Chapter 13
NOELLE
I folded my arms across my knotted stomach in the back of the Uber. Our server snuck us out the back so we wouldn’t have to face more cameras leaving the club. We could’ve left with the Padres and hid behind their bulk, but they looked like they were in for the long haul.
“But why would Ashley set us up like that? She was pissed off the first time fans splashed those pictures from In N Out across social media—so much so, she nearly torpedoed the fake dating narrative. The second time it happened at the concert, she reined it in and doubled down on the stunt relationship. Why would she instigate a third incident?”
“I don’t know, Noelle. She’s Ashley Bennett. Why does she do anything?” Conor rubbed a hand across his face. “Maybe she just wanted more ammunition to start drama. Orlando’s on another planet if he thinks Ashley is going to toe the line to improve her rep.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip. “Orlando can’t blame me for that.”
Conor squeezed my knee, and I jumped. “You’re doing your best, Nollaig.”
Was I though? I kept getting into cozy situations with Conor. If I were a real professional dedicated to my job, I’d cut him out of my life. Just like he did to me.
Sent me texts every day. Bullshit.
Who did he think I was? One of his adoring fans who believed all the good guy hype about him?
But I couldn’t cut him out. I had to ride a freakin’ bus with him. Stay in hotel rooms down the hall. Watch him on stage. Make sure he had what he needed to perform. Keep his spirits up. Laugh at his jokes. Massage his shoulders after the show.
I covered my face with my hands. How’d I get here?
“You’re not crying, are ya? It’ll be okay. I’ll talk to Ashley myself and ask her what the hell she’s up to.”
“I’m not crying.” Looking up, I peered at him through my fingers.
“It could’ve been worse.” He winked. “I mean, it’s not like we were kissing.”
“Not that we would.” I dropped my hands and folded them in my lap. This night just kept getting worse and worse.
When the driver pulled up in front of the hotel, I pressed my nose to the window to make sure no photographers were lurking in the bushes, ready to jump out at us.
We slipped out of the car, heads down, but nobody accosted us. A minute later, we stood in front of the elevator.
As I jabbed the button, I said, “I’m going to bed. Are you going to confront Ashley tonight?”
“I might. You wanna do it together?”
“Absolutely not.” I stepped into the car when the doors slid open. “I’m not even sure she did set us up. Why would she? I don’t want to provoke her.”
“Chicken.”
He nudged me, and I pressed the button to my floor several more times—as if that would make the elevator go faster.
The doors opened on my floor, one level beneath his, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Let me know what she says. Good night, Conor.”
As I fumbled with my card key, Shanice slipped out of her room, ice bucket in hand.
She said, “Hey, you. Early night?”
I didn’t want to poke the bear that was Ashley, but her stylist wouldn’t bite my head off.
“Yeah, turns out nobody showed up...except Conor. You did tell me everyone was meeting at the Oxford Social Club from about nine to eleven, right? I got there at ten, and nobody was there. Conor arrived about fifteen minutes later, but that was it.”
She tilted her head. “That’s weird. That’s what everyone told me, even though I had already decided I wasn’t going.”
“Everyone?” I raised my eyebrows. “Or Ashley?”
“Actually, it was Tomo.” She hugged the ice bucket to her chest.
“Oh, your ex. Are you talking?”
She laughed. “We’re not enemies. I saw him in the restaurant downstairs picking up food. He mentioned it to me then.”
“Maybe everyone had the same idea as you to stay in, or we were too late. Maybe we were too early.” My door beeped and gave me the green light. “Anyway, it was a bust. See you tomorrow.”
I walked into the room, kicked off my shoes, and flopped across the bed. It wasn’t a bust for those paps. And dread for the fallout settled on my chest like one of those weighted blankets—except it didn’t provide any comfort.
Not at all.
***
The next morning, I practically plowed into Ashley in line at the coffee shop in the lobby. Talk about meeting your problems head-on.
I stretched my lips into a fake smile—we were faking everything else, why not a smile? “Hey, Ashley. I guess there were some crossed wires last night. I didn’t see anyone at the Social Club.”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and put a finger on her chin. “Except Conor.”
A swath of heat raced up my chest to my face. “Y-yeah, we were the only two there. I don’t know what happened. Shanice told me the meet-up time, and Conor heard it from you. We both left pretty quickly after we realized no one else was there.”
