“Call Hans,” Courtney said with the same authority as Chet. Meanwhile, she was whipping through social media apps and searching for hashtags.
Bax called Hans. Relayed the information. Listened as Hans did the deep mouth-breathing thing he did when he was not happy. The guys thought it was hysterical how Hans deep breathed into the microphone of the cell like he was in a freaky-ass horror movie.
Tonight, Bax didn’t find it particularly amusing.
“The news is going to come out anyway. Might as well tell everyone yourself,” Hans finally said through the speakerphone.
“But how did she know? Who told her where we’d be?” Bax was taking the temperature of the back seat, and Courtney did not look like she was happy with the turn of events.
“We’re on Instagram.” Courtney held up the app, and sure enough, there was a photo of gorgeous her and suited-up him at the hostess stand with screeching Brittney and Em.
Chet let out a string of cuss words.
“Don’t worry, they cropped you out,” Courtney assured half-heartedly. Then she let her phone fall to her lap, slumped against the back seat of the car, and pressed her palms to her eyes. “Shit. They’re twisting things. I’m the villain.”
No, Bax didn’t accept that.
“You’re too close to this, Courtney,” Hans said, gentler than Bax had ever heard. “We both know the narrative is yours to control. You’ve got the upper hand. We’ll pick a different photo and make it grow legs.”
Bax didn’t entirely know what making a photo grow legs meant, but he figured it was more of a Courtney and Hans thing.
Courtney nodded, even though Hans couldn’t see her. “I know you’re right. That’s what we have to do.”
“Make it happen how you see fit,” Hans said. “I’ll let the other guys know. Ask them to play a minor offense. Linx might even start a bar brawl and get arrested to take some of the spotlight.”
Honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Bax finished up the call while Courtney stared out the window at the lights of Denver and the spring rain pelting the car.
Finally, she said, “We spin it in favor of the tour. Take the attention—even the not great attention—while it’s given and make it about the tour.” She seemed to be speaking to herself, not to him. “Use this to sell tickets for your show.”
Hold up. He wasn’t sure he liked that idea. She might have been the publicist, but he didn’t enjoy using her for publicity likethis.
“We do that? You’re paparazzi bait.” He said it, and he hated it. The whole idea made his stomach sour.
She nodded. “Yep.”
“Not lovin’ that idea.” He pressed his knuckle against his lips and willed his brain to think of a better alternative.
“Me either.” Her chest rose and fell, hiccuping a few times. But she didn’t make a sound.
He reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips, and breathed a kiss there like he’d done to her shin not too long ago. “You don’t want fame.”
“Nope.” Her brown hair caught against her necklace as she shook her head. “But it’s what I’ve got.”
She loved the band. Loved the guys—that much was clear. Now that he thought hard on it, whenever photo ops came around, Courtney was absent.
“Are you hungry still?” He asked what appeared to be the only safe question.
His attempt got him a smile. “Always.”
“Is Tiny Badass down for a little frozen pasta bake?” Because he’d stocked a few of the frozen meal things he’d seen in Courtney’s freezer back in LA.
“Does it come with a side of carrots?” Courtney asked, lines around her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before showing themselves. The indentation under her eyes darker than usual—even with makeup to cover them.
She looked tired. Like she could sleep for a month and still need more. But at least she had a small smile twitching at the edges of her lips.
“Doesn’t everything?” he asked. “Carrots are the shit.”
