“Can you delete my photo, please?” My breath quakes on the inhale, and everything I just told myself about keeping my temper goes out the window. I’m about to mess this whole thing up for Sophie, but I have a chance to saveitif I get him to delete that image.
“Have a nice night, sir.” He waves while spinning on his heel and bolts out of the hallway.
I could run after him.
I could beat him to the ground and steal his camera.
My legs twitch under my weight as they wait for my command to chase him. But I remember the disappointment on Sophie’sface when I almost lost my temper just a few moments earlier. Even if I got the photos back, I might cause a bigger scene for her by beating him up.
That isn’t worth it.
I stand back, wringing my hands together.
It seems like no matter what I do tonight, I’m going to disappoint Sophie. Guilt creeps into my gut. I hadn’t realized I put so much pressure on myself before now. Sure, I had selfish reasons to agree to do this, and it was all about me making it to the NHL, but now that I’m here, I want her to have a victory, too. I blew it.
thirteen
Sophie
The next morning, I’m up before the sun rises, ready to fly back to Mapleton. I didn’t need to leave because of my schedule, but I’ve learned it’s better to avoid public crowds. I sip the coffee I made in the little coffee maker, but it’s weak and tasteless, and I can’t wait for the strong stuff from the coffee shop that my driver always has ready for me. As I make a final sweep of the hotel room, checking for forgotten items in the bathroom, I can’t help but feel heavy this morning.
I’m not depressed, but I don’t have the satisfactory glow I assumed I’d have from showing up at that event with a handsome date. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Rocco’s bidding on my date. That’s just Rocco being Rocco. I more or less feel like I’m already over the drama. Maybe the press never will be, but I know my truth. I don’t need to put on a show for Rocco or anyone else—other than my concerts of course, but I get paid to do that. I’m ready to put this stupid fake-dating thingbehind me. I’m already adding it to my list of been there, done that, and things I’ll never do again.
My phone vibrates right as I drop my makeup bag into my suitcase. I don’t even need to confirm who it is, because Bailey is always on top of things. I push the button to send the call to the speaker phone as it’s way too early for FaceTime. “Morning, Bails,” I ring out. I’m the only one of us who thinks the play onFrere Jacquesis funny, but I do it every morning.
“Morning, Sophs. Making sure you don't oversleep.”
“No, wide awake and almost out the door.” I plop down on the edge of my bed, taking a moment to rest.
“You didn’t happen to see the latest news about your love affair, did you?”
“Now what?” I smile each time I hear that I’m in a love affair. If only people knew that we hardly knew each other.
“I guess some guy got photos of you going into your room last night, and you were walking like half a hallway ahead of him and didn’t even look at him. It looks very stiff. He’s calling your whole relationship a scam for publicity.”
My stomach drops, and even though I perfectly heard what she said, I say, “What did you say?”
“He claims he has proof you’re fake-dating Axl, and the photos he has posted are way different than the other ones you have. These look like you don’t even know each other.” A heavy sigh floats over the phone before she tacks on, “People will do anything to get their two minutes of fame.”
“Right.” I freeze, knowing how bad this will be if it gets outed as a scam. Axl and I would more than likely lose a majority of our fan bases. “Some people have the wildest ideas.” My voice is flat as I try to sound as bored of this story as I can.
“In other news,” Bailey goes on, “I know it’s early for bad news, but I want to catch you before you get busy. I’m having a hard time rescheduling your concerts. I guess the venues don’t wantto take the risk, because your ticket sales weren’t that great the first time.”
“Oh really?” I scratch my cheek, replaying the inflections in her voice, searching for a hint of her leaving something out to protect me. “Did they say anything else? I do have a contract to perform there.”
“No big announcement from either place. They both said their schedules were filled, which I understand being short notice. However, if we don’t reschedule, we are looking at refunding ticket sales. That could cost the tour a lot of money. I’ll have to talk to finance, but your ticket sales were down for most of this tour. I’m not sure you were that much money ahead to cover a huge payback like this.”
“Well, aren’t you the bringer of good news this morning?” I force a laugh to keep it light, but I don’t feel light at all. I don’t worry about my bank account, but I have a huge tour crew, and they all deserve to be compensated well. I had promised them profit-sharing bonuses if they stayed through the whole tour. If I have to pay back two whole concerts worth of tickets, I might not have the funds for bonuses, and that just stinks. Now, I’m too anxious to sit, and I slide off the bed, pacing up and down the narrow aisle by my bed.
“It’ll be fine,” Bailey says, lifting her tune. “I haven’t given up on getting them rescheduled, just letting you know what I’m working on while you're off on romantic trips with your new hunk.”
“Right.” My jaw clenches as I force a breezy tone.
I’m so glad we aren’t on FaceTime right now. This is not the news I need to hear. My tour lost all its profits, and my publicity-seeking stunt has already been outed as a scam. Great way to start the day.
“Well, have a safe flight, and I’ll touch base later.” Bailey’s voice gets quieter with each word, as if she’s pulling the phone away from her mouth.
“Bye.” I doubt she hears me, because the line is already dead. I wrap my hand around my suitcase handle, tugging it out of the door. I’m glad we are leaving in the dark. I don’t have it in me to fake this right now.
