by Jessica Ashe
Thought about it later and ended up signing. Don’t want to be a burden on you and this way I can provide for Emma. Sorry I didn’t tell you before—just slipped my mind.
I nearly send a text I’d later regret. It just slipped your mind? How do you forget signing a record deal? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Is Katrina right? Are you just with me to boost your own career?
I come to my senses and delete it, before replying with a simple “OK.” I’m not having this conversation over text message. It’s too impersonal. I’ll know when I see his face, and I’ll realize that this is nothing to worry about. I’ve heard enough of Damon’s music to know he is talented and deserves a deal, regardless of his relationship with me.
He only has it because of me, though. I hate myself for thinking that, but I know it’s true. It’s arrogant and patronizing, but true. He’s been performing for years, and then suddenly gets a record contract after he starts dating me.
This should be good for our relationship. Neither of us has talked about the future much, but we both know I have to go back to America at some point and it’s not like I can just bring Damon and Emma back with me. I’m not an expert on the immigration system in the US, but I’m willing to bet there aren’t many green cards for guys whose job is moving speakers around. If he works for a US company as an artist he will have a lot more flexibility. And the money he earns will change Emma’s life.
Yes, this is definitely a good thing. If Katrina hadn’t filled my mind with negativity in the first place, I probably wouldn’t be worrying about it now while I’m sitting on a toilet. She hasn’t said anything negative about Damon in a while, come to think of it. Maybe he won her around. He didn’t even try, but I think that’s what impressed her. He doesn’t kiss everyone’s ass. He treats Katrina, Lance, and even me like normal human beings, and doesn’t mess around worrying about status.
That’s what I love about him.
Dating other celebrities always made so much sense on paper. You don’t have to worry about ulterior motives. You both use each other’s publicity, but at least you’re out in the open about it. Other celebrities understand why you’re busy and away from home a lot. Celebrities get why it’s important to maintain a proper image on social media.
Celebrities are boring. Predictable.
I don’t want a guy who makes sense on paper. I don’t want a guy who worries about his image. I don’t want a guy who understands why I’m away from home.
I want a guy who misses me when I’m on tour and wants me to come home. I don’t want boring and predictable. I want Damon.
* * *
I like showing up at Damon’s house in silly disguises, but I can’t do it anymore. For a few weeks, I could sneak over to his house unnoticed, but he’s famous now and his address has leaked online.
There’s a great photo of him in the papers, although I’m hoping he never sees it. He’s holding a bag of trash and is half way down the path on his way to the trashcan when he notices the crowd of people at the bottom of his small drive. He stands there looking baffled, open mouth and confused while a group of my fans take photos and ask if I’m in the house. I have the photo saved as the background image on my laptop. He’ll be pissed if he ever sees it, but I think it’s hilarious. The photo is just so Damon.
Ever since then, we’ve had to go back to meeting in my hotel. I still have it for three more weeks and then I’m on my way back to America. We haven’t discussed what we’re going to do then; it’s like a ticking time bomb underneath the bed, ready to go off at any minute. We love each other and I’m stinking rich; surely we can find a way to make this work.
I’m laying on a large four-poster bed in a penthouse suite waiting for Damon. He’s late. He’s never late when he knows sex is on the cards. We can’t send each other dirty text messages like normal people in case our phones get hacked. We use a code, and right now that code is clearly communicating to Damon that I’m on the bed wearing very little and hoping to be wearing even less. Damon’s usually here so fast I think he’s time traveled.
Not today. He’s not replying to my messages and won’t pick up the phone.
I reluctantly get dressed and head down the hall to find Lance. He’s not around, but I find Calvin--Lance’s second-in-command who takes charge on the rare occasions when Lance has a day off.
“Have you heard from Damon?” I ask.
“No, ma’am. I’ve not seen him at all today.”
“Okay, have my car brought round the back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell Lance I’m going to Damon’s.”
“Actually, ma’am, I’m not sure where Lance is right now. He left a while back to do a sweep of the building and isn’t responding to his radio.”
“In that case, can you please accompany me to Damon’s?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
I go back to my room and grab my purse, before heading to the elevator. I hear Calvin communicating with his team and when I get downstairs the limo is waiting for me. Damon doesn’t live far from the hotel, but the traffic is a nightmare the entire way. It takes nearly half an hour for me to get to his front door and when I do I realize why he hasn’t come to meet me.
There’s two police cars parked outside his house.
Why are the police here? Horrible thoughts start flooding my mind, so I quickly jump out of the limo before the driver has time to open the door and run up to bang on Damon’s door.
Damon’s dad answers. The man who is usually such good fun looks like he might never smile again.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Hubert doesn’t say anything, he just stands aside and lets me past. I run into the living room where I see Emma sitting on Damon’s lap with her head resting against his chest. She looks like she’s been crying. Damon’s stroking her hair, trying to calm her down, but he’s agitated and shaking as he does it.
