Sin opens the door and slips out of the room, skirting around me, but even with her head down and turned away, I can tell that she’s been crying. She’d looked so unaffected when I was in front of her. So, why was she crying? I grit my teeth in frustration because I keep messing up, when the only thing I’ve wanted since learning she’d be in town again was to fix what I broke. At this point I’ve handled seeing her with the finesse of a sledgehammer.
Only when she stops in front of the mirror and fluffs her hair, do I realize she’s changed clothes. Skinny jeans and bejeweled Jimmy Hendrix top that hangs off her shoulder have replaced the loose-fitting pajama pants and tank-top. I can tell that she’s put on makeup, but it’s understated.
Sin pulls a tube of something out of her back pocket and swipes it across her lips. Her big brown eyes meet mine in the reflection of the mirror and her movement stalls. I make a move toward her, but Jeanine walks into the living room area from the adjacent kitchen, and I stop short.
Instead of going over there and demanding Sin put us both out of our misery, I drop my eyes and study my shoes.
“Ah, I see you’ve both stopped hiding.”
My head snaps up. “Jeanine,” I say. My voice, little more than a growl.
“Did I strike a nerve, Mr. Johnson? Well you’re in good company. This whole mess has irritated several of mine.” She shakes her head to emphasize the words.
“Just so we’re clear, I do not work for you,” she mutters through stiff lips. “Or you.” She whips around in Sin’s direction. “I’m here because I own ten percent of the stock for this hotel, which plummeted overnight thanks to your shenanigans. Connor specifically asked me for this favor.”
Jeanine advances toward me and I actually take a step back.
“I don’t take it lightly that the company I’ve worked hard to establish lost credibility and, as a result, I lost money because of you two. I don’t appreciate being called in the middle of the night and asked to do damage control for a situation that was completely avoidable. This whole situation with the two of you is so far outside of my wheelhouse. I am director of media relations for a major hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. Read that to mean marketing and advertising. I am not some sleazy tabloid queen looking to stir the pot. I specialize in corporate branding. C-O-R-P-O-R-A-T-E.” She draws the word out annunciating each of the three syllables.
“So that we’re all on the same page, I think this whole thing is ridiculous.” Her arm moves in a loop around her head. “Grown-ups, everyone in this room appears to be over the age of twenty-one and that does indeed make you an adult, do not handle their affairs or professions in this manner. The two of you are walking around like sad puppies and snapping at me like goddamn piranhas, and I have had enough.”
She turns toward Sin, taking off her glasses, and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You don’t want me in your room or coordinating your media response? How about you don’t assault people or run from a room tragically like Scarlett O’Hara.”
Then she turns toward me. “Before you snap at me one more time, why don’t you find your balls and admit that nine times out of ten sorry doesn’t fix shit. Apologizing makes you feel better not the person you’ve injured. Do you want forgiveness, Jacob? Actions mean a whole hell of a lot more than your hollow words.”
Blowing out a deep breath, replacing the glasses on her face and patting hair back into place that hadn’t moved, she starts prepping us for the interview. After a couple of moments in silence scrutinizing us, I get a pinched frown.
“Mr. Johnson, is there a reason why you are jacketless?”
“No, Jeanine, there is no reason”
“Good. Please replace your jacket. Reporters are already staging outside.” She rolls her eyes, looking at the ceiling for patience.
Without a word I turn and briskly walk down the short hallway into the vacant bedroom, and what should have taken a couple of seconds easily turns into a couple of minutes. Without Sin’s distracting presence in front of me, I take in the space that even after one day is uniquely hers. The rumpled bed, silk scarves thrown over lightshades, guitar cases propped against the wall, and the sweet scent of almond that always seemed to tinge the air around her. I take it all in, answering four years of questions. At least about the simple stuff.
At the sound of Jeanine’s voice calling me out from the other room, I eye my rumpled jacket against the wall and quickly opt against wearing it. I’m not a stylist, but even I know wrinkled clothes are a definite no for television.
Fuck me. I’m about to be on TV. The most intimate details of my life out there for public consumption. My pulse kicks up and a nervous sweat gathers under my arms. I walk back into the other room rolling the long sleeves up my forearms. Jeanine rolls her eyes at my action but keeps talking nonetheless, so I’m assuming she’s fine with the wardrobe change. I’m sure there’s a study out there researching the effects of how rolled-up sleeves will make the public view me as more approachable.
“Look at the camera, not each other. Do not get defensive. I repeat, Do. Not. Get. Defensive. You’re only obligated to answer the questions you want. I didn’t provide you with a list of approved questions on purpose. Rehearsed answers will only fuel the fire. Leave the wrangling of reporters to me. If they step too far out of bounds, I will address it. Understood?”
“We got it, Jeanine,” I snap, my irritation needing and finding a target. This whole production suddenly becoming too much. In less than an hour my family and employees, hell the world, will be privy to details that up to date have been exclusively mine and I don’t like—scratch that—I hate it.
“I could’ve sworn no longer than two minutes ago I stated I was quite tired of the attitude I’m getting from you. Tone it down before I let the camera crews in here, or so help me God, I’ll be the one slapping you this time.”
