by Max Henry
“I always did.” She blows a heavy breath, making her hair jump while she folds her arms. “As soon as I sent that article to you, I knew I couldn’t publish it.”
“And if you’d been offered six figures for it?” I cock an eyebrow.
“Six figures?” She snorts. “Nobody pays that kind of money for a fucking made-up bio.”
I stare at the idiot. She works in the industry, yet she doesn’t seem to know it all that well.
“Do they?” Her honey eyes grow large.
“Sometimes.” I shrug one shoulder, arms folded as well. “Was it worth it?”
“Worth what?”
“Was sending me that story worth the reaction you got?” I study Jeanie, keen on her response.
She turns her head, staring across the street as a stiff wind kicks up. “It was what I expected, just…” Litter swirls between our feet.
“Just what?”
Her intense gaze meets mine. “I didn’t in a thousand years think you’d show up in person.”
“I happened to be in town.” I stare at her, careful not to show a shred of emotion. “Don’t feel special.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Devon plans to write a story about you anyway.” Her gaze lifts, shy beneath those long, thick lashes. “Despite what he said, he wants to use my bullshit and spin something more believable out of it.”
“What was there not to believe about it?” I frown, arms tight against my chest to save from hitting something—or someone. I didn’t expect his word to be worth a damn, but I thought I’d have more time to shackle him before he tried to fuck me in the ass.
“You want to head indoors?” Jeanie jerks her head toward the dive across the road. “Feels as though it might rain.”
“Then let it.” Weather has never scared me. “What didn’t he believe?” I press.
She shrugs, her gaze averted. “I don’t know. It could be some of it, could be all of it. I mean, not much of it was true.” She registers my silence, slowly bringing her face to mine. “Was it?”
My nostrils flare, and I choose to look over her head. “Was that all you had to tell me?”
The woman’s jaw drops, but she’s interrupted by the chime of her phone. The unrecognizable tune grows louder as she pulls the device from her pocket, sighing at whatever she finds on the display. “I better take this.”
And I better get the fuck out of here before she takes more than I’m willing to give.
TWELVE
Jeanie
“Wish” – Nine Inch Nails
I barely register what Mole hollers into my ear, irritated when Toby throws both hands in his coat pockets and steps around me. I reach out to stop him, but his long legs carry him out of reach. My opportunity slips away.
“Are you listening to me?” Mole yells. “We got rounded up like fucking cattle, questioned one-by-one.”
“And this is my issue, how?” I say, a scowl etched deep into my brow.
Toby blends into the foot traffic, fading from sight.
“You over-stepped,” he grumbles. “Pushed for more than I should have given you, and now they’re hell-bent on finding who gave out his number.” He mutters the last part into the receiver.
“Are you still on site?” The fucking idiot.
“We don’t get many breaks.”
“So, you make an incriminating call where people could overhear?” I laugh. “You’re fucking stupider than I thought.”
“You put me in this predicament,” he snaps.
“Correction.” I search for signs of Toby’s head over the masses, but he’s long gone. Fuck. “You did. Or rather, your greed did. If you weren’t stuck on making money off your employers, then you wouldn’t have taken the risk.”
“They don’t employ me.” His tone is bitter.
“No.” I close my eyes briefly. “But they’re the fucking reason you have a job.” I land my gaze on the bar and consider a stiff drink anyway. “If your selfish ways have you in hot water, then own up to it.”
I hang up and promptly growl through gritted teeth. I know damn well who that last line was for, and it wasn’t Mole. I need to own up to the shitstorm I started with that article—a piece written from a place of selfish greed—and make things right. But how? If Devon wants to use what I created in work hours on the work computer, he’s right in saying he can. I need a tech-savvy person. Somebody who can wipe any history of it from my desktop.
“Chucky?” I clutch the reinstated phone to my ear. “I need a favor.”
***
“He thought I’d find you here.” Kelly plops herself down on the seat across from me and promptly reaches for my drink.
I wrap inebriated fingers around it and tug the whiskey to my chest. I’m close to hissing at the audacity of her. “If you want one, get your own.”
“This is pathetic.” She rolls her caramel eyes.
“I’m pathetic.” I toast my observation with a mouthful of the good stuff. “I wanted this job so I could share music with the world,” I lament. “I wanted to bring attention to the little-known guys, to spread the news about the artists who make us feel alive.” Kelly listens while I unload the thoughts formulated during the past three drinks. “And who am I now? Some heartless bitch who sells out people for money.”
“You aren’t yet.” She rests a hand over one of mine. “Every story you’ve published so far has been the truth.”
“Mostly,” I mumble, inspecting how much I have left in my glass. “What do I do if not this?” My fucking eyes burn, but I will not cry. Nope.
“Why would you do something else?” Kelly seems genuinely confused.
“My career is a joke,” I explain with a laugh. “Years, I’ve worked my ass off to get my name out there and, where am I? Creating tabloid junk just to be heard.”
“So, take a break.”
“Mmm.” I finish the drink. “My utilities will love that.”
She shrugs, moving her hand away. “Then stay with me.”