“What’s going on,” I ask again. Damon won’t look at me, and his mother is sitting on the sofa looking like a nervous wreck. It falls to one of the police officers to explain what’s going on.
“Ms. Price?” I nod. “My name is Constable Louise Smith. There was an incident outside Emma’s school this afternoon.”
“An incident? What kind of incident?”
“An attempted abduction.”
“What? Who was—” The words slip out of my mouth just as I notice that Emma’s blazer is ripped at the sleeve and she has a scratch on her cheek. “Oh my God.” I run around the sofa behind Damon and put my hand on his shoulder. I want to reach out and comfort Emma, but she just wants her daddy right now.
“Given the target,” Smith continues, “we believe the abduction may have been part of a blackmail attempt.”
For a second, I feel like every organ in my body stops working. I stop breathing, blood stops pumping through my veins, and my brain definitely shuts down. I recover just before I fall to the floor.
“Are you okay, Ms. Price?” Smith asks.
I nod. Abduction? No, not again. Please God, not again.
“Did you catch them?” I ask.
“No,” Smith says. “He got away.”
“What does he look like? Tall, short? Fat, thin? Was he American?”
“Average height, fairly thin. Why did you ask if he was American?”
“No reason,” I blurt out. “Just thinking, you know, if this is someone after me then they could be American.”
I’m lying to the police. Again. I want to throw up, but I need to stay strong for Emma.
“We believe he was American,” Smith says. “Emma says he spoke like you.”
It’s him. It has to be.
“Do you have any description of him? What about those police sketch things?”
“Unfortunately it all happened very quickly. Emma is not able to give much of a description. There will be an identifying mark on his arm. Emma bit him, hard. Hard enough for him to let her go and run away in the commotion. There might even be a perm
anent scar from the bite.”
“Good,” I say. I look down at Damon who hasn’t said a word this entire time. He’s still stroking Emma’s hair, but I’m not sure it’s doing much good. He doesn’t look at me and doesn’t respond to my touch at all.
He blames me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Naomi
The police ask Emma more questions, but when Emma starts to look tired Damon steps in and insists she go to bed. Then the questions are aimed at Damon, his parents, and me. I sit next to Damon, and place my hand on his. It’s cold, and he doesn’t react at all.
Smith asks Damon if she knows anyone who would want to hurt Emma, but we all know that’s not a lead worth following. No one wanted to hurt Emma; they wanted to kidnap her and blackmail Damon and I for money.
She asked me whether I knew anyone who might want to blackmail me. I told her I didn’t. The truth wouldn’t help. I know of someone, but I don’t know anything about him.
Smith and her fellow officer finally leave, with the promise to come back as soon as they have more information. Damon’s parents leave soon after; it’s just the two of us now.
“This is all my fault,” I say apologetically. Damon’s silence speaks volumes. “I’m sorry, please don’t hate me for this.”
He still doesn’t say anything. He just sits on the sofa staring at the blank television. I don’t know whether he’s ignoring me, or just tuned out to what I’m saying. There’s nothing I can do to fix what has already happened, but I can make damn sure no one gets close to Emma again. I pull out my phone and send a message to Lance.
“Please God,” Damon says, his voice even and passionless. “If you’re posting about this to social media I’m going to smash that phone to pieces.”
“What? Of course I’m not. How can you say such a thing?”
“It’s what you do.”
I feel sick with anger. Anger at Damon for thinking so little of me, and at myself for deserving it.
“I was texting Lance and asking him to put two men on Emma. She’ll be kept under surveillance from now on.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you told the world where she goes to school.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t even remember do you? You take so many photos, you post so much of your life online, you don’t even remember.”
I never posted anything about Emma’s school. Why would I write something like that? Then it hits me. I didn’t write anything about Emma’s school, but I did post a picture of the two of us one morning when I dropped her off. It’d been such a sweet photo. She had a beaming smile lighting up her face, and I couldn’t resist posting it. What kid looks so happy on a school morning? Maybe in the background there was the school sign? Maybe the kidnapper managed to find the school?
“The photo... I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“I asked you not to put pictures of her online. I know you’re obsessed with having every moment of your life made public, but I specifically asked you to leave Emma out of it.”
He’s angry now. I can’t hear it in the tone of his voice—it’s like he’s too tired to shout—but I can see it in his eyes. He hates me.
“I didn’t think. It will never happen again.”
“Damn right it will never happen again. I don’t want you near us anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I know what he means. This is it. It’s over.
“I want you to leave, and take your little publicity circus with you.”
I don’t want to go. The thought of never seeing Damon and Emma again tears my heart in two. I should beg and plead with him, but I’m no good at that. Instead I just get angry. How can he just sit there and sound so calm when he’s breaking up with me?
“You didn’t mind my ‘publicity circus’ before.”
“I’ve always hated it,” Damon replies. “I’ve said so often enough.”
“You didn’t hate it when you got a contract out of it. Were you planning on telling me at some point?”
