Couldn’t argue with her there.
“Anyway, I’ve tried to phone the guy, but he never answers. I think he’s blocked my number. Got what he wanted and now he doesn’t need me anymore.”
Men were bastards. Not all men, but enough men for it to fucking count. And a certain type of male journalist were bastarding bastard men on bastard steroids.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Will you help me tell Joz? Once he’s out of rehab, I mean? I’d hate for this to delay his recovery. I feel so guilty. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have relapsed.”
“You don’t know that.” Although if I were in her shoes, I’d feel the same way.
“Yes, I do. Will you be there when I tell him?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is. He’ll be so mad. I’ve let him down. I’ve let myself down. I never should’ve trusted a guy called Presley. I mean, what kind of a name is that, anyway? A twat of a name, that’s what.”
My whole body recoiled, muscles taut as though I’d had a bucket of ice water tipped over my head. Numbness followed, sinking deep into my bones. “What did you say his name was?” I whispered.
“Presley. He didn’t tell me his surname.”
“Knox,” I murmured. “It’s Knox.”
Erin took a sharp intake of breath. “You know him?”
“Yeah.” My jaw ached from where I kept clenching my teeth. “Unfortunately, I do. Look, Erin, you’re not to blame. You were taken in by a master manipulator. You leave Presley to me.”
“Who is he?”
A cunt. I’d been too busy dealing with Joz and the fallout from his relapse to keep an eye on Presley. “You don’t want to know. But like I said, leave him to me.”
“And what about Joz?”
“Let me approach that, too. When the time is right. If that’s all right with you.”
“It is. I think it’ll come better from you than from me.”
“Okay, good. And please don’t blame yourself. It’ll all work out. Trust me.”
“Joz said you were wonderful, and he was right. You are.”
“That’s lovely of you to say. I’ll be in touch. Take care.” I cut the call and sat there staring into nothingness for several minutes.
PresleyfuckingKnox coerced Joz’s sister into sleeping with him for no other reason than to give him access to Joz’s apartment. Had he had an inkling about the diary, or was he just looking for any kind of dirt to smear Joz’s name and reputation?
Only one way to find out.
I dialed his handler. “Hey, Adeline. Quick one. Where’s Presley scheduled to be today?”
“At the studio. He needs to re-record a couple of songs that Luke wasn’t happy with, and it’s the first chance we’ve had since he returned from his trip to London to spend time with his family.”
The trip where he was more interested in seducing Joz’s sister to try to dig up dirt on Joz than spending time with his parents and brother. Dirt he’d unfortunately found.
“Great, thanks.” I hung up and immediately called my lawyer. Whatever it took, however much it cost to rip up that contract, Presley Knox’s career with Kingcaid Music was over.
Presley was mid set when I entered the control room. I took a seat at the back, motioning for Luke, his sound engineer, to continue. Presley had his eyes closed, that haunting voice that had captivated me in London filling the studio. What a waste. What a fucking waste of talent.
Why had he done it? What could he possibly hope to gain? And how had he known about the diary in the first place?
