The next morning, I sat down next to Cassie in the café while Krysta got us both drinks.
“I’ll do it,” I said, “but I can only promise you the role on a future cruise. Not this one.”
Cassie, who was wearing an oversize blazer even though it was July and we were sailing off the coast of Mexico, narrowed her eyes at me. “I wantthissailing. The maiden voyage. This is the one everyone is talking about, and these are the performances that will go viral.”
I glanced at the café line to make sure Krysta was still stalled out behind people ordering lavender oat milk lattes. “The other sailings will be just as popular,” I said, trying not to sound pleading. “Look, there isn’t a way—”
Cassie stood up and grabbed her satchel. “Do you know how much I want this, Addison Hayes? Do you know what it’s been like to follow that man around and make notes on potential taxidermy ideas when I should be on the stage?”
“I get it,” I told her, and I meant it. I did get it. “This business will exploit you up and down, left and right, and it feels like theonly remedy is to exploit yourself before someone else can do it to you first.”
“You’re wrong there,” Cassie said. “I’m not planning on exploiting myself. I’m planning on exploitingyou. And if you can’t deliver, then the world will see exactly how much Addison Hayes believes in her own products.”
I took a deep breath. Pretended Krysta’s fingers were tracing lines over my neck and shoulders, that she was standing behind me.
“Okay,” I said. “So if I can’t deliver, you’ll leak the video. That’s what will happen.” The same dread and panic as before clung to every beat of my pulse. But weirdly, deep,deep, inside, I almost felt... relief. Like here it was, the damning blunder that could wreckthe plan, that could derail years of progress. The thing that could be the beginning of the end of Addison Hayes as a brand.
And yet that tiny, tiny bloom of relief continued to unfurl in my stomach, likethank God.
Thank God it’s finally here.
I no longer had to wait in terror for the asteroid to come crashing through the sky.
“I think I’ve made that very plain,” replied Cassie as she slung the satchel over her shoulder.
“All right, then,” I said. Took a deep breath. “Okay.”
She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “So to be clear, this is you saying that you can’t deliver?”
“Cassie, short of violent food poisoning for Lizzie and the understudies, there is nothing I can ethically do.” I was willing to be ruthless in almost every facet of my business, but I’d decided last night that abusing my celebrity to get myself out of trouble was a kind of ruthless I didn’t want to be.
Her head tilted to the side a moment, a gesture that made me feel like I was being sized up for a meal. She shrugged. “Then I hope you enjoy the memes and remixes at least.”
“Can I at least ask how you even have that recording in the first place?”
“Disgruntled assistant of the segment’s producer,” Cassie said and then held up three fingers like she was about to recite a pledge. “Several of us unhappy assistants have banded together to create an underground PR militia—and a Discord—and we are sharing resources and taking what should be ours. And this week is the week when I wage war.”
Ah, okay. So a disgruntled-assistant fight club. Great.
And then Cassie strode off as much as her short legs could stride, while Krysta approached from the other side with the drinks.
“Everything okay? Did the beret girl upset you?”
I forced myself to smile up at my bodyguard. The bright morning sun caught along the strong cords of her throat and lined the straight angles of her nose and jaw. The real concern in her eyes spoke of whatever we’d become to each other this week.
Friends? Lovers? Something more and less than both?
“Oh nothing, just a hiccup with the rehearsal schedule,” I said, making a big show of grabbing at the hibiscus tea so I didn’t have to look Krysta in the eyes. I was a decent liar, but the idea of lying to Krysta made me faintly ill. “Thank you for the drink!”
She searched my face, her now-free hand dropping to the back of my chair. It looked matter-of-fact, protective, but she whispered her fingertips over the nape of my neck in a way that wasn’t at all businesslike. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” she asked quietly. “You have that look like you’re seven minutes late to something, and there’s nothing you can do to make up the time.”
Oh boy. Maybe I wasn’t as good at acting as I thought... or maybe Krysta was learning my tells faster than anyone ever had before. But what could I say in response?No, nothing’s okay, because I’ve been hiding something from you this entire cruise. Nothing’s okay, because the worst moment of my career is about to be leaked all over the internet unless I do something shady to protect myself. Nothing’s okay, because the plan might get entirely fucked over, and that doesn’t scare me as much as it should, and it makes me think that I don’t even know myself anymore.
No. No, I couldn’t say any of that. I didn’t want to emotionally vomit on someone who was going to part ways with me in a few days anyway, someone whohadto listen because I paid her salary. Someone who I was lying to despite her request for honesty.
I reached up and tugged at her black jacket playfully. “I’m sure everything’s great,” I said with a perky cheer I absolutely did not feel. “Now, speaking of seven minutes late, it’s time we check in with the director about the canopy zip-lining.”
Chapter Eleven
