He can tell he got under my skin because he raises something close to a smile for probably the first time today. “Okay. Well, that’s how your music sounds to me. Emotional.”
I tighten my hands into fists. I was heartbroken when I wrote those albums, but they aren’t sad albums. No one listens to those albums and thinks that I’m sad.
With a grunt, I push away a wave of frustration. He’s just fucking with my head, and I’m letting him.
Spencer tosses a paper back down to the pile. “Well, we can annoy each other like married people, apparently.”
I puff out a laugh. “Apparently. Makes me wonder how we looked so happy in those photos.”
He studies me, his face scrunched a little. “We look happy?” he asks.
“You haven’t seen the photos?”
He tightens his brow. “No. What does it matter?”
I sigh, somehow not surprised by this. “Here,” I say, finding an article on my phone before placing it with the photo face-up on the table between us. “You should look.”
He glances down, and blood drains from his face. In the photo at the top of the article, we have those ridiculous purple masks on, but they’re pushed aside as we kiss each other, clearly drunk. Spencer has a sloppy grin on his face as his tongue slathers my lips, and my hand is firmly squeezing his ass as I lean back, my arm around his shoulder. Above the image, the headline screams in all caps.
Vegas Grooms Shock Sports World
“Oh god,” he says. His phone rings again, and he pulls it out. “This is Alyssa. I need to…” He trails off and answers before finishing his sentence.
Spencer stands. He looks totally freaked out. I don’t know what coming out of the closet means for him, and even though I’m still annoyed, compassion eases through me, too.
When I realize I’m staring at him during anemotionalmoment, I turn and go to answer the knock at the hotel door. To my surprise, this time, it’s Fox.
“Fox?” I stupidly say.
He lifts a finger. “Don’t shut the door,” he says quickly but firmly. “And don’t end your marriage, or everyone will hate you.”
I tilt my head to the side. “What?”
Behind me, I hear Spencer’s voice rise. “What do you mean, I should invite him to New York?”
He turns and looks at me, and I stare back, my brain working over the new information. After a moment, Spencer looks down at the annulment paper in his hand, and his shoulders slump.
“Damn it,” he says.
“Damn it,” I agree.
CHAPTERFIVE
SPENCER
When I flewto Seattle bright and early, I was certain that I’d make it to New York by evening. I just never would have imagined that I’d be returning with Gabriel.
We’re in a private jet, chartering our way across the country while our teams hammer out details and argue about our collective future. It weirdly reminds me of being a teenager at the height of my father’s hockey career, flying with him and his team to away games, everyone pumped up, energized, and the entire ordeal wildly out of my control.
My father hasn’t returned my call, which isn’t a surprise, but at least there’s plenty else to keep my mind occupied.
I stand right there by the action of the lawyers and PR team, one hand on the wall to steady myself when there’s a bump in the ride. Most everyone sits in leather chairs around a working table, laptops open, and Alyssa and her office join in by phone.
The prevailing narrative in the press is that I’m secretly a hedonist, and my public face is a total sham, while illogically at the same time, I’m a perfect angel who Gabriel seduced with his evil, sexual ways. Or something like that.
Clearly, this needs to change. As far as I can tell, though, the only agreement in the room is that we absolutely cannot publicly break up right now.
“They’re definitely going to require us to make some kind of couple appearance,” Gabriel says as he appears behind me.
