Chapter Thirty-Four Mo
Chapter Thirty-Four
MO
Camera lenses knocked against the car window and palms pressed prints onto the glass as the car carefully edged away from the kerb before rocketing down the street.
Mo’s regret at flipping his finger at the photographers was drowned by a wave of worry when he looked at Netta, slumped on the other side of the back seat, her arms wrapped across her front and her hands pressed tightly to her ribs.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he said quietly. ‘Those women must’ve made a call to one of the magazines or posted a photo, and they’ve tracked me down. They lurk online, you know. Wait for hashtags to pop up. It’s gross. I’m so sorry, Netta. Are you okay?’
Netta shook her head and turned to stare out the window. ‘Do you think they saw me?’ Her voice was thin.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, truthfully. ‘I think you did a pretty good job of keeping your head down. It should be fine.’ It wouldn’t be fine, he knew that. They always found an angle.
‘I just want to go home.’
Mo planted his hand on the back of the driver’s seat. ‘Jac, can you take us straight to Netta’s hotel, please?’
‘No, I mean, I want to go home,’ Netta said. ‘To Melbourne.’
‘Oh.’ Mo sat back and nodded slowly.
‘I don’t need first class. I’ll sit in the baggage hold if I have to.
I just want to get out of here. I’ve done what I needed to do.
You’ve got your mysterious diary.’ She sounded angry now, but whether it was at him or herself was unclear.
‘I should’ve known this would happen. It’s just way too close to the bone.
I want to be gone before the photos come out. ’
‘Netta, they’ll be out already,’ Mo said, flatly. ‘Things move fast with these guys. They don’t waste any time.’
Netta covered her mouth with her hand and hugged herself tightly with her other arm. She looked miserable. Worse than miserable. Guilt yanked at Mo’s heart. All of this was because of him and the bloody diary. As if it hadn’t already caused enough fucking damage.
‘I’ll call Rhona,’ he said. ‘She’ll know what to do.’
Rhona answered on the first ring.
‘We’ve got a bit of a problem, Rhones,’ Mo said.
He had an overwhelming urge to reach over and hold Netta’s hand.
He balled his fist and tapped it on his thigh instead, staring out the window like the solution to this mess might be out there somewhere.
‘There were photographers after the fitting. Can we come over? We need to work something out for Netta.’
He hung up and turned his head to look at Netta. ‘You okay to go to Rhona’s for a bit?’
She nodded numbly.
‘Change of destination, Jac,’ said Mo.
‘No problem, Mr Maplestone.’ Jac tapped Rhona’s address into the GPS. ‘We should get there in about fifteen minutes.’
Mo wanted desperately to comfort Netta, but the failed hug the night before still stung. And if she’d felt uncomfortable then, she sure as hell wouldn’t want one now. Not after what had just happened.
Netta wiped tears from her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry about the gala. I know it was important to you and that I said I’d go. But I was wrong to think I could. Who was I kidding?’
‘There would’ve been a lot of photographers there too. The red carpet—’
‘I know. I was such an idiot to say yes. I just wanted so badly to be over it, but—’ She severed her sentence and took a deep breath. ‘But I can’t do it. This whole scene is like … like poison.’
Mo did his best to hide the crushing disappointment leaching through his body, wrapping itself around his bones and clawing at his heart. He should’ve known. This life of his—it just wasn’t for sharing.
Netta had closed her eyes, both arms wrapped around her body as though she thought she might disintegrate if she didn’t hold herself tight enough.
He sat back in the seat and swallowed hard.
He’d ruined her. He had no date for the gala tomorrow night.
And he’d just wound up the paps. Again. What a fucking mess.
***
Rhona was waiting at the door when they arrived, her phone clasped in her hand. ‘Hello, you two,’ she said, bustling them inside.
‘I can’t do the gala anymore, Rhona,’ said Netta. ‘That, back there, was too much.’ Her tone was determined, but her face was apologetic, as though she thought she’d done something wrong. ‘I want to go home, like, now.’
