Chapter 13 – Leo
THIRTEEN
LEO
I should have said no.
When Madden texted to ask—no, demanded, since I don’t think the Kings know how to politely request anything from anyone—me to come down to The Mill for a drink, I should have said no.
In fact, I had typed out a polite but firm “no thank you,” but before I could send it, an email hit my inbox, with “URGENT” in the subject line and Jefferson’s name in the sender box.
Ignore it, I told myself. Ignore it. It’s a Friday. If it were actually urgent, he would call. Willa is here, and if there were an issue with Atlas Oaks, Harper, or any of your other clients, they’d reach out to you personally. None of his clients likes dealing with Jefferson, either.
But I couldn’t resist, being a glutton for punishment and a workaholic, desperately trying to recover and failing miserably.
Hey Leo—
Jackie just informed me Willa has found a place to stay in Holly Ridge, where she’ll be working on her next album.
She has requested that Jackie allow her stay there without anyone managing her.
Since you are currently residing in Holly Ridge for the foreseeable future, I expect you to do your job and ensure that Ms. Stone stays out of trouble.
Any shortcomings on that will be discussed at your next performance report.
She has created an image of herself, and to ensure a successful campaign with Chris Scout, we need to maintain that image.
—Jefferson
I read between the lines the way I always have to with him. Despite being a jackass, he’s a smart businessman with far too many high-powered lawyers in his pocket, and he knows not to put his threats on paper.
Keep Willa in line, or somehow, someway, I’m going to make your life an even bigger hellscape than it already is.
In that moment, I remind myself of my exit strategy and that I won’t have to deal with him forever.
I have less than two years with Perfect Image before my contract ends, when the ironclad non-compete I signed expires in full.
After that, I’ll be able to leave with my client list and start my own firm.
It’s why, despite his not approving of many of the decisions I make for my clients, Jefferson won’t fire me.
If he were to do so without merit, which I’m careful never to give him, that clause would be null and void, and I’d be able to take whichever clients with me I wish, including Atlas Oaks, Stella Greene, Harper Holden, and a line of the other high-profile clients the firm boasts.
While Jefferson and the other publicists represent many other stars, none hold the power that my clients do.
Unfortunately, Jefferson is more than aware of my plan, which is why, when he showed up at my meeting with Willa, irritation flooded me.
I don’t know where Willa will stand when I leave the firm, but it’s clear Jefferson is trying to ingratiate himself with her manager.
For the next two years, he’ll be doing everything in his power to pull Jackie to his side by the end of my contract, so as not to lose Willa.
Apparently, that includes getting me to keep an eye on her client.
It’s not even that I’m annoyed he’s asking me to be a glorified babysitter. It’s nothing I haven’t done in the past for other clients—hell, there was a time when I was the only thing stopping Atlas Oaks from having a complete media crash out.
The truth is, if he’d asked me a year ago, I’d have been fine. If he’d asked me six months ago, I would have been fine.
Then. Willa was in a professional box that I could not even approach, with nothing but business between us, the way I had carefully crafted it over the last few years.
But now she’s in the same town as me.
Now, we’re somehow sharing friends.
Now, she seems to have found the backbone she’s been missing and is showing it off with me in a way I find myself liking far too much.
Now, I know what she looks like when she’s in shock, know what she feels like when I have her in my arms.
Fuck.
As I stared at the email, I attempted to regulate my breathing, taking the deep, measured breaths my therapist recommended, counting to ten with each one, when my phone bings with another text. That dread curled in on itself, anticipating a follow-up text from my boss.
But it wasn’t from Jefferson or Jackie or anyone work-related.
Madden
Hallie insists.
Two words that held a subtle yet effective threat: Hallie insisted I come, and if I said no, I could expect some form of backlash. With a sigh and deciding I could use some time out of my house, without overthinking it, I replied with a one-word text.
When?
I would go to The Mill for exactly one drink.
One beer, less than an hour, then head home.
It would be a double-duty task, getting Madden and Hallie off my ass for not hanging out with them, and it would give me time to avoid replying to Jefferson’s email the way I really fucking wanted to: with a bolded fuck off.
Now!
With a sigh, I closed my laptop and quickly changed out of my paint and sawdust-speckled clothes, slipping into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, sliding on some shoes, and grabbing my keys before making my way down my long drive.
My plan goes up in beautiful, searing flames the moment I step inside the bar and scan the room to see Willa Stone sitting at a table between Nat and Madden, a drink in her hand and a wide grin on her lips.
“Leo!” Madden calls, and without conscious thought, my feet move, eyes locked on Willa.
Then I do what I found myself doing the last time I was surprised by her: I argue with her. I challenge her.
And just like last time, she shocks me by not backing down. For once, she stands up for herself and gets annoyed with me.
