She was going to throw up. Her stomach lurched unhappily, and spots were beginning to appear in her vision. Her head pounded like Daphne’s drummer was behind her, banging away. “I don’t have any money,” she whispered.

“It’s cost the studio several thousand dollars to reschedule the concert. Just so you know, we’ve taken that from your contracted fee. I’ll leave the receipts here at the bedside.” He pulled new documents from the briefcase and set them down on the table next to the bed. “You’ll see that we’ve been quite fair.”

“I—is that all you need from me?”

“No. Furthermore, I will do my best to convince Miss Petty that she needs to continue with the shows scheduled. Right now she is talking about canceling the entire tour. I’m sure you can agree that no one wants this. Since you are contractually obligated to act in a way that will not distress Miss Petty, I assume you will cut off all ties to Mr. Archer?”

“You mean until the tour is done?”

“I mean completely.” He pulled out another piece of paper and put it in Kylie’s hands. “This is the amount that the tour stands to make for the record company.” He pushed another piece of paper into her hands. “And this is the amount that Daphne will cost us if she does not finish her tour. Which she is now threatening to do.”

Kylie squinted, but she couldn’t make out the exact number, just that it had lots and lots of zeroes. Way more than Kylie’s bank account had. Her stomach roiled harder.

“In light of the situation, the label is willing to forgive all costs related to this incident as long as you promise to end all contact with Mr. Cade Archer, as it is upsetting Daphne.”

Her head spun. So they were going to force her to give up Cade? “He’s going to want to hear from me—”

“We can arrange for a new phone for you. You can send him a message telling him you no longer wish to see him.”

Like Cade would buy that. Still, it was hard for her to think. Her head was throbbing madly, and there were papers with numbers and threats spread all over her lap. How could she possibly take care of her responsibilities if they were going to fine her this much money?

How could she possibly avoid becoming a burden again? At this rate, she’d be back in a cardboard box under a bridge once more.

She reached for her wedding rings, found them still on her finger, though all the others had been removed by hospital staff. Of course they had. She twisted the rings, turning the beautiful red ruby outward. Then, with a meek look, she showed Mr. Powers. “I married him.”

“You what?”

She winced and clutched at her head. “Vegas. We got married in Vegas.”

“Oh.” Mr. Powers’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s easy enough to fix. I’ll draw up annulment papers. Vegas weddings are discarded all the time.” His glare fixed on her. “We don’t need to inform Daphne of this, do we?”

“No,” she breathed, wanting to cry and puke all at once. “I guess we don’t.”

“Good. I’ll be back tomorrow with some papers for you to sign. Daphne’s assistant is going to remain at your side to ensure you don’t receive any visitors or call anyone.” He gave her a tight smile. “I’m glad we could work things out, Miss Daniels.”

“Sure,” she said listlessly. Her head hurt so badly that she wanted to scream.

“Perfect,” Mr. Powers said. He gathered his paperwork and returned it to his briefcase, and Kylie closed her eyes. She wished he would just go away.

She wished this entire situation would just go away.

But when she opened her eyes again, Powers was gone, and Snoopy was gazing at her, an unhappy expression on her face.

“I heard,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “The label’s giving you the shakedown because Daphne’s being a brat, huh?” She tucked the blankets around Kylie’s legs and then offered her a cup of ice chips. “While you’re in the hospital, too? That’s shitty.”

Kylie took the ice greedily, putting a few flakes of it on her tongue to wet her dry mouth. She still felt as if she were going to vomit, but she wasn’t sure if that was the concussion or just her general misery over the situation.

“So,” Snoopy asked. “Did you really marry that guy?”

Kylie nodded, fighting back tears.

“Forgive me for asking, but . . . isn’t he rich? Couldn’t you go to him and say, ‘Hey, the label’s being a dick and I need help’? Wouldn’t he help you?”