Chapter 24
ANDREW
Entertainment News Daily: Exclusive photos of UK playboy billionaire Rowan Carter as he comes out of hiding from his self-imposed isolation.
In the first, Rowan’s washed-up Hollywood bestie, Dylan Aylmer, and a third man were spotted at a beach club with Carter in St. Thomas in December.
Sources say the mystery man in the picture is Andrew Slater, and he currently works for Carter.
The second picture has Carter and Slater holding hands on the beach in Saint Martin on New Year’s.
We reached out to Carter’s PR rep on the status of their relationship, but they had no comment.
Does this news put an end to the rumors of a reconciliation between Carter and his ex, UK TV host Jojo Egeley?
Mr. Egeley had no comment either. In other news…
CarterMedia: contact us immediately!
Fuck. I looked through my messages, noting one that Hunter sent me late last night.
Hunter: Your face is all over social media! Your boss is who you were referring to when you asked me about sex with a colleague? CALL ME ASAP!
Andrew: Calm down, Hunt. I have things under control.
Hunter: He’s your boss! Do you know how many harassment suits I file every year?
Andrew: We’re consenting adults. And we love each other.
Hunter: What are you going to do?
Andrew: I’ll call when I have a handle on next steps
So, this was the kind of shit Rowan had to deal with on a regular basis. No wonder he needed to escape. He tried to warn me, but I’d been too busy listening to my dick. And then my heart. My head lost the battle.
Rowan’s phone began to chime in tandem with mine, and I woke him.
“Read this,” I said as I shoved my phone in his face. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat up. My anxiety took hold, and I got out of bed, pacing back and forth.
“Christ. It’s not good but not a total disaster. The important thing is not to panic. It’s just tabloid trash. I’ll reach out to the media team and get a plan in place.”
“Hunter already knows because we’re all over social media. Read the next text from your media lead. They want you to call them now. Fuck!”
Rowan shook his head but said nothing. His face was ruddy, and he was trying to take deep breaths.
“What’s wrong? Do you need your inhaler?” I kneeled in front of him, but he shook his head.
“I’m fine. I just want quiet for a bit.” He clutched his head. Then closed his eyes. “Sorry, I think it’s my blood pressure. God, my head is throbbing.”
“Jesus, Rowan. It’s all my fault.” I made to get up, but Rowan gripped my hands tightly in his.
“I’m fine, I have to take my meds. And I’m just as much to blame for this situation. I love you, and I want this relationship, but it won’t be easy. The last time I was devoured by the tabloids. I vowed I’d never go through that again.”
“You and me both. I swore I’d never get involved with anyone I worked with ever again and look at me now. And for what? Are you and I realistic as a couple? I live out of a suitcase, and you own mega yachts and mansions around the world.”
“None of that matters,” Rowan pleaded, his blue eyes imploring me.
“When it comes down to it, I’m no different from you in all the ways that matter.
I’m a man with dreams and hopes and vulnerabilities.
And I’m asking - no, I’m begging - you to trust me.
Trust that I love you. Our relationship is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I will not give it up.”
“I love you too, Rowan, but I don’t know if that’s enough in this case.” I hung my head. My anxiety cranked up another notch. “The most important thing right now is your health. Where are your meds?”
“Nightstand,” he said and reached over to open the drawer.
I went into the bathroom to grab a glass of water, and once he’d taken his pill, he lay down again.
Our phones kept pinging and chiming with new messages, and more emails, and I couldn’t read them fast enough.
I didn’t want to leave Rowan, but I couldn’t put him at risk.
Now that our relationship was under a microscope, things would only get worse.
I could see everything we were together and everything we wanted to be about to splinter under the weight of scrutiny. Why couldn’t we just be?
“Don’t go, love,” Rowan whispered as I made to leave the bedroom. Did he mean this room, or could he sense that I was ready to pack up and bolt off the ship?
“Ro,” I replied but didn’t look back at him. “It’s probably best if I head home for a while. Let this media storm pass. Give you space to think.”
