“What’s up?” Despite the early hour, I’m not surprised Charlotte is already awake and working. The woman is a workaholic to the nth degree.
There was a time not long ago that if Char called me at this hour, she would have found me sleeping off last night’s whiskey. But as Bob Dylan once sang,the times they are a-changin’.So, even though it’s still early in California, I’ve been up for over an hour and already knocked out a workout in the hotel gym.
Letting myself back into my suite, I take a chilled bottle of water from the small refrigerator and start chugging it.
“Bad news, I’m afraid. Sloane, the actress you fired from theRoom 112video, sold her story to a tabloid. I’ve emailed it to you.”
“What the fuck?” I explode, coughing on the water. “She signed an NDA. She can’t legally talk about it!”
“From the contents of the article, it seems like she must have spoken to an attorney because she declined to comment about the song, the music, or the contents of the video…” Char emits a frustrated sigh. “But nothing in our paperwork says she can’t speak about the interpersonal dynamics she witnessed between the people at the shoot.”
The people at the shoot?
Oh, shit.
Annabelle.
“Hayes, just read the article.”
Discarding my water, I put Char on speakerphone before thumbing over to my email. With trepidation, I click on the link and read the brief article.
“I mean, it could have been worse, Hayes. At least Sloane didn’t know Annabelle’s full name. But it’s only a matter of time before someone puts two and two together and figures out who she is.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, scratching my jaw as I pace the length of the living area.
I knew this day would come eventually, but I’ve been dreading it. Not so much for me, but for Annabelle. The media will do their digging and dredge up the details of Kyle’s death. I hate that by dating me, Annabelle and her daughters will have to relive that trauma.
“Can’t we come out swinging, Char? Can’t we put out a story that Sloane misconstrued the facts? We could say Annabelle is an old friend, or that she was at the shoot because she was the guest of someone else,” I suggest, running my hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “People will believe me over some actress who got fired from our music video. It’ll look like Sloane’s sour and spewing lies for a payday.”
“We could.” There’s a pause. “But if you and Annabelle are serious, then the public will learn the truth eventually. And thenyou’llcome out of this as the one who spewed the lies, Hayes.”
Damn, she has a point.“Well, what do you suggest?”
“I’ve already had our attorneys send Sloane a letter threatening legal action if she continues speaking to the press, and I’ve called her agency to lodge a professional complaint against her. As far as refuting the article, the label’s PR strategists recommended we do nothing. It’s a bunch of vague hearsay and speculation, and to address it would lend credence to Sloane’s claims.” A tinge of sheepishness colors Charlotte’s voice when she adds, “Plus, the label said that radio requests and streaming numbers forEvery Now and Thenhave jumped fifteen percent since the article came out yesterday.”
“Char,” I warn, my pacing coming to a standstill.
“I know, I know, Hayes. It’s bullshit, but… bullshit sells.”
With a groan, I drop onto the edge of the couch. “Thanks for the heads-up. I need to call Annabelle and tell her about the article.”
But Annabelle beats me to the punch and calls me before I can dial her number.
“Hey, Yankee. You calling ‘cause you miss me or because you saw the article?”
“Can’t it be both?”
There’s a playfulness present in Annabelle’s voice that relaxes me. I lean back against the couch cushions as a smile stretches across my lips. Just like it always does when I talk to Annabelle.
“I miss you too, babe. And I’m so fucking sorry about the article.”
“God, I’m just glad Sloane didn’t tell the tabloid that you fired her and that I took her place in the video!”
“She can’t do that without breaking the NDA,” I reply, quick to reassure her. “I just got off the phone with Charlotte. She has our attorneys breathing down Sloane’s back, so I doubt she’ll speak to thepress again. And speaking of the video, I saw the rough cut yesterday. It looks good.”
“Can you tell it’s me?” Annabelle sounds a lot more worried about this possibility than she does about the article.
“No. About ninety-five percent of the video is of Sloane and me. They only used brief flashes of the footage you and I shot, and since the lighting was dark and they never showed your face, no one will realize it isn’t Sloane in those shots."
