"Thisis what I was referring to. They took the bait," she says, a deviant smile on her face, and now I’m even more confused than I was before.
Taking the phone from her outstretched hand, I see the words ‘Olive and Avery: Everything we know so far!’I swallow the lump in my throat.
"Hold on, Josie. What do you mean?"
She looks over her shoulder. For what, I don’t know, but whatever she’s searching for, she doesn’t find it. "After your show where Avery came to your defense—"
"You mean how he butted in and tried to kick that guy’s ass when I had it handled?" I cross my arms over my chest, remembering the first meet and greet and how his actions made me feel incompetent, and weak.
"Right. That." She nods. "His manager, Orlando Davis, and I got to talking and, well…" she pauses. Josie seems nervous, which is very unlike her. Whatever she’s about to tell me has got her feeling frantic.
"Spit it out, Josie. Don’t we have somewhere to be?"
"Pictures were leaked to the press that you and Avery were seeing each other after your show. You had gone to his game the night before, too, so it just all synced up. I know a friend who is a journalist and she asked me to confirm or deny knowing you’re my client. I asked her to hold off a day or two, then the YBAGB happened and it just seemed like the perfect opportunity." I hold up my hand. I already know the rest. Well, I can assume to, anyway.
"You orchestrated it. That much is obvious, but I didn’t realizewhy. I thought you were just doing it to get the public to see that I wasn’t boring. That I deserved my spot on the tour."
And I do, thank you very much. Label, be damned.
"Sorry, Olive. Orlando offered me a solution, and I took it. The label has been jumping down my throat telling me to thinkof something to make you seem more personable, likable. And apparently dating someone like Avery Jones, does just that. It keeps the fans interested in you for more than just your music." She sighs, and I see the remorse all over her face.
"So, what? Do you just expect me to fake like I know this guy? That we’ve been together for God knows how long, just to make some rich men at a record label happy. What if I say ‘no’?"
"Then you’re cut from the tour." She cowers away, but I know it’s not her call.
"Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not going to enjoy myself."
Chapter fourteen
Avery
"WhatthefuckamI looking at?" I seethe, throwing my phone across the desk in Orlando’s office. I watch as it slides and lands on his lap.
I woke up, saw the articles after the rest of the world, and made my way straight to my manager’s office.
I knew he was behind it in some way, and going by the look on his face, my assumption would be correct. He’s in total control of the narrative, and apparently, I’m the fucking talking piece.
Me, and that…girl whose name I refuse to say.
The one I, for some reason, cannot stand, yet cannot stop thinking about after that night.
It’s not because she rejected me. I can handle being told ‘no’ by a woman. If anything, it made me respect her more. She didn’t throw herself at me because ofwhoI am.
But when I saw the pictures planted all over the internet, us, side by side, a smile on both of our faces, with the media talking about a secret romance that we’d kept hidden, my blood beganto boil. I leapt out of bed, threw on a hoodie and sweats, and ran out the door.
I scrolled through every article and image I could find whenever I stopped at a red light. Idiotic, I know, but I got in my head about it.
They even have a picture of her and I sharing a ‘secret look’ at my game last week.
And people are buying it.
People are fucking buying it.
"I had a feeling it would come to this the moment you came to her defense." He shakes his head, locking my phone and sliding it back across the table in my direction. I pace around his office. "Which, by the way, Coach White, is fucking pissed about. He wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone for days after, until I finally answered and told him I had it covered."
We’ve played two games since, and while I’ve had game time, Coach hasn’t looked in my direction.
A necessity on the court, but no longer off it.