When she runs off to take shots with Nat and Hallie, I groan but can’t help but watch her ass in the little shorts she’s wearing. I watch her back the entire time as they chat with the bartender, who is already lining up shot glasses, but I can’t see her face until the girls clink glasses.
That’s when she turns, scanning the bar and finding me, then holding my gaze as she lifts the small glass, gesturing toward me in a toast with a small smile on her lips before she downs the shot.
“Not your handful, huh?” Madden asks, echoing my words from the other day with a laugh.
I turn to him, giving him a glare that makes tabloids and paparazzi cower in fear, but just makes him laugh before he pats me on my shoulder.
“What are you drinking tonight, brother? I think you’re going to need it. ”
Willa takes three more shots over the next hour, and I do everything in my power to remain calm, cool, and collected. Maybe that’s the key, not giving into the bait she’s clearly dangling, not rising to the challenge. Maybe if I pretend to be unfazed, she’ll lose all interest.
But after the fourth shot, I decide I don’t care.
In fact, it’s just minutes after that fourth shot, when she stumbles and falls to the ground in a giggling heap on the makeshift dance floor after Hallie attempts to twirl her, that I lose it.
My stool scrapes as I stand, then take long strides to her.
“Leo! Are you here to dance with us?” she asks eagerly, with a giggle that would be cute if she weren’t her and I weren’t me and we weren’t what we are.
I grab her hand, and she takes it willingly as I help her stand, then guide her into the quieter hallway at the back of the bar, where people can hang coats.
She’s still giggling as I turn her, put her back to the wall, and stand a foot in front of her.
“You know, the caveman act is kind of hot, but if you wanted me alone, you could have just asked. I would have come with you,” she says, and I push that back, trying not to focus on the words or the hidden meaning.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask in a hushed, angry whisper. Her dazed eyes go confused, brow furrowing as she looks at me.
“What?” Her joy has melted away, and despite my anger, guilt seeps in, though like so many things tonight, I push it back, letting logic and duty remain front and center.
“This isn’t you, drinking and being loud. What are you doing?”
“Not me? You don’t even know me,” she mumbles, but then answers my question. “I’m having fun, Leo. I’m having fun for once in my life,” she says, and confusion wracks through me.
“Willa—”
There’s another shift on her face, each of them happening so fast, I almost can’t keep track of the changes.
She shakes her head, her hair swaying from side to side as she does.
It’s down, and this close, I allow myself to take in the other changes, like the simple makeup that enhances her natural beauty instead of trying to make her look like a perfect doll.
Those god-awful contacts are gone, and she’s in a soft-looking blue shirt that I’ve never seen her in, a casual top that I doubt her stylist chose for her.
“I never get to have fun like this. I just want one freaking night. One night where I can be normal, and I can be happy and have fun, and where I don’t feel lonely.”
That last word carries so much emotion, weighed down with yearning and grief, and when paired with the lost look on her face, it shocks whatever anger was still lingering in my system out.
“Willa,” I say, my voice suddenly soft even to my own ears as she unloads this onto me, as she throws me back with her words. She shakes her head, then continues.
“Do you know what it’s like to feel so lonely all the time?
To be in a room filled with people who know your name and still feel like you’re all by yourself?
Like, no one in the entire world actually knows you?
Everyone puts me on this pedestal, everyone keeps their distance, and I’m so fucking lonely.
” Her voice cracks, and when it does, my chest cracks, too.
Her eyes are wide and glassy, reflecting the sadness in her words.
“I’m so lonely, Leo. It’s crazy, because everyone wants a piece of me, everyone wants to talk to me and use me and find out how I can help them, but I…
I’m so lonely. And here, for the first time, I don’t feel that.
I just want to feel like I belong somewhere for once in my life.
” I don’t know what to say, not when her face is so open, so I don’t say anything.
In the next instant, her face changes, those emotions pushed back to hide under some shield she’s erected before she pushes at my chest.
“And you are trying to get in the way of that. I’m a big girl, Leo.
And I’m tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do.
” The song out in the bar changes then, a familiar tune drifting into the hall.
It’s one Willa wrote for another pop artist, though she didn’t record it herself.
She grins when she hears it, any anger or sadness replaced by the happy-go-lucky party girl I pulled into here.
It happens so quickly, I wonder for just a moment if I imagined the other versions. “Now get out of my way. My song is on.”
When she pushes at me this time, I don’t resist, instead stepping back as she moves away, nearly skipping back into the bar.
I can hear when the girls must spot her because a loud cheer fills the room before they all start singing together, but I stay in that back hallway for a long moment, her words running through me and leaving me uneasy.
Do you know what it’s like to feel so lonely all the time?
In a strange way, the drunken pop star put into words all of the things I’ve been feeling lately, the loneliness despite everyone always needing something from me, and the strange desire to just be.
How the hell am I supposed to balance doing my job and giving her whatever it is she wants? Because if she ever looks at me with that sad look again, I know I would give her the entire world on a silver platter.