Rhona wrapped Netta in a hug and gave Mo a pointed look over Netta’s shoulder. ‘Come on. Come into the office.’
They gathered around Rhona’s computer. She had a tab open for each of the major social media platforms, all of which were flooded with images of Mo and Netta battling their way from Valerie’s studio door to the car.
Rhona scrolled through the photos. ‘Well,’ she said, squinting as she examined each one, ‘you can’t see your face in any of them, Netta, so I don’t think the trolls will have much to work with, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Netta’s relief was palpable. Her features relaxed and her shoulders dropped as she let out a hard exhale.
‘But,’ Rhona continued, ‘some of them don’t look so great for you, Mo.’
Mo tensed as he leaned in to look. In one of the images, it seemed as though he was pushing Netta. Another made it look like she was flinching away from him. And of course, they’d all managed to capture him flipping his middle finger. Headlines like Mo MANHANDLES MYSTERY WOMAN were everywhere.
He blanched. ‘I wasn’t rough with you, was I, Netta?’
‘No! Not at all!’ Netta looked as horrified as Mo felt. ‘I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t freaked out, you wouldn’t have had to guide me to the car or touch me at all.’
Rhona clucked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is nobody’s fault. And even if it was, it doesn’t matter now, anyway. All we can do is manage the damage.’
‘I’m glad your face isn’t visible in any of the photos, Netta,’ said Mo. ‘That’s one positive.’
‘I still want to go home.’
‘Are you sure, Netta?’ asked Rhona. ‘I’ve arranged for a fabulous hair and make-up artist and one of my favourite stylists is all set to come to the hotel with a whole heap of dresses for you to choose from.’
Netta shook her head. ‘I made a big mistake saying I’d go in the first place. I’m sorry, Rhona, I didn’t tell you the whole story when I came over for dinner. I thought I could just go to the gala and it would be some kind of closure or something, but I was wrong. I just want to get out of here.’
‘Closure?’ Rhona looked confused. ‘What do you mean? What “whole story” are you talking about?’ She looked from Netta to Mo and back again. ‘Is there something I need to know?’
Before Netta could respond, Rhona’s mobile rang. She frowned at the name on the screen. ‘Ergh. What does this parasite want?’ She swished out of the room to take the call in private, leaving Mo and Netta with the photos on the screen.
‘It really does look like I’m hurting you,’ said Mo. ‘Did I? Hurt you?’
Netta looked at him, her eyes watery but resolute. ‘No. You didn’t. If you hadn’t helped me to the car so quickly, I would’ve been frozen to the spot. But it’s made it so much worse for you.’
Rhona swept back into the office. ‘That was Charlie Tunbridge from UK Yeah.’ She directed two fingers to her mouth, miming a gag.
‘Their photographer got a photo that shows your face, Netta. And they know who you are.’ She turned her phone to show them the photo.
‘Love, why didn’t you tell me about the Mitch Carlton scandal? ’
‘She told me,’ said Mo. ‘I knew about it.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
‘It wasn’t my place.’
Rhona turned her attention to Netta, her gaze softening. ‘You had a different name back then, is that right?’
Netta nodded. ‘Yes. Well, not technically. You might’ve seen, when you booked flights, my legal name is Antoinette, but I’ve never used it.
My mum always called me Annie, so that’s what I went by when I worked for the Carltons.
Annie the Nanny. The tabloids had a field day with the rhyme, trust me. ’
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ said Mo. ‘That prick is so full of shit.’
‘Oh, I know he is,’ said Rhona. ‘I just wish I’d known so I could have protected you, Netta.
I would never have even suggested the gala if I’d known about this.
Talk about rubbing salt into a wound. I think back to that conversation at the dinner party that night and I could kick myself. I practically pushed you into it.’
‘What are they going to do with the photo?’ asked Mo.
‘Nothing. Or everything. It depends on us,’ said Rhona. ‘They want to cut a deal.’
‘What do you mean?’ Netta sounded terrified.
