Chapter 5
Gage
Sartre was wrong. Hell is not other people; it’s Los Angeles traffic.
The drive is interminable. Parking takes several lifetimes. The three blocks I walk from the parking garage to the building are noisy, bright, and redolent with the stench of the city. I’m twenty-five minutes late when I walk into Francesca Sterling’s office building.
I give my name at the reception desk. The male receptionist is what Jessica and Todd would dub a “Hollywood hopeful”—a wannabe actor with too-white teeth and too-tanned skin working a day job in between auditions.
He directs me to an elevator. Once inside, I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
The last time I needed Francesca’s expertise, I was a broken young man.
Things feel dire right now, but I must trust what Francesca told me on the phone: We will figure this out, and we will fix it .
Her office door is open. I knock on the edge, next to the silver sign bearing the words Francesca Sterling, Sterling Celebrities, President . “It’s me, Francesca.”
“Gage, come in. It’s good to see you again.
” Francesca’s voice is warm. She stands behind her desk.
The years have been kind to her—her sharp nose and the fine lines around her eyes give her a queenly appearance.
She wears her hair in loose, auburn waves over her shoulders.
As usual, she has on slacks and a silk button-down shirt.
“Although of course I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“I apologize for being late.” I glance around the room.
The decor is earthy—beige and white, with brown accents.
She stands next to a desk with chairs in front of it, but the other half of the room could be a TV set for a therapist’s office.
Arranged around a square coffee table are a loveseat and several comfortable chairs.
A ficus plant soaks in the sunlight streaming through a large picture window.
Tiny, potted succulents line the sill. “I like your new space.”
“Thanks.” She smiles. “The company has come far since we last worked with you. I have a team now, and I’ve had them review your issue. May I invite them in?”
“Please do.”
She strikes a few keys on her keyboard.
A moment later, two women and a man come into the room.
Each of them wears an outfit similar to Francesca’s—slacks, button-down shirts.
Francesca gestures to the blond woman on the right, and the dark-haired man standing next to her.
“This is Heta Allaway and Parminder Singh, our communications manager and public affairs manager.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I say, shaking their hands.
Francesca nods at the tall, black-haired woman. “And this is Dove Longshadow, our crisis communication specialist.”
I shake her hand as well. All three invite me to call them by their first names, so I do the same.
“Shall we sit?” Francesca gestures toward the cozy sitting area.
Once we’re settled, Dove holds up her tablet and taps the screen. “Let’s get started, shall we? First, an overview. We’re currently in the midst of a crisis with Nicola Johnson. She’s Gage’s former co-star on Academy of Ghosts , and his ex-girlfriend.”
“Gage.” Francesca’s voice is kind. “In your own words, would you tell us what’s going on?”
She doesn’t need to talk to me like a therapist, but there is something very calming about this room and her demeanor.
Her background in psychology and crisis counseling is what originally drew me to her as a public relations specialist. When I first hired her, all those years ago, I needed someone who understands people. Francesca didn’t disappoint.
“You’ve reviewed her short videos?” I ask.
Everyone nods.
“She’s using her platform to lie.” I tamp down my anger.
This scene doesn’t require it. Instead, I must be calm and collected.
“She and I haven’t had a relationship of any kind—romantic or friendly—since we were in our early twenties.
It ended badly. I was, however, able to get her on the phone last night.
I asked her to take down the videos slandering Leah. ”
“She’s slandering you as well.” Heta raises a blond eyebrow.
“You’re right.” I close my eyes, searching for a solution. It’s futile, though. I can’t do this on my own. That’s why I’m here. “I don’t care what she says about me—she’s already said the worst.”
Parminder speaks for the first time. His voice is soft and melodic. “What outcome are you looking for?”
I face the four of them. “This is for Leah. I want her kept out of this. The important thing is to get Nicola to stop talking about Leah.”
Dove’s dark eyes are thoughtful. “Let’s get to the why of Nicola’s allegations. Do you know what she hopes to gain?”
“She says she wants me.” I’m embarrassed to say it out loud, but honesty is the best chance of resolving this scandal. “I don’t believe for a second that she actually cares about me. There’s an ulterior motive—I’m certain of it. Unfortunately, I don’t know what that motive is.”
