Chapter 19 Lex #2
There’s a café open until four a.m. on Ventura, so when Adrian returns from dropping off Lindley, I ask him to make a coffee stop to pick up the ridiculous order before heading to Rudy’s office.
“Thanks again, A,” I murmur from the back seat, watching late-night pedestrians stroll the street as my driver pulls in front of the building and flips on the hazards.
He studies me in the rearview mirror, the crow’s-feet around his eyes puckering warmly. “Happy to do it. You pay me more than I’m worth, my friend.”
“Nah.” My knees bounce up and down, my gaze narrowing in on the whir of people and headlights. “You’re worth every penny.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sauntering inside the office with two cardboard drink trays. Rudy is sprawled out in one of the rolling chairs, his feet propped up on a ten-foot table, ankles crossed. His head pops up when he spots me, eyes brightening like a preschooler on Christmas morning.
Beelining in my direction, he wiggles the coffee free from the cupholder. “Hell yes. You’re the man.” Then he sputters as he takes a sip. “What the hell? This tastes like ass.”
I smirk at him. “It’s black. And decaf.”
“You’re a fucking shithead.”
My grin doesn’t waver as I plop down in the chair he was in and swivel it from side to side, itching for another cigarette.
Instead, I snatch up the extra cup of coffee I purchased for myself and guzzle it down in a few chugs, considering spiking it with a shot of bourbon I know is hidden in one of the cabinets.
I vowed I would never touch alcohol again, but Hollywood has a way of making you break promises—to yourself, to everyone.
It chips away at your resolve, one glamorous, hollow victory at a time, until you’re staring down the barrel of another bad decision, just to numb the noise.
As the liquid heat rolls down my throat, sans the bourbon, I settle back into the chair. “Why am I here again? And what’s with the cavalry?”
Rudy tosses his decaf in the trash where it belongs while the rest of the crew collect their drinks and shuffle around us. Folding his arms, he levels me with a duh look. “Jill is the marketing guru, Carla is our brand consultant, and Mike is the best media liaison—”
“I know who they are,” I deadpan, waving my hand, eager for him to get to the point. “I want to know why they’re here.”
He puckers his lips. “I have an idea.”
“Never good.”
“This one is. You’re going to love it.”
“And it couldn’t wait until morning? I was busy with Lindsey.”
“Who?” He frowns. “The blond you took to the Crystal Rose dinner? I thought her name was Mindy.”
“That’s the one.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a seat beside me and rolls his chair over. “All right, hear me out. The series is huge. This is big-league shit.”
I drum my fingertips on the giant table in the middle of the sterile room, eyeing him as I wait for more.
“I have a proposal for you,” he continues, fidgeting with his half-slackened pink tie. Shaggy dark hair falls over his eyes as he props his elbows on his knees, a sheen of sweat glimmering on his brow line. “A promotional tactic, if you will. Think it over before you say no.”
“I thought you said I was going to love it.”
“I may be overly optimistic.”
I blow out a breath and continue to swivel the chair left to right. “Spit it out. I’m tired as shit.”
“You do look like you’re on loan from the morgue.”
My eyes slant, glaring daggers at him.
“Okay. Fine.” He skates his focus from me to Jill and takes a deep breath, then dives in.
“This might be a stretch, but I think it’s a really solid plan, so please consider it to the highest degree.
Basically, in a nutshell, I think maybe you should reach out to Stevie St. James and proposition her to—”
“What?” I fly off the chair as if a puppeteer launched me skyward by two strings. “No. Immediate no.”
“I’m not finished.”
“I am. I’m out.”
“Lex, wait.” Rudy’s chair nearly tips over as he chases after me. “Just listen to what I have to say, will you?”
I stall my frazzled trek out of the suite, multiple sets of eyes on me. My stomach lurches, palms clamming up. Her name alone has my skin prickling with heat, my heart pounding with feelings and memories better left dead.
I feel my lungs locking up as my hands clench to stones. Swallowing, I slowly swivel around to face him, teeth grinding together. “I said no.”
He presses his lips together, carefully piecing together his next words.
“Look,” he says, extending a hand like he’s trying to calm a rabid dog.
“This could work out for both of you. Right now, you’re at the center of attention, and we need to keep that momentum going.
Everyone’s curious about the real Stevie—or Sylvia in the show.
Your fans are eager to meet her, to uncover the woman behind the story. ”
Her image flickers across my mind—the look she sent me in that hospital room when she was pricked with needles, tangled in cords, wrapped up in bandages. The moment everything good and pure in my life turned to ashes and decay.
I avert my eyes, staring down at the ugly beige carpet. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”
He clears his throat. “Date her.”
My head snaps back up. “What the fuck?”
“Date her.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Yes. We both know this, but that’s beside the point.
