Wife of the Rock God

From the back cover

I gave up my music journalism career, piece by piece, to build Nathaniel Roberts' country music empire.

He was my college sweetheart, my golden boy, the man I poured my soul into making a star.

Then, his new pop-country princess co-star, Gabrielle, called me, her voice sickeningly sweet, telling me Nathaniel' s credit card was maxed out.

She was in our bed, and I heard the rustle of our expensive sheets, the ones I picked out.

I didn' t scream, I didn' t cry.

I simply packed everything he ever bought me into garbage bags and told him to get out.

He laughed, calling me dramatic, but agreed to a divorce, assuming I was after a final payday.

He gave me a massive settlement and an iron-clad NDA, smugly believing he' d bought my silence and dignity.

Months later, his manager called, oozing fake sympathy, inviting me to a reality show, "Second Takes," for "closure."

I knew their true plan: to make me look pathetic, clinging to him so he could gently reject me, cleaning up his image after the cheating scandal.

They wanted me to be his public doormat, boosting his new duet with Gabrielle.

I sobbed into the phone, playing my part perfectly, swearing I missed him, begging to get him back.

But their elaborate scheme was about to backfire spectacularly.

They thought I wanted his heart, but I was about to go for his wallet, his freedom, and his entire career.