“All right.” Francesca clasps her hands together and faces her team. “You’ve reviewed Nicola’s footage. You’ve heard Gage’s side of things. What are our initial thoughts?”
Heta flips her long blond hair behind her shoulder. “Gage fights fire with fire—he creates and posts his own video to share the truth with the public.”
I start to argue, but Francesca says, “If you wouldn’t mind, Gage, we’re in the brainstorming phase. No idea is shot down until we’ve heard them all.”
I nod that they should go on. I don’t have a social media platform to speak of, and I fear it becoming a he-said, she-said issue. But I allow their ideas to fill the room.
“A cease-and-desist order. Immediately.” Parminder frowns at his tablet, his long lashes shielding his eyes. “Legal counsel should be your next step after leaving our office.”
“We’ll need to develop Gage’s online presence.” Heta is apparently married to the idea of putting me back in the public eye.
Dove clears her throat. “Leah and Gage could make a joint statement.”
“Absolutely not.” I rise to my feet.
“Gage.” Francesca’s voice is gentle.
Pressure builds in my chest. It’s terrifying enough to consider putting myself on camera again. But Leah? My girl? I would never put her in that position. The problem with the public eye is that it’s omnipresent. There is no escaping it.
“We aren’t making decisions at this time.” Francesca’s voice washes over me, soothing.
I can’t breathe—my lungs won’t open. I open my mouth, clutch my chest. This is what it feels like to die.
Francesca swears. “Gage, this is a panic attack. Remember?”
It’s been years since I’ve had one.
“Count backward from one hundred,” Parminder suggests.
Everyone tries to be helpful, but Francesca hushes the team.
I go through the exercises I learned in therapy.
One thing I can see: the pink bloom of a succulent in the windowsill.
One thing I can smell: the vanilla-scented candle on the coffee table in front of me.
One thing I can touch: the faux leather sofa cushion.
One thing I can hear: the whirring of a copy machine down the hall.
I repeat the cycle twice more, until my breathing is slow and even.
“Thank you for your patience,” I say to Francesca and her team.
“Of course.” Francesca reaches forward to pour a glass of water from a pitcher on the table.
Heta and Parminder look away, uncomfortable, but Dove offers me a kind smile.
Francesca hands me the glass of water, and I accept it with thanks.
“Back to the issues at hand.” I breathe deeply through my nose.
My unwillingness should wipe the idea of putting Leah in front of a camera out of their minds.
It’s that very thought which sent me into a dark place.
It’s not happening. Ever. “I’m not getting on camera and ‘sharing my side of the story.’ I don’t even have social media accounts.
I’d rather hire a lawyer and sue her for defamation. ”
“Going directly to litigation is unlikely to resolve the matter. It may do the opposite and exacerbate things.” Francesca keeps an eye on me, as if her watchful gaze can prevent my panic attack from returning. “You do recall that long, drawn-out case with Bret Fortune and his ex-wife?”
It was a circus, I remember that much. Bret’s band is popular, but he isn’t a household name.
Normally, a B-lister like that wouldn’t get the hype his case got.
But the details were so scandalous, the media couldn’t let it go.
I don’t want that for me, and I wouldn’t want Leah dragged into it, either.
“That leaves us with making a statement.” Dove’s fingertips fly over her tablet. “I take it that appearing on camera isn’t something you’re willing to do?”
I straighten my fingers to keep my hands from clenching. “Appearing on camera is out of the question.”
“Understood.” Dove sneaks a glance at me, then taps her screen.
“I can create an account for you on the platform of your choosing. I recommend PhotoGram for its popularity and versatility. We don’t have to post a photo of you.
But I will need one for your profile picture, and to verify your account with the PhotoGram company. ”
When I balk, Francesca says, “We have some of Gage’s old headshots. Will that do?”
Dove frowns, but she also nods. “I’ll draft a statement for our team to review, and for you to approve, Gage. Once we’ve decided on something, I can post it on your behalf.”
It isn’t the solution I want, but it’s the best idea we have. We discuss a few more details and logistics. Finally, I thank Francesca and her team.
Now that my meeting is finished, I have to swing by Claudia’s place in Hollywood Hills.
Claudia’s house sitter had a family emergency and can’t come by this week.
Claudia will be crushed if her beloved orchids perish.
Because I have a spare key and know her alarm code, I’m the natural stand-in for the house sitter.