Two hours later, we had an agreed approach to present to the media. A scandal (the press’s words, not mine) involving Kingcaid Music’s biggest signing affected the entire Kingcaid brand, hence the full board coming together to present a united front. That was both the strength and the weakness of a corporation like ours. Each part was connected to the next, and if one domino sneezed, the others caught a cold. As CEO of the music label, it was my job to lead the charge, and even though every single person in that room would’ve handled this on my behalf if asked to, that would only add fuel to the fire and weaken my position further.
Flanked by Sam on one side, and my brothers London and Roman, whose organizations made up the Kingcaid Media part of our empire, on the other, I entered the conference room, where the world’s press was gathered. I read out the prepared statement, fielded twenty-five minutes of questions, and left the room triumphant. It had gone better than I could have hoped, and there was more sympathy for Joz than there was callousness. Anyone not part of the tabloid press seemed to agree that publishing Joz’s personal diary had been a privacy breach that only the lowest of the low would stoop to. And while there had been several bullish questions from the rags that lurked in the bowels of the free press, I’d handled every one of them in a way I hoped made my family proud.
Once we were out of sight and earshot, both my brothers hugged me, and then Sam did, too.
“Superstar,” London said.
“Proud of you, sis,” Roman added. “If you need anything else, you let us know.”
I refused an invite to a family dinner, citing exhaustion and an oncoming headache. Neither were true, but I craved space and time to process the last couple of days.
The city lights blurred past the car window, a vibrant carousel of color. My body ached for rest, but there would be no rest for me. Not until I’d found the person who had sent Joz spiraling into a fight for his life and served up my own special brand of justice.
Chapter 28
Aspen
The truth always comes out in the end.
I might’ve fakeda headache to cry off dinner last night, but the pounding head I woke up with this morning felt very real. Served me right for lying to my family. Although spending the night on my own had allowed me to start to process everything that had happened since landing in New York on Saturday.
To go from the pure bliss of a week in the wilderness and declarations of love, to Joz overdosing and having to deal with a press hungry for details was a lot to manage, even for me. I felt as though I’d been tossed into a washing machine with the spin cycle on supersonic. My body had the metaphorical aches and bruises as a consequence.
I missed Joz.
I’d reached for him several times in the night, except there’d been no warm body for me to snuggle against, only a cold mattress and an aching heart.
Although it tasted like cardboard, I forced myself to eat a piece of toast, and I downed two cups of coffee. Once I’d bundledup in a coat, hat, and dark glasses, I left my apartment to go for a walk. The press conference I held yesterday must’ve satisfied the greedy hordes for a little while because there were no journalists or photographers waiting for me when I exited my building.
The air was crisp, the sky above a startling blue that lifted my mood. I set off for Central Park, pausing at a street vendor to buy a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and sprinkles. Decadent for eight-thirty on a Wednesday morning, maybe, but I needed the pick-me-up. I messaged my assistant to let her know where I was and to call me if anything came up that needed my attention, but I had no plans to go into the office today.
There were some upsides to being my own boss, and taking a random day off when my world had collapsed around me was one of them.
How was Joz coping? If he hadn’t laid the ground rules on visiting, I’d already be in the car and on the way to see him. I guessed he must’ve known I’d struggle to stay away, so he’d taken that decision away from me.
I wasn’t sure whether to praise him or curse him.
Central Park was fairly empty, and I wandered around lost in my own thoughts. I finished the hot chocolate and dropped the cup in the trash. How would I make the time pass without missing Joz every minute of the day?
My phone vibrated. I slid it from my purse, frowning when I saw a UK number, and not one in my contacts. Who could be calling me from the UK?
“Hello?”
“Hi, is that Aspen Kingcaid?”
“Who wants to know?”Never can be too careful.
“This is Erin Raynor, Joz’s sister.”
A cold sweat broke out over my skin, despite the chilly breeze. “Has something happened to Joz?” Surely the facility would have called me. Although I wasn’t his next of kin, soprobably not, but Mike would have. He’d called me when Joz had OD’d. He wouldn’t leave me in the dark.
“No, Joz is fine.”
My knees wobbled, and I braced a hand against a tree.
“I haven’t spoken to him,” she continued. “Mum said that when he called her on Sunday, he told her he was going back to rehab.”
On trembling legs, I made my way to a nearby bench and sank onto it. “I drove him there on Monday.”