One side of Sin’s mouth pulls into a half smile and something in my chest loosens. I’ll be the butt end of every joke if it’ll get her to smile.
“Now, since you two have shown questionable judgement and an aptitude for violence…” Jeanine pauses to throw Sin the stink eye after that verbal jab. “Before I open this door for the first interview, do I need to explain the rules of conduct to either one of you?”
“No,” Sin and I answer simultaneously.
“See there, the two of you can do some things together. The first interview will be the longest. Let’s say thirty minutes give or take. All the other outlets get between three to five minutes. Make this first one count because, more than likely, it’s the one that will produce sound bites and headlines.”
Jeanine throws one more look over her shoulder before she opens the door and invites in the first news crew. They exchange a couple of words at the door before she leads the reporter over to me in the center of the room.
“Mr. Johnson, this is Jarrod Ocampo with Etcetera Entertainment,” Jeanine says. He’s maybe an inch or so shorter than me. His bald head gleams under the lights, and he’s dressed in a three-piece red suit with no socks and wine-colored dress shoes.
The reporter extends his hand, giving me a firm shake and a slight but professional smile. “Jeanine said this is your first personal interview. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Just relax and let it happen,” he jokes in a low voice.
“You still using that tired ass line, Jarrod?” His attention immediately shifts to the sound of Sin’s voice.
“It worked for you, right? Remember when you were a media virgin? I eased you in real slow, taught you my best moves, and now you’re all pro.” Jarrod tilts his head to the side and bites the corner of his lip. His almond-shaped eyes rake her body.
“I was a pro long before I met you, J-Rod.”
“Mmm-hmm, call me J again,” he says with a flirtatious groan, opening his arms to her. She walks forward and he pulls her against his body in a tight hug.
“It’s been too long, Sin.” The fucker actually lights up when she says his nickname. Don’t get me w
rong. I get it. Probably more than most. Sin live and in Technicolor is a sight to behold, but not for this Rico Suave fuckboy.
“Where were we the last time? Monte Carlo?” She pulls back, looking into his face with her hands still on his shoulders and her beautiful lips split in a smile. Those dimples I love are out and popping.
What in the fuck am I watching right now? My teeth clench with jealousy at how familiar they seem, and how easy they fall into a friendly banter.
“Nah,” Jarrod says. “I think it was Prague for the Rhythms of Love Festival. Remember Dan—”
“Got molested in the bar by that really large woman that just wanted his—”
Did she really just finish his sentence?
“Semen,” they say together bursting into laughter. They go back and forth about other interviews they’ve had and times spent hanging out in exotic places.
“So, what’s up with the slap? I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like that.”
“Is this off the record, J-Rod?”
His eyes flit to me over Sin’s shoulder before moving back to Sin. “That part is work, you know that.”
“Then ask me later over drinks.” She winks. She fucking winks at this guy before breaking contact with his body.
My jealousy wants to morph into anger, because for the six years I had with Sin, I don’t know her anymore. I’ve never met the world traveler, who even dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, can command this type of attention. I’ve never seen her slip into superstar mode with a megawatt smile and carefully crafted half answers that allude to everything and nothing at the same time. I back away from the two of them to sit on the sofa.
Jeanine walks around the chairs and sits on the arm of the sofa right next to me. “Close your mouth, Mr. Johnson. Gaping is not an attractive trait,” Jeanine whispers. I shut my trap, but I can’t reconcile the image I’ve had of Sin all these years with the woman who slapped me to the woman schmoozing the reporter.
“Mr. Johnson, I’ll let you in on a little secret. She’s quite astonishing. People see her, and their interest is intense and immediate. I’d wager a pretty penny you had the same reaction when you first met her. The only difference between then and now is that where you were the only recipient of her attention in the past, presently the world sees her exactly the way you do.”
“How do you know how I see her?”
Jeanine doesn’t answer until I look up at her. “Because your heart is right there in your eyes for everyone to see.” She pats my cheek as she stands.
“Oy.” Jeanine claps her hands loudly, and all eyes turn in her direction. “Listen up. You are all in my sandbox. Play nice, respect others, don’t do or say anything that you wouldn’t discuss in the presence of your mother, and all will be well.” She flicks her hands at the group. “Right then, back at it.” She walks just beyond my field of vision.
Jarrod, of course, takes one of the chairs, leaving Sin to settle in next to me on the sofa directly across from him. The producer explains the different shots he will do down to the close-ups. The assistant cameraman starts a countdown. When he hits four, he flashes fingers instead of saying the words.
“I’m here with Grammy Award winning artist Sinclair James and the man of the hour, chief financial officer of The Hotel, Jacob Johnson.”
I startle at his mention of my title and The Hotel. This is it. Ready or not my life is about to shift from obscurity to the center stage, aaaand I’m about to have a heart attack. But on the plus side, if I die, I don’t have to answer any questions.
“Tonight, among other things, we’re going to touch on the video that has been making the rounds for the last several hours. Sinclair, Mr. Johnson, thank you for joining me tonight.”