She can’t be serious. “And cement my growing sense of failure? Sure. Why not?”
“For fuck’s sake.” Kelly waves the barmaid over. “You aren’t a failure.” The thin brunette arrives at our table, and I wonder if she makes more than I do. “Vodka tonic, thanks.”
“How much do you think she gets an hour?” I ask once the girl has left earshot.
“You will not be a waitress.” Kelly confiscates my glass. “And you won’t get a refill either.”
“Killjoy.”
“You don’t drink like this.”
“Seemed like a good time to start.” Truth is, I had the first one and welcomed the warm feeling that seeped into my chest. It was akin to pride, that rosy glow emanating from my heart. So, I had another and pretended that joy is exactly what the warmth was, and then after the third figured I might as well see if I’m still a lousy drunk.
I haven’t been shit-faced since college, always too eager to stay alert for any scoop that may unfold during a night out.
“You want to tell me in your own words what happened today?” My sister shrugs off her jacket, laying it over the stool between us. She still wears her work uniform, the buttons on the crisp white tunic done up tight around her neck.
“What has Chuck said?”
“He mentioned you had a visitor.” Her lips flatline.
“I bet he did.” That queen will get off on the gossip for weeks to come. “Toby was apparently in town, so he figured he’d drop on by to rip me a new asshole.”
“Lovely.”
“He was,” I quip. “Yes.” The truth in that stings. He might have been an A-grade asshole, but he sure was pretty about it. “Naturally, Devon got involved and promised that we won’t publish the story.”
“You wrote it?” I bounced the idea off her after Toby’s phone call during her visit, and, as she should, Kelly flat-out demanded I don’t be so callous. Of course, I figured why take her advice and did it anyway. “Hold up.” Her features scre
w tight. “If it wasn’t published, how did he know about it?”
I place a hand to the back of my neck and face away, using my arm as a shield. “I might have sent it to him.”
“Devon?”
“Toby.”
She doesn’t respond. I glance across the round table to find her with both hands over her face. “Jeanie …”
“I know, right?” I bop a shoulder. “I figured it would be fair payback.”
“For what?” She drops both hands onto the table’s surface with a loud slap. “He was an asshole to you because you bought his private number.” Kelly sighs. “I would have done the same.”
I have nothing. She has a valid point—one that unravels my whole reason for writing that article. I’ve been nothing more than a scorned little kid, throwing her toys out and bullying the child who wouldn’t give me what I wanted. “Fuck.”
“Why is Charles wiping your PC?” Kelly asks on a sigh.
“Devon wants to use the story. Rewrite it and create waves from the bullshit I made up.”
She tilts her head as though to say she doesn’t follow. “You just said he promised not to publish it.”
“And you’d believe that?” I chuckle and take another sip of my drink. “He has the one thing that I apparently don’t: a lack of morals. That’s why he’s the boss, and I’m getting drunk in the middle of the day.”
“You don’t need to give up your morals to make it, sis.”
“I’m not so sure about that. It seems a deal with the devil comes with the territory. Pity I can’t bring myself to sign my name away.”
“Then veto the story. Surely Devon can’t use it without your permission.”
“Unless he puts his name to it.” Yeah, I’ve had plenty of time to think this over.
“But it’s yours. You can prove that.”
“Technically, no. If I wrote it on the work computer, it’s his intellectual property.”
“Oh.” She smiles at the waitress as her drink arrives. “Thanks.” The girl is barely two steps away before Kelly has half down her gullet. “This, too, will pass.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Then why are you drinking vodka like water?”
“Because until it does, you’re kind of fucked.”
THIRTEEN
Toby
“Secrets in the Sunset” – Goodbye June
“She started it, even if she isn’t the one to finish this bullshit.”
Cassie sighs and stabs her fork into the sliver of salmon, eyes cast down. “I still think your anger is misdirected.” Her gaze flicks up to mine. “The issue is with the guy at this magazine. Can you put a gag order on him?”
“On what grounds? He plans to make up shit?” I lean back in the restaurant chair; one arm slung over the back. “I can’t gag him until I have something to gag.”
Cassie nods toward where my phone sits at the edge of the table. “Isn’t that proof enough?” I showed her the article Jeanie wrote after I rang her for help.
Our little sis has always been the most level-headed, the best at seeing a situation for what it is rather than how it makes us feel. I figured, if I’m going to drag her into this shit, what better time?
“It’s an empty threat from a desperate journo until I can prove otherwise.”
“It’s partially true, or so you said.” She shrugs. “I don’t see it, but I’ve never been as hard on you as you are yourself.”
“It’s partially true,” I affirm.
“Then that should be proof enough he has a story he’s not sanctioned to share.”
“And since when did the paps care about getting permission first?” I snort. “They’d broadcast their mother’s murder if it brought them enough attention.”
“Nice.” Cassie pauses to eat a bite. “Threaten him anyway. Use the truth factor as weight in your blackmail.”
“He doesn’t know she got it right, though,” I mutter, leaning forward to lift my fork. “I want it to stay that way.”
