I blink in surprise, but nod, and we move over to the corner table. Briar slides into the window seat next to me, handing me a menu. A smiling waitress bustles over with a notebook in hand, and we both order orange juice, tea, and an inordinate amount of hash browns. Julie orders a club soda and a melon plate, then sits back in her booth and examines Briar critically.
“God, your face looksawful,” she drawls. “Please tell me that it’ll heal better than it looks.”
Briar shrugs. “The doctors said scarring would be minimal. If there is a mark, makeup can cover it whenever I’m on set.”
“Hm.” Julie winces as the waitress sets two plates of golden, crispy fried food in front of us. “You’re eating like a pig.”
I hand Briar some cutlery and keep my mouth carefully shut. But, Jesus. The girl almost died last night, and she’s still being expected todiet?My annoyance fades away as I watch Briar take her first bite, her eyes practically rolling back into her head. She hums happily, leaning against my side. “I love you for bringing me here,” she whispers.
My stomach contracts. I smile tightly and turn back to my plate.
“Ugh,” Julie mutters. “I guess you can’t do a video interview until they take your stitches out anyway, you look disgusting like this. So it’s not the end of the world if you’re bloated for a bit. But you’ll have to get back to working out tomorrow.” She pulls a notebook out of her designer purse and licks a finger, flipping to the right page. “The first few interviews will have to be radio or print,” she sighs, scribbling a note. “That knocks about half of these offers off the list.”
“I’m not doing any interviews,” Briar says. “I don’t want to talk about what happened.”
Julie waves her off. “Oh, babe, don’t worry, we’ll have private interviews. No talk shows, nothing like that until you’re ready.”
Briar frowns. “There’s no such thing as aprivate interview.What does that even mean?” She shakes her head. “Julie, I’m serious. This isn’t something I want to share with people. I don’t want people flipping through magazines in a hair salon, casually reading about the most horrific night of my life. This isn’tentertainment,and I’m not going to let the media treat it like that.”
Julie sighs deeply, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Darling,” she says, her voice low and confidential. “I know it’s difficult. I know it’s painful. But you’ve been suffering in silence for so long. It will feel good to open up about what’s happened to you. Like a catharsis.”
“There is absolutely nothing good about gossip ragsprofitingoff me getting drugged, kidnapped and almost killed.”
“Darling, where have you been the last five years? This is what the Me Too movement is all about!”
I choke on my food. Briar’s mouth falls open. “The Me Too movement is about people choosing to fight back against an entire industry which wants to silence them, not their PR managersforcingthem to sensationalise traumatic events as part of a publicity campaign!” She straightens her spine, obviously trying to compose herself. “Julie, have you been tipping off the paparazzi?”
Fifty-Four
Kenta
?
Julie sputters, leaning back in her booth. “Of course not! Why would you even say that, babe?”
Briar sighs and holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
“What? No—”
“Fine.” Briar leans over and knocks on the glass window. The paps outside all jump. She points at one, a short guy wearing a baseball cap, and waves for him to come inside. I stiffen slightly, priming for action, but mostly I’m just amused. This should be fun to watch.
The bell rings as the guy enters the café, looking nervously at Cricket, but I wave him over to our table. He stands awkwardly next to us, shifting on his feet.
“Hello.” Briar smiles up at him. “I’m Briar.”
He looks at her like she’s an idiot. “Uh. Yeah. I know.”
“What’s your name?”
“Roger.”
“Well, Roger, I was just wondering how you knew I was going to be here, today.”
He blinks. “We got a tip-off. Like, ninety-nine percent of our photos, of any celebrity, are from tip-offs.”
“Who from?”
“Just some lady that works for you. She calls us, sometimes.” He eyes me nervously. I raise an eyebrow, and he drops his gaze, flushing.
