“Sloane!” He threw his arms open as if the two of them always greeted each other with a bear hug. (They did not.) “You found me!”Already.
She stormed past him and into the guesthouse, pivoting to face him only after he’d slammed the door closed.
“You’re not answering your phone,” she offered instead of any traditional greeting. But then again, Sloane never wasted time on unnecessary words. He liked that about her.
“I’m using a loaner,” he replied. “Not even sure what the number is.” Ash also liked that for the past however many hours, Sloane—or anyone else, for that matter—had not been able to contact him directly.
“Arrested?” she added to her non-greeting. “Again?”
He held up his hands to show her that he was, in fact, handcuff free, and flashed her a grin. “They let me off with a warning.”
She crossed her arms. “After your team paid for the damage to the hotel room. And byteam, I meanme.”
“And byyou, you meanme, right? Whatever card you gave them draws from my account, doesn’t it?” He waved her off. “Besides, you saydamage. I sayincidentals. Whatever is in the hotel room is fair game as long as it’s paid for, and as you just informed me, Ipaid.”
“Incidentals, huh?” Sloane raised her brows. “Did you throw the hotel phone at the wall? No. Out the window? No again. At the seventy-five-inch 4K television that used to be mounted on the wall but is now a pile of broken glass? Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner.”
Ash shrugged. “Tried the cell phone first, but all that did was bust up my phone.” Hence the loaner.
Sloane tried to level him with her gaze or maybe…melt him with invisible death rays? He wasn’t sure.
“I guess you’re lucky thatsomepeople are actually feeling sympathy for you right now.”
Ash clenched his teeth and let a breath out through his nose, suddenly devoid of any snappy comebacks.
Sloane sighed. “Divorce sucks, Murphy. I get that. Even more so when it’s in the public eye, but you chose this life and all that comes with it. And you chose me to make sure you manage that public eye better than anyone else out there.”
Suddenly remembering where he was, Ash darted a glance over his shoulder to find that Willow was gone.
“Who’s that?” Sloane asked, nodding toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the open field.
Ash followed her gaze as Sloane strode straight up to the glass, using her hands as a visor against the morning sun as she peered out toward the chicken coop. Her mouth hung open as she pivoted back to face him.
“Tell me that isnotWillow Morgan out there.” But Sloane’s lips were already curling into a grin, and Ash could see the diabolical wheels turning in her head.
“It’s not what it looks like, Sloane,” he told her, an echo of the very same words he’d spoken when she barged into his tour bus bedroom four years earlier.
“Oh yea?” Sloane asked, her blue eyes brewing up a publicity storm. “Because to me it looks like a comeback.” She sauntered over to the couch, stretched her arms across the backrest, and crossed her legs. “Put on a shirt, Murphy. Because we are about to spin.”
***
“No,” Willow told them, pacing back and forth in front of the breakfast bar. “Absolutely not. I’m here to work, not to be the next notch on a player’s belt.”
Sloane swiveled back and forth on a breakfast barstool, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the counter as if Willow’s protestations meant nothing.
Ash stood by the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, guessing he wasn’t as good an actor as Sloane was. He hated his publicist’s plan as much as Willow did, but he also knew that if he dared to open his phone up to any entertainment website or social media outlet that he’d likely find his name—and another record of less-than-stellar public behavior—trending.
“I’m not asking you to actually sleep with him,” Sloane replied with a laugh. “We’ll leave that to speculation. All I’m asking is for periodic photos to be ‘leaked’ by outlets of my choosing and for the two of you to debut a song together at the cute little festival where you’re performing a couple of months from now.”
“Come on, Sloane. Acoustic Acres is projected to get at least 20,000 a day with Willow headlining,” Ash interjected.
Willow’s brows shot up, and for a second she glanced at him with something other than ire or disdain.
Sloane grinned. “Imagine what those numbers would be if we hinted at Willow inviting a special guest onstage for a yet-unreleased song.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “I’m not only asking this forMad Man Murphy over there…” She nodded her head in Ash’s direction.
He winced.Mad Man Murphy?Did she make that up, or was that one of the little gems he’d find online once he found his phone?
“But think about what this might do foryou.” Sloane sighed. “There’s been some speculation about writer’s block, and I’m not saying I’m buying into it. But your label did push the release date, did they not? Think about what your fans would say if they caught wind of you ‘collaborating’”—she put finger quotes around the word—“with country music’s resident bad boy?”
