But today has been weird.
As soon as the text loads, I wish I could unread it.
Subject: Cancelation of Podcast Appearance
Dear Rain,
I hope this email finds you well. We regret to inform you that we will no longer be able to have you as a guest on Midnight Case. It is important for us to associate our show with individuals who conduct themselves with integrity and respect toward others. The behavior you exhibited recently was unacceptable, and it goes against the values the Midnight Case team upholds for themselves and the podcast.
We wish you all the best in your future endeavors and hope that you will take this opportunity to reflect on your actions and make amends.
Sincerely,
Duke von Braun & the Team
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
I have a burning desire to toss the phone against the wall and see it break into millions of tiny pieces, and I think twenty-one-year-old Rain Sinclair would have done exactly that. But I’m twenty-seven now and I only wreck shit on stage now. I know that destroying my own property isn’t going to make Duke change his mind.
I call Ellis instead. “Did you see it?”
“Yes,” he replies in a sluggish voice. “I’ve been cc’d.”
“Were you sleeping?”
