Chapter 20
JADE
As I expected, Sebastian was a no-show in the shower.
Kiki catching us in the buff like that has probably made him think twice about giving me HR support.
But what he did give me last night was damn hot, and I float off to work the next morning after a lovely dream, though it wasn’t sexual in the slightest. Sebastian and I were cosied up together on the couch in my flat—my present timeline flat—watching The Breakfast Club on Netflix.
Jane Fonda delivered a couple of pepperoni pizzas in her Jazzercise leotard and gave us a motherly spiel about using condoms. Weird.
Anyway, even the annoying people on the Tube with their bad city attitudes can’t shake my good mood this morning.
I know I shouldn’t be feeling like this about a man who’s a devil.
Really, what future is there for us? Am I going to be his handmaid in hell?
Hardly. But I can’t help it. I like him so much.
And if any of what he was whispering in my ear when he was exploding inside of me was true, he’s thinking of hanging up his horns and shacking up with me.
At least until I get old and die, which will most likely happen first since I assume he’s immortal.
It’s something that we should probably discuss . ..
Ash Delaney is skulking around my desk when I stroll up and dump my bag underneath. I swing into my chair, unable to keep the smile off my face. ‘Why are you so happy this morning?’ he asks suspiciously. ‘You’re usually a grumpy shite.’
‘No reason,’ I say, putting a fresh piece of paper in my typewriter and flexing my fingers. I’m so full of hopeful energy that I feel like I could dash off a thousand-word article in ten minutes.
Ash nods at a brown cardboard box perched on the edge of my desk. ‘That’s for you, by the way.’
‘Who sent it?’
He shrugs. ‘Dunno. I saw it when I came in just now. I was listening to it to see if it was ticking. Don’t want PopTrax to be blown up.’
‘I doubt it’s a B-O-M-B,’ I scoff, being careful to spell out the word. Yet this era was known for its IRA terrorism. Perhaps he’s wise to be cautious. I pick up the box and shake it vigorously.
Ash takes a hurried step backwards. ‘Careful!’
‘It’s light,’ I say with a laugh. ‘And there’s definitely no ticking.’ Taking up a pair of scissors, I hack into the top of the box, and my hand touches something furry. I draw out a small light-brown bear with a goofy expression and a big red heart on its tummy. It’s soft and squishy.
‘What on earth is this?’ I mumble.
‘Aww, cute. Someone’s sent you a Care Bear,’ says Ash with a snicker. ‘You’ve got an admirer.’
There’s a small card in the bottom of the box that reads, ‘Sorry we got interrupted last night. Thinking of you - Seb x.’
‘What does it say?’ Ash leans over to see.
‘None of your business.’ Cheeks on fire, I quickly bundle the cute Care Bear into my desk drawer, along with the thoughtful card. ‘Show’s over.’
Ash gives a long, slow whistle as I dip my head, winding my paper on. ‘Jade’s in lurrrrve. Whoever he is, he must be hot for you to blush like that. Have you been having sexy-wexy times, Jadey Wady?’ He mimes poking his index finger through a hole in his other fist.
‘Shut up,’ I growl, my face growing even redder.
Ash crows with laughter. ‘You have!’
I clench my fists. ‘Fuck off, Ash. I mean it!’
He smirks. ‘Oooh, feisty!’
Oh my god, he’s like the annoying older brother I never had!
The door to the back office suddenly flies open with a bang, and Danny comes rushing out excitedly, his balding head shining with sweat.
His gaze lands on us. ‘You two’—he points at Ash and me—‘get ready. I’ve just had a call from a reliable source.
Echo Ministry are giving an exclusive interview this afternoon before their Wembley concert tomorrow tonight. They’re at the Savoy.’
Ash gives a whoop and starts jumping up and down on the spot. My face drains of colour, Care Bear forgotten. Fuck. Echo Ministry is my dad’s band.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Danny claps his hands like a series of gunshots, and I almost jump out of my skin. ‘Hop to it! Time waits for no man!’
Or woman ...
‘It might be best if you let me do all the talking,’ says Ash when we’re in the back of a taxi heading towards the Savoy Hotel. ‘Echo Ministry is really famous, so I don’t want you to freeze up and ruin the interview. You can take notes.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ I reply, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs for the umpteenth time.
I glance, unseeing, at the city scenery passing by outside the window.
Ash has picked up on the fact that I’m nervous, but it’s not because I’m star-struck—it’s because I’m meeting my dad before I was even born, for fuck’s sake.
How is this going to even work? What if I do or say something that changes history?
Sebastian! I wail internally. I need you! But I might be on my own for this, unless he turns up as a hot doorman.
Ash starts idly humming a tune that’s irritatingly catchy, and when we pull up at a set of lights, I realise what it is: ‘Cold Devotion (I Am Yours)’, the angsty heartbreak anthem that shot Echo Ministry to stardom.
My dad used to hum it softly to me like a lullaby to get me to sleep at night.
But maybe it wasn’t for me; it was more for him.
He was remembering those halcyon days of fame—the days that I’m living right now—before it all went horribly wrong.
I close my eyes. Please, God, don’t let me do or say anything wrong.
I don’t want to be the reason my dad’s career goes down the toilet.
With the song’s haunting melody still playing in my mind, Ash and I check in at the Savoy’s reception, and we’re directed to a conference room down a long burgundy-carpeted corridor. The air is warm and stale and smells slightly of croissants, like someone’s raided a French bakery.
When we enter the designated room, my heart pounds in anticipation, and I look around nervously.
But there’s no band, it’s full of neatly aligned chairs, the first few rows of which are filled with chattering journalists clutching chunky silver dictaphones and jotter pads.
A folding table is placed at the front with several orange-balled microphones.
‘I thought this was an exclusive interview? It looks more like a free-for-all press conference?’ I whisper to Ash, moving away from the door, as more journalists file in behind us, most of them smoking.
‘So did I.’ He sounds mightily disappointed. But I’m relieved. This might not be as bad as I thought. I can hunch down in a chair at the back so I’m not noticed ...
‘Let’s sit up front. I want to get a good look at the band,’ says Ash determinedly, gripping my arm and hauling me towards the first row, which still has a few empty chairs. Oh no!
But I don’t have a good reason for not sitting there, and I don’t want Ash to get shitty and cause a scene.
So I sit there glumly, knowing that I’m going to be practically face to face with my dad.
Oh hell! But as I tell myself sternly to prevent a rising panic attack, he’ll have no idea who I am.
I’m just a nobody magazine journo, not his only daughter.