“Apparently, you’re the one who needs space. I don’t want you anywhere but here,” Rowan said quietly. I didn’t reply, too anxious to trust my words.
I slipped out of his room, but as I neared the stairs on the next level, I heard a sound and was startled to find Kayla standing outside Rowan’s office.
“Good morning, Andrew,” she asked me as she looked me over. I remembered that my mouth was swollen, and Rowan’s beard burn reddened my neck. The evidence of our lovemaking was right there for her to see. Whatever. Too late now. We were already front-page news.
“Spending the night with the boss?” She smirked at me.
I didn’t want to engage in any conversation with her, so I continued down the stairs.
“You and Rowan are the hottest gossip around. There’s another picture that will be released later today, but that one is much more… revealing.” She smirked, her eyes icy with disdain.
“You went to the press?” I bit out.
“Do you know how much they pay for information on Rowan? And it helps that the crew here are so friendly and told me where you guys were going on New Year’s. You should sell your side of the story and get your fair share. Leo can help you out.”
“You were working with that asshole? That little shit!” I yelled at her. “You signed an NDA.”
“So what? Chances are, Rowan will pay even more money to stop the release of the next photo. And he won’t sue me, it’s a waste of his time. Plus, he’d had to prove I leaked the photos. And this conversation doesn’t count.”
“Wow, you are one mean bitch.”
“Grow up, Andrew. It’s a mean world, and everyone has their price,” she hissed as she stalked off.
Rowan and I would be scrutinized to the nth degree. For the second time in a year, my life was spinning out of my control. And I needed to get the fuck off this ship.
I ran down to my room and threw my meager belongings into my suitcase.
I texted George my resignation, and fifteen minutes later, I walked off the ship and down the pier to the marina in Altamer.
My legs were shaking so badly I had to stop a few times to take deep breaths and gather myself.
My eyes welled up as I flagged down a cab and headed to the airport.
My stomach sank as I realized the last image Rowan had of me was my refusal to look at him and then walking away.
Guilt swirled in my gut like the worst kind of seasickness.
But I needed time on my own to think. I loved Rowan, but was I the best thing for him?
What was going to happen with his job? What about my business?
How would I navigate being in a relationship with someone who wanted for nothing? What could I give him? Was I enough?
As these thoughts ricocheted around in my brain, somehow, someway I made it to the airline counter. I had barely enough brainpower to find words to request the first flight out to Miami. My body was frozen despite the hot weather, and I wondered if I would ever feel warm again.
An hour later, I watched from the window seat as the plane took off, the island growing smaller and my distance from Rowan larger. Hot tears threatened, but I blinked them away. Once we’d landed in Miami two hours later, I sent him a text.
Andrew: Kayla saw me leaving your room. She’s the one who went to the press. She’s working with Leo and has more photos.
Rowan: that bitch! I’m going to fucking ruin both of them.
Andrew: I’ve gone. I need to be alone for a bit. I don’t regret us. I don’t regret falling in love with you.
Rowan: we aren’t over, Drew. If you need time, I’ll give it to you. But I love you, and I know we’ll find a way.
Andrew: This is one deal you can’t negotiate.
Rowan: Please don’t give up on us. Please, love.
I didn’t reply, but a part of me held on to a tiny bit of hope.
I managed to book a connecting flight to Atlanta and found myself at my parent’s house at six PM, exhausted and wrung out. I knocked twice and my mom answered the door. Between the four AM media wakeup, leaving Rowan, and my travel, I all but collapsed into her arms, tears threatening.
“Andrew, honey, what’s the matter?” my mom asked as she led me into their living room.
The ranch style house was filled with old yet comfortable furniture, a big brown sectional, and a beat-up recliner that my dad refused to part with.
I sat on the sofa as my mom ran to the kitchen and came back with a glass of sweet tea and a plate of cookies.
In the South, every emergency called for sugar.
I stared at my mom, whose black hair and dark eyes matched my own, and could only shake my head. Once I’d taken a few sips of tea, I finally found my voice.
“Have you looked at the news today? Social media?” I asked her.
“Not yet. You know I’m not big on that. Why? What’s happened?”