‘Okay, before I tell you, I want you to understand how ruthless these arseholes are. If we say no to the deal, they’re going to dredge up every last bit of the scandal and repackage it, wrap it up in a cute little bow and send it out into the world again—except this time, there’ll be the added bonus of being able to tie you to Mo as well.
Mitch is C-list these days, so he’ll fucking love it.
He’ll do anything to get his face into the papers and up his profile a bit.
It’s gross, but it’s reality. Mo, on the other hand?
This is a development he really doesn’t need. ’
‘This isn’t about me,’ said Mo.
‘Of course it is, Mo,’ said Rhona. ‘Do you think the paps were outside Valerie’s for Netta? She’s just been caught in your slipstream. And all because you went on the fucking Tube and got spotted. Surprise, surprise. Am I right?’
‘That was my idea,’ Netta whispered.
‘But I agreed,’ said Mo. ‘This is on me.’
Rhona considered them both. ‘The deal is, they won’t publish the photos of Netta’s face right now if we give them exclusive red carpet photos of the two of you together at the gala and Netta gives them an interview with her side of the Carlton story.
They’ve been wanting to bury him ever since he said their magazine wasn’t good enough to wipe his arse with that time he was on The Graham Norton Show.
They’ll be highly sympathetic to you, Netta.
It’s worth considering. Did you sign an NDA when you worked for the Carltons? ’
‘I did,’ said Netta. ‘But it was only for the term of my employment and ten years after, so it’s expired now.’
‘But how will it work?’ asked Mo. ‘There’ll be a ton of photographers on the carpet. How can we give them an exclusive?’
‘They’ll set it up at a separate location. It’ll look like you’re arriving together in their photos, but you’ll do the real carpet on your own, Mo, and Netta will be inside waiting for you.’
‘Why would I still have to go to the show?’ asked Netta.
‘Because they’ll want photos from the event too. They know they can’t get exclusives on those, but they’re happy if they can get the red carpet shots and an interview. That’s enough for them to hold the photos from today.’
‘But what’s the difference?’ Netta sounded miserable. ‘Either way, I’m going to be outed as the homewrecking nanny again.’
‘Exactly,’ said Rhona. She gave Netta’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘But at least this way, you’ll be in control of the story. You’ll be outed as a woman on top.’
Netta was silent for a moment, staring at her hands before her gaze rebounded to Rhona. ‘And what about for Mo?’ she asked. ‘Will it be better or worse for him to be seen with me at the gala?’
‘Honestly? At this point, I don’t really know.
These photos where it looks like he’s being rough with you don’t sit well.
’ She turned to Mo. ‘The record label is ready to make you walk the plank and this won’t help one bit.
But it’d probably be easier to move past it all if you’re seen being a gentleman with Netta at the gala. ’
‘This isn’t about me,’ said Mo. ‘Netta isn’t responsible for my image problems.’
‘No, she’s not. But maybe this is a mutually beneficial opportunity.
The nanny thing is about to come back to life either way.
At least if you take the deal, Netta, you’ll be able to put a positive spin on things.
Or, at the very least, a truthful spin. I have to let him know by six tonight so they can set up the carpet shots. ’
Netta nodded and looked at Mo. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you need to make this decision on your own,’ he said. ‘Don’t think about anything other than what’s best for you. I’ll be okay either way.’
‘I just want to head back to the hotel and think it through.’ She looked exhausted, her eyes dimmed, and Mo’s arms ached to hug her, for her to rest her head on his chest. What the fuck was happening to him?
‘I’ll drive you back to the hotel,’ said Rhona. ‘And you,’ she said, looking at Mo, ‘need to go home now too. Get some rest. You’ll need to be at your megawatt best tomorrow night. Teflon, baby, like none of this shit has stuck. Okay?’
‘Got it.’
‘Where to, Mr Maplestone?’ asked Jac as Mo settled back into the car.
‘Home,’ he said, resting his head against the window. As the car pulled silently onto the street, Mo watched Netta slide into the passenger seat of Rhona’s Merc. His heart drooped. This was why he didn’t do relationships. He was toxic.