I expected him to jump right in with, “So, Sinclair what did he do to deserve that slap?” But the first several questions are light and simple. He focuses on Sin City’s hectic touring schedule and their other commitments. The list of responsibilities is long and extensive. I had no idea they had a music foundation for underprivileged kids here in the city. Or that they plan to fly to Mexico City and back to Vegas in thirteen hours. I’m impressed by the list of duties Sin can complete in the same twenty-four hours that I have. So, when Jarrod addresses both of us, I blink stupidly.
“How long have you two known each other?”
“Six years,” Sin says
“Ten years,” I say at the same time.
Jarrod lets out a chuckle. “That’s interesting.”
He directs the next question to me. “How did you meet Sinclair?”
“We met at freshman orientation in college. She was standing in the middle of the quad by herself. She had this huge duffle bag and two solid guitar cases that I offered to help her carry.”
“And did she let you carry them?” He shifts in his seat. A knowing smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
“She did. It took a little convincing on my part, but by the end of the day, she liked me enough to play me a song.” I hadn’t thought about that in years. It’s as if when we broke up, my mind got stuck on a tragic loop of things that had gone wrong instead of the good memories.
“It sounds like you were a fan from the very beginning,” he states.
“Definitely.” I look at Sin, letting my eyes drift across her face. She doesn’t turn her face toward mine, but her muscles turn stiff and her smile falters for the first time since we sat down.
“Would I be wrong in the assumption that the two of you dated?”
“No.”
“Are you still dating?” he asks in a smug voice because he already knows the answer to this question.
“No”
“How long did you date?”
“Six years.”
He looks a little surprised, some of his egotistical self-confidence faltering. Confusion creasing his brow. He stops speaking while he processes that tidbit of information.
“If we do the math your relationship ended…”
“Four years ago,” Sin and I answer at the same time.
Jarrod clears his throat. “Okay, now I get your earlier answer. Your relationship ended around the time Sin City’s first album Exquisitely Broken was released.” He doesn’t ask a question. Therefore, I don’t give an answer.
“Sinclair, was your album a case of art imitating life? Was Mr. Johnson the muse for your best-selling album?”
“No, it was a case of first love heartbreak,” she answers.
“And Mr. Johnson was that love?”
“In a sense. Did I take inspiration from things that happened between us? Yes. Did I put every detail of our relationship in the lyrics? No. At that time, I was really frustrated with where I was in my career and my relationship. I was trying to figure out my next move, ya know?”
She didn’t stumble over the words, but even I recognize spin when I hear it. And the reporter calls her on it.
“In the first single “Cheated” from your debut album one of the lyrics says, ‘Unfaithful heart and silken lies he found his happy between another pair of thighs.’ That doesn’t seem ambiguous. In fact, it’s pretty specific and very descriptive. Are you saying that he didn’t cheat on you?” He holds Sin’s gaze, blinking ever so often and seemingly waiting her out. There are no remnants of their earlier friendship or banter.
“I’m saying it was a creative expression of my feelings at the time.”
“Come on, Sinclair, did he or did he not cheat?”
“Yes, I cheated,” I answer the question before she can.
The journalist temples his fingers in front of his mouth. His expression, turning serious. “And does that have anything to do with the conflict between you two last night?”
I let out a sigh and fight the urge to crack the vertebra in my neck. “Yes and no.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“I wouldn’t use the word complicated. The short and quick of it is, I fucked up… Shit… I mean I messed up.” I see Jeanine snap to attention in my periphe
ral vision.
“It’s okay.” He encourages me to keep talking. “We prerecord the show. It’ll be edited out. In what way did you mess up?”
“I was a kid,” I start.
“Twenty-four is hardly a kid. Some men that age already have families and careers.”
“True, but I wasn’t one of them. I had a young man’s mentality, and I resorted back to the stuff that worked with my parents. I felt like if I acted out enough, she’d focus on me.”
“In what ways did you act out?” Jeanine steps forward just out of the cameras field of view and runs her thumb across the front of her throat silently telling me to cut it. So, I try to redirect.
“Like I said earlier at the time I was immature. Her star was rising.” My eyes shift to Jeanine who flashes me a thumbs-up. “She shined so bright that it drew people in. They flocked to her in droves, and it was hard for me to share her light.”
“As poetic as that sounds, it doesn’t really address how the relationship dissolved.”
“The same way they all do, I guess. I wanted her to fight for me, for us, and instead of fighting she left.”
“How did that make you feel? Sinclair not ‘fighting’ for you?” I look at Sin again, and this time her big coffee-colored eyes meet mine. “Heartbroken,” I say, willing her to feel the truth of my words. I hold her gaze for a couple more beats before I turn my gaze back to the reporter.
Jarrod dips his head, schooling his features into a thoughtful look. “Sinclair, why didn’t you fight?” The reporter’s gaze darts from mine to hers.
“There was nothing…” She carefully laces her fingers over her lap and clears her throat. I can feel her muscles vibrating with tension when she finally says, “…left worth fighting for.”
I suck in a breath because… fuck that hurt.
“When the relationship ended did you stay in touch?”
“No, we didn’t,” Sin says. She doesn’t mention that she froze me out, changing her phone number and, as I later found out, leaving the country.
Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1) Page 9