“That contract has nothing to do with you.”
“Like hell it doesn’t,” I snap. “Think you would’ve gotten that deal if you weren’t my boyfriend? You’re not that stupid Damon.”
Damon looks me in the eyes for the first time since I arrived this afternoon. I wish he hadn’t.
“Leave.”
His word is final. I can tell immediately there’s no point arguing with him. I do anyway.
“If I walk out now, I’m never coming back.”
“Not unless you need the publicity.”
I open my mouth to reply, but my eyes are filling with tears and I know if I speak my voice will be shaky and emotional. I want him to see me storming out, not running away crying.
I manage to hold off the tears until Calvin has guided my back into my limo. When Calvin sees me cry he looks ready to go have it out with Damon. I order him to stay; the last thing I need right now is my security guard in the hospital.
The limo drives away, and I don’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Naomi
There’s always two sides to every story, but in this case neither of them make me look good. Depending on which article you read, Damon either ditched me because he hated the publicity that follows me around everywhere, or he did it because he’d already got what he wanted.
I’m either an arrogant publicity whore, or a naïve celebrity who got used and abused.
Thank God, I only have one more performance to go before I leave this city and fly back to America. I arrived here nearly three months ago excited to spend lots of time in London, but now I’m leaving and hoping never to come back.
At least Damon hasn’t sold me out. He’s given a flat ‘no comment,’ to every reporter who’s tried to get information on the split. He hasn’t sold his story, and he hasn’t posted anything to the Twitter and Instagram accounts that Katrina set up for him.
I’m not surprised. Publicity isn’t really Damon’s style. Maybe the first song he writes will have subtle digs at me, but that’s the most I can imagine him doing.
“I’ve prepared some statements,” Katrina says, as she hovers over me while I’m having my hair done.
“I’m not looking at them now. Let me get this last performance over with, and then we can worry about the media.”
“You’ve been putting this off for a week now.”
“This time tomorrow you’ll have me trapped on a plane with nowhere to run. I promise, I will look at them then.”
“I’m going to hold you to that. How are you feeling?”
Katrina’s been asking me how I feel at least once an hour since the breakup. I know she feels slightly guilty for putting ideas in my head about Damon only being interested in me for his own career. Now that we’ve broken up, she seems to think he was the best thing that ever happened to me, and doesn’t want me to give up on the relationship. It’s not always easy to tell whether Katrina is giving advice as a friend or a manager, but usually the former takes precedence over the latter in affairs of the heart. That’s why I hired her in the first place over all the other more experienced—but heartless—managers who wanted to work with me.
“I’m fine, Katrina. Honestly. I just want to get this last performance over with and go home.”
“Best not to tell your fans that.”
“They going to get the performance of a lifetime,” I reply.
“We have a few hours free tomorrow morning before we fly,” Katrina says. “Are you sure you don’t want to swing by a certain house in London before you leave?”
“I’m sure.”
“Lance still has two of his team keeping an eye on Emma. What do you want to do about that?”
I want to make sure that girl is protected for the rest of her life, but Damon will hate me even more than he already does if he knows I’ve still got people watching her. Besides, now that the two of us have split up, there’s no reason for anyone to go aft
er Emma. She should be safe now. No thanks to me.
“Have the entire team fly back with me on the jet. And when we land, figure out a way to give them all a vacation. We can get some temporary security guys for a few weeks.”
“Lance won’t like that. I think he’d rather work than take a vacation, and the idea of hiring temporary security to look after you will have him awake at night.”
“I’ll explain to Lance that he needs a vacation to be at his best. He’ll take time off if he thinks it’s the best thing in the long run. Anyway, I know he needs a break. He’s been working twenty-hour days in England because he was so paranoid about Damon.”
“He ended up liking Damon in the end.” I furrow my brow and look at Katrina doubtfully. “I’m serious,” she continues. “Maybe ‘like’ is a strong word, but he at least respected him. Lance and Damon come from similar backgrounds. Your other boyfriends have been a little more… clean-cut shall we say.”
Lance has kept me safe for the past five years. He’s been a part of my life ever since Dad died, and at this point I don’t know what I would do without him. That’s why he needs a break.
“You’re ready,” my makeup artist says. “You look gorgeous, as always.”
“Only because of you. I guess it’s time for me to go out there and play some tunes. Let’s do this.”
I keep a smile on my face all the way from my dressing room to the stage. I feel like a fraud, smiling when I’m so unhappy. No one’s noticed. After all, why wouldn’t I be happy? I have more money than I can ever spend, and I’m a global superstar. So what if I’ve broken up with a boyfriend I only dated for a month or so? There are plenty more men where he came from after all.
The lights go off on the stage, which is my cue to walk on. I follow a pattern of tiny stage lights until I’m in the right spot. I have five seconds in complete darkness. Five seconds where I can let go of my smile and truly embrace the sadness that is consuming me right now.
Five.