“Why?” Her narrowed eyes cut deep. “Your ego can’t handle the judgment?”
“Of course, it can.” I stab the remaining portion of steak. “I don’t know if Rey’s can, though, if he finds out.” Blood oozes around the tines.
“Who said he has to?”
I stare at our sister, surprised she’d do that to him.
“What?” Cassie shrugs. “Mom and Dad do it all the time, temper the truth to save his feelings. Why can’t we?”
“Because that’s devious.”
“Hardly.” Her shoulders sag. “It’s caring.”
“You and I have different definitions, it seems.” I set my fork down again. “He shouldn’t be handled with kid gloves, Cass.”
I get a condescending tip of her head. “Like you three did at the end of the tour.”
I breathe heavily out my nose. “That wasn’t kid gloves. That was… It was…”
“Kid gloves,” she levels. “I love Rey. Even if he weren’t blood, I’d have a soft spot for the troublemaker. But he needs to learn how to be accountable for his lows.”
“His head isn’t right to be accountable when he’s like that, though.”
She leans back, utensils resting lightly in her hands. “What happens when Rey dives when he’s on his own, then? If you don’t let him learn to manage it, what happens when we’re not around?”
I glare at her before picking up my knife and fork to take my frustrations out on the steak before me. “I’m done with this subject. Can we get back to why I called you?”
“I’m sorry. But they are related, don’t you think?”
“Nope.” I chew on the chunk of beef and swallow. “I’ll deal with the asshole at Better Beats. I want your opinion on how I deal with this woman.”
“Deal with one, and the other resolves itself, I would have thought.” The waiter arrives to check on our meal, and Cassie waves him away with a polite thanks. “Maybe she’s on to something with her offer of another story. Your story.”
“It wouldn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’d make me the enemy for wow factor, and the rest is out of my hands.” I lift more meat to my mouth, muttering before I pop the morsel in. “Public opinion is king.”
“Public opinion is a fickle thing,” Cassie says after she finishes her meal. “People’s thoughts can be easily swayed and manipulated if you know what you’re doing.”
“What do you suggest?” I round up the baby carrots into a pile on the china. “I employ a PR person?”
“You have those already.”
“Not for me exclusively.” I chow down on the vegetables, suddenly aware of how little I ate today. “Maybe that would be a good thing; get a guy who’s only focus is my career.” I always forget to eat when angry.
“And how would the others view that?” Cassie rightly points out. “Don’t you think that would draw a divisive line within the band, the truths in this hypothetical article aside?”
“It’s not hypothetical; if he doesn’t re-write it, she will.”
“I don’t think so.”
I look to Cassie for an explanation.
“She ran after you to give you a heads up about her boss. Why would she do that if she’s on board with the idea of screwing you over with a new article?”
My sister has a point. Still, “Money talks. Maybe she knows she’ll get a better offer elsewhere, and she wants to stall him?”
“You value yourself too highly, brother.” Cassie lifts the napkin to her mouth, gently dabbing a line before she drops the cloth to the table. “I’m sure there would be plenty of other facts they could report on if you worked with them on this.”
“Perhaps.” I shrug. “But don’t you think a toxic family connection would make for relatable content? I mean, isn’t that what makes literature so great? That you can connect with it?” She’d know. She reads all the time.
“Partially.” Cassie shrugs. “It’s also the ability to make the reader ponder what if. What w
ould they do in that situation? How would they handle such trials?”
“Exactly.” I stack my cutlery and push the plate forward. “And a story about Rey and me gives them both. It’s the ultimate package for a magazine that wants to be noticed.”
Cassie sits in seeming contemplation. Her gaze hardens, fixed on the empty area of the table between our plates. “So, I’ll say it again: write your own story.”
“No.” I give her the same answer I dealt Jeanie. “It involves Rey, so he needs to consent to it.”
“If it didn’t include him, you’d consider it?” She tilts her head, blonde hair sliding over one silk covered shoulder.
“If the timing were right.” I meet her stare. “Right now, it’s not.”
My phone lights up atop the table. We both stare at it, my sigh the first noise to penetrate our thoughts on the name displayed across the screen. I reach across and reject the call, promptly flipping the phone on its face.
“Keen,” Cassie observes.
“Unrelenting.” Although, attempting to video call is new.
“Have you heard from Rey yet?” She signals the waiter across.
I give her time to request a dessert menu before I answer. “I’ll give him a quick call tomorrow to see how he’s settled.” The way she posed the question echoes in my mind. “Have you?”
Cassie can’t meet my gaze. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when I saw you earlier?”
“It didn’t seem the right time to bring it up when you were distracted by something else.” Her gaze begs forgiveness.
And I give it to her willingly. She isn’t the kind to do anything from a place of ill intent. Unlike the bitch who makes my phone vibrate on the tabletop once more. I lift the device to confirm my suspicion and reject the call again.
“That’s her, right?”
I nod. “What she said in that story, the shit that went down over our last weeks on tour… I’ve asked myself why I do this,” I admit. The loss of weight from my shoulders is immediate. I berate Rey for keeping too much to himself, yet I’m no better.
