And for Tucker, no more music.
So he’d officially retired and was heading back to Colorado to run the ranch he’d bought years ago. He’d made an extraction plan that would allow him to return to music, if he ever desired. Not that he expected to be able to return, but Jessica convinced him not to close that door permanently. For the past six months, Tucker did what she’d said. Had been seen where she’d said to be seen. Dated who she’d said to date. And on the eve of his retreat back to Colorado, Kenzie faceplanted on his fly in the most public place possible.
Now, Jessica wanted America’s Sweetheart to be his savior.
Most men would sell their left testicle to be Kenzie’s arm candy.
He wasn’t most men.
“Do you know what happened to Stefano Moretti?” Jessica asked, her tone all business.
Who the hell was Stefano Moretti? He gave Jessica his best, I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-you’re-talking-about look.
She clearly got the vibe. “Fashion icon. Daytime television star.”
Still didn’t ring a bell. He shook his head.
“Stefano had it all. Just like you. Then, as he was about to retire, he went to one of those outdoor Shakespeare theaters. The lady behind him accidentally spilled soda all over his head.”
What in the actual hell was Jessica talking about?
“Photos were taken. The whole thing was plastered on all the covers of all the magazines,” she continued.
What did a fashion model and a soda have to do with him?
“When you look up Stefano, you don’t see the thousands of hours of work he put in on the catwalk. Or the daytime Emmy he won. You see photos of Stefano with soda in his hair.” She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “Kenzie with her face in your lap is precisely the same thing. You don’t fix this? Change the dialogue? Change the images? Then when you’re able to make music again, you’ll have an uphill battle to fight, trying to get back into an industry that will only remember you as the guy with Mackenzie Bennett’s face in your fly.”
“When you put it like that…” He rolled his eyes toward the Christmas ornaments dangling on clear strings from the ceiling.
“Tucker.” Jessica’s expression firmed, even if the severe ponytail she always wore made certain there was no movement of the nearly non-existent creases of her forehead. “Deflecting the press is our only goal right now. A few public appearances with Ms. Bennett and you can both move on with your lives.”
“I already moved on.” If he spent too much time with Kenzie, he’d fall head over heart for her. He’d known it the first moment he’d seen her, and he couldn’t take that risk. Not when he was leaving music. Not when he was packing it up and going back to the place where reality wasn’t plastic.
The last thing he needed was to play with the fire that would burn them both.
Now he was here, in a conference room, starting it all again. “Fine. I’ll do some dates. Pick someone else. Anyone.”
“It’s her, Tucker. A few very public appearances before Christmas is all we need to get the rumor mill rolling. By the new year, we’ll announce you’ve decided to stay at your ranch in Colorado. The stress of the long-distance relationship will take its toll, and Mactuck will be over by the spring. You can continue on in whatever it is you plan to do, until you decide to come back.”
Mac. Tuck. She couldn’t be serious with this one. “You gave us a supercouple name.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question but rather a statement. Because, fuck it all, he knew she’d already tossed that bone to the two-dollar-rag magazines.
She raised an eyebrow. “Of course I did.”
He used the trick he always used when he didn’t like the way the conversation was going—he mimicked her expression. “And the best you could come up with is Mactuck?”
She sighed heavily. “It’s very catchy. The press is already eating it up.”
“Why does she get to be first? What about Tuckenzie.” Okay, that sounded stupid even to his ears.
“No,” Jessica said, deadpan.
He scraped a hand over the shadow of a beard he’d neglected to trim ever since Kenzie had faceplanted in his lap. Her crew had hustled her out of that club faster than he could process what had happened.
He couldn’t sleep, had wanted to check on her. But checking would lead to feeling things. Feeling things would lead to doing things. Doing things would lead to him not following through on his retirement plan.
That couldn’t happen. He needed out, before he became permanently entrenched in the façade of who he’d become in this place.