Introduce her to the public as your new girlfriend.
Turn the tragedy into a real-life love story.
” Rudy steps closer, his tone pleading. “People crave happy endings. Make them believe everything worked out. Stevie gets her fifteen minutes, and you’ll be dominating headlines for months, maybe even years. ”
I blink, trying to process what he just said. “You want me to turn my life into a publicity stunt?”
Rudy’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice steady. “Not a stunt. A story. It’s what you’re best at, right? Crafting narratives that people can’t look away from. This is just another chapter.”
“She’s not a chapter. She’s a person,” I volley back, but the words sound empty as soon as they leave my mouth. “She’s a person I left behind nearly four years ago, and that’s where she stays.”
“You already brought her back to life. This is a chance to make the most of it.” He softens, sensing my impending outburst. “Listen, I know it’s complicated.
But think about what this could mean for both of you.
It’s not just about the show. It’s about giving her an opportunity too.
She gets to step out of the shadows and have her moment in the spotlight.
And maybe…” He sighs, having the audacity to look dreamy-eyed.
“Maybe you both get to rewrite the ending.”
He’s such a damn romantic.
And unfortunately for me, he knows far too much about my history with Stevie St. James, thanks to an embarrassing rock-bottom evening three years ago when I spilled my pathetic guts to him.
I blame insomnia as well as Rudy’s tweed blazer, his tortoiseshell glasses, and the little notepad in his hand that made me think he was a therapist.
Ever since, Rudy has become the only real friend I have out here.
Which isn’t saying much, considering he’s an asshole 90 percent of the time, and I’m pushing one hundred.
We’re constantly giving each other shit.
But at the end of the day, I know he has my back, and he knows I have his.
And that’s a rare thing in this part of the world. A real victory.
I shove a hand through my hair and turn my back to him.
“Her name got out,” Rudy says somewhat solemnly, breaking the sticky band of silence. “We did what we could to protect her identity, but I warned you it was a losing battle. You gave too much away. For a series ‘loosely based on true events,’ you might as well have handed them her autobiography.”
I turn to face him, chewing on my cheek. “I guess it was inevitable.”
“Well, now the media’s in a frenzy, and they’re digging into every detail of her life, trying to uncover what’s real and what’s fiction.
It’s only a matter of time before they find something she’d rather keep buried.
” He steps closer, studying me, trying to read my pinwheeling thoughts.
“This is an opportunity to get ahead of it. Everyone knows her name now, but they don’t know her —not yet. ”
No…they don’t know her.
They don’t know how she can captivate an audience with a single look, how she sings like a goddamn angel, or how her talent is bigger than anything I could ever create.
But dragging Stevie into this shit show sounds like a nightmare. She’s better off staying far away from this town, tending to her cows and making stew from homegrown beans in the quiet suburbs.
I rub my forehead, mentally berating myself for even humoring this stunt. “Even if I did entertain your idiotic scheme—”
His eyes light up. Little stars and sunbeams.
“ If ,” I repeat, extending a firm hand.
“She’d never go for it. Not in a million years.
Guarantee you she’s hated me since I skipped town while she was stuck in a hospital bed with a busted leg.
Then I ghosted her after she put her entire future on the line for…
” My voice trails off. No one knows the truth about the car accident. No one except for Mom and me.
And my fuckhead father, who ultimately came through in the end like a real-life Saul Goodman, minus the charm. As much as it pains me to say.
“Hey, you owe it to yourself to at least ask,” Rudy prattles on, still trying to shoot his shot. “We can start small. The Silver Hope gala is in a few weeks. Bring her as your plus-one. Set the stage, so to speak.” He shrugs. “This could be the closure you need.”
I let out a joyless laugh.
Closure.
Is that what he thinks this is about? The idea of tying up loose ends, of putting a neat bow on everything that imploded in my face the night I made a deal with my parents and sold my dreams to the devil?
Stevie was trying to protect me, but her good intentions unraveled at my feet. I had no choice but to conform. To abide by Mom’s wishes, to cower under my father’s threats.
And that’s exactly what happened.
I’m not the same person I was back then. She wouldn’t even recognize me anymore.
There is no closure.
“No.” My fingers splay and then curl at my sides. “Sorry, Rudy.”
His hopeful expression wilts. “Lex, come on—”
“I got my closure.” I glance around at the marketing crew as they pretend to play on their phones. “I made the damn show. I’m good now.”
“We can always do more. Push this harder, keep the buzz going, make history—”
“Find another way.”
I move to storm out of the suite, flipping him off over my shoulder. But his next words sever my exit, have me careening to a full stop in the doorway, then doing a one-eighty spin, nostrils flaring, every muscle locking up.
“I already called her.”