-1Black Mamba

We're living while we're singing

And that's a step in the right direction

"I'm going to throw up."

"That's disgusting," Paige replied, remarkably calm considering it would be her brand new - and quite expensive - dress that would most likely be ruined. "And, no, you're not."

"I really am," Craig insisted, rubbing his stomach anxiously. "Where's the bathroom in this place? I'm going to throw up, and then I'm going to run away and hide and eventually die of shame."

"Craig." She took him by the shoulders, her expression stern. "Are you seriously freaking out right now? Because I busted my ass to put this whole thing together - hello, there are people out there who flew in from New York to hear you sing! And if you're gonna cop out on me now, I might actually have to kick your ass."

A minute ticked by before he let out a nervous laugh. "God, you're tough. Okay. I'm fine. Just - is there water around here? Or maybe Saltines?"

"Oh, my God, you're like a pregnant lady," she bemoaned, burying her face in her hands. "Yes, here, have some water. Now, focus. The guitar is tuned. The sound check was great. The song is amazing. This is practically in the bag. All you have to do is go out there and sell it."

"Wait." He shot out a hand to grab her by the wrist. "Paige. I don't think I can do this. I mean, this isn't me. I write songs in a messy room and play them in dive bars. I'm not ... I'm not glamorous, I'm not Hollywood. I'm just a guy with a guitar. I'm not a professional."

"Well, duh." Gently, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That's what I'm here for. To make you one."

"You can't magically cure stage fright, though," he argued. "You can't make me not forget the lyrics as soon as the spotlight hits me."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Did we or did we not make a deal? I get you an audience, you play them a song. I swear to God, Craig, you'd better hold up your end of the bargain or -"

"Please." He held his hands up to ward off her words. "No more threats."

She broke off with a sigh. "Okay. Craig. Listen to me. I know you can do this. You have been working towards this moment for as long as I've known you. High school, L.A., all of it - it was just practice, okay? This is the real deal. And you are going to walk out on that stage like you own the whole damn place, and you're going to sing like you're already famous, and - most importantly - You. Will. Not. Throw. Up."

At last, a small smile worked its way across his lips. "You're really something, you know that?"

"So I've been told," she smiled back.

Craig blew out a long breath, thinking back on his conversation with Joey and everything Paige had just said. "Okay. So before I go out there and change my life for better or worse -"

"For better," Paige interrupted.

"Or worse," he repeated, but his smile was bigger now. "I just want to know one thing."

"Yes, your ass looks great in those jeans," she deadpanned.

Craig chuckled, hefting himself up to sit on the counter. "Not that, but thanks. This thing, between us - it's not just about the music, right? It's not just the typical manager/musician relationship, right?"

"If you had this kind of relationship with Artie ..." Paige trailed off, screwing up her nose in distaste. "No. It's not. I can honestly say I'm not next to you right now, risking being the target of your upcoming lunch, because I'm so invested in your career."

"No?" He took both her hands, drawing her closer so that she was sandwiched between his dangling legs. "So why are you here, then?"

"Because ..." She sighed, and grazed one finger across his brow, smoothing out the worry lines. "Because I know that, no matter how nervous you are, you're going to go out there and blow this crowd away and the smile on your face is going to be so absolutely contagious that I'm going to smile, too. Because when you're happy, I'm happy. You satisfied?"

Craig leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. "You mean it? The part about making you happy, not the other stuff."

"I mean all of it." Her lips met his slowly but certainly, tasting of vanilla and promises. "I'm with you either way. Rich and famous or poor and living in a box. But, as your manager, I can pretty much guarantee that it'll be the former. You're going to go out there and be great. Everyone is going to love it."

"Famous last words," he told her ruefully, and grabbed his guitar.

XXX

Craig stepped onto the stage and nearly winced at the spotlight's glare. It had been months since he'd performed in front of any kind of audience and the dive bars in L.A. hadn't exactly been professionally lit. This place, the Herald, was a legitimate performance space and now that he was on it, he was even more aware of what a huge deal this was.

It wasn't a particularly big crowd. Paige was efficient, but she wasn't a miracle worker. He recognized a few faces of kids he'd graduated with, a few more he'd seen at Paige's dorm. Joey was there somewhere, he knew. But the most important people were those adults in suits, jabbering away on Bluetooths. Craig could recognize an agent from a mile away and by his count, there were five guests throughout the room that he needed desperately to impress.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the club's owner intoned, "Next up on our roster is a little local flavor, the talented singer/songwriter Craig Manning!"

Applause. The kind of scattered, polite applause that Craig knew shouldn't mean anything, but it had him sweating just the same. The owner relinquished the microphone to him with a little flourish and he gripped it with clammy palms.

"Hey, guys, thanks for coming out tonight," he said, through a jaw that felt like it had been wired shut. "I, uh ... I'm going to play you a few songs and, uh -"

"We know!" someone called out, and the crowd snickered.

Craig shot a panicked look offstage. Safely out of sight, Paige glared at him, then whirled around and grabbed one of the stagehand's walkie-talkies. Her voice suddenly filled his headset.

"I swear to God, Manning, I am all out of inspirational speeches," she threatened. "You already did the nerves thing backstage, so if you don't start singing something - and I don't care if it's The Star Spangled Banner - I am going to personally rip your vocal cords out so that you can never waste my time again."

Despite himself, his spine straightened and he cleared his throat. "Okay, so this first song is pretty new, but it's one of my favorites. And I'd like to dedicate it to the girl who made it possible for me to be here tonight, Paige Michelchuk. She's one hell of a manager." Somebody whooped, which gave Craig an idea. "In fact, we should probably bring her out here and give her a round of applause."

Offstage, he could see Paige frantically gesturing No! at him, but the crowd was coming alive, clapping and catcalling for her. "Come on, Paige, don't be shy," he urged into the microphone. "The people want to see you."

"It's not me we're trying to sell," she muttered into his headset, but she was already striding across the stage, waving like Miss America to the people now chanting her name.

"Hi, everybody, I'm Paige." She had to lean close to him to reach the mic, not that he minded. "As Craig's manager, I'd love to hear anyone's feedback after the show. If you like what you hear, let me know. And if you don't ..." She flashed a smile that put the spotlight to shame. "I don't care, I'll still try to sell you his demo."

As the audience laughed and applauded, Paige gave him a pointed look as if to say, See? That's how you do it before turning back to them."So, ladies and gents," she announced, "Once again, I give you ... Craig Manning!"

"Thanks, Paige." He scanned the crowd again and grinned, his nerves long forgotten. "Now that you've met her, I think you'll appreciate this song even more. Let's get to it."

He began to strum, and just vaguely over his own music heard Paige again. "They love you already," she murmured and then, typically, added, "I told you so."

The rest of the audience couldn't hear it, but to Craig, her voice in his ear made this song the best he'd ever sung.