“Except the paps.”
“Unfortunate, but they really couldn’t know that others from the tour weren’t in that club with us.” I gripped my coffee cup so hard, I was afraid the lid would pop. “Those pics barely made it onto the socials.”
A laugh bubbled from Ashley’s lips. “Oh, girl. Don’t look so scared. I’m not mad about it. Shit happens. I’m all in on the plan.”
“Good, good.” My shoulders sagged. “Because I think it’s working. Tonight’s show sold out this morning, and there are only a few tickets left for Phoenix.”
“Yeah, people like me and Conor as a couple. All his goodness is rubbing off on me.” She gripped her upper arms, hugging herself, as if she could feel the goodness now.
“I’m glad that’s settled, and meeting the bus like you did yesterday strengthened the narrative. I appreciate your efforts.”
“Hey, we’re all in this together. And Noelle...” she touched the corner of her eye “...lose the glasses.”
“Of course.” I plucked my cotton sweats from my thigh. “Just threw some things on to get coffee.”
“I understand.” She tapped the toe of her Louboutins—at nine in the morning—obviously not thrown on. “Still, I like to maintain a certain style on my tours, from the stars to the...lowliest support staff. I mean, look at Tomo over there.”
I glanced across the room at the fit dancer, sporting a pair of baggy black pants with a contrasting white, clingy tank top to show off his muscles. His high-top sneakers were blindingly white, and he’d gathered his long hair in a half up, half down do.
Sensing our scrutiny, he looked up and waved. We waved back, with Ashley wiggling her fingers in the air.
“He does look good.” I raised my coffee cup. “I will now slink back to my room to avoid embarrassing the tour further.”
“Oh, Noelle. You’re so...funny.”
I scurried out of the coffee house, not so much to avoid insulting Ashley’s aesthetic sensibilities, but to get out of her way before she changed her mind about those pictures.
Because I found them on social media, and they only served to increase the buzz from the concert pictures. Instead of longing looks, this time the fandom decided we were having a lovers’ spat.
Were we?
The last thing I remember before the paparazzi flashes exploded was Conor trying to tell me he texted me every day from Australia. What a load of bollocks, as he’d say. Was his memory that bad, or was he straight-up lying to me for some reason?
The fans weren’t wrong. It was a spat—just not between two lovers.
Either Ashley missed the in-depth analysis of those photos or she didn’t care. She just might be thinking any publicity was good publicity. But I didn’t want those sleuthing fans getting anywhere near the truth.
That Conor and I still had feelings for each other—no matter how much I wanted to deny it.
***
Ji-yoon practically skipped off stage after her set, and I gave her a quick hug. “You killed it.”
She squeezed back, trying to shout above the roar of the crowd. “Thank you so much, Noelle. You’re so sweet...I don’t care what people say.”
“What?”
Ji-yoon jogged down the steps and into the arms of her manager without turning around as he whisked her away.
Did I hear her right? Were people on the tour badmouthing me? I massaged my temples. Dina warned me that the job took its toll. Not everyone loved the publicist.
The stagehands rushed past me to transform Ji-yoon’s set into Conor’s more pared-down set, and I didn’t need to be swooning for him at the side of the stage. If he decided to sing that song again tonight, I didn’t want to be in his line of vision.
I scrambled away from my perch in the wings and picked my way over cables and wires and speakers and random set pieces to burrow to the back of the stage.
From a safe spot, I heard the announcer yell out Conor’s name and the answering roar from the crowd. Without saying a word, Conor launched into an upbeat song from his third album. His voice caused goosebumps to pebble my arms.
I shuffled to a dark alcove, tucked next to a heavy curtain. I collapsed in a camp chair and closed my eyes, allowing Conor’s music to wash over me.
By the time the band played the opening chords of the Five2Go song, the audience reached even higher levels of excitement. Conor barely had to sing. The fans did all the heavy lifting for him. But I could still hear his voice, clear and strong, above the screams and the adoration.
As the song ended, and the crowd called for an encore, I heard whispering and shuffling from beyond the curtain I’d pulled around my chair. Leaning forward, I hooked my finger on the edge of the velvet material and pulled it to the side.
The shadow of a couple in a clinch played across the back wall, and I let the curtain fall back into place. I had no interest in spying on another couple after what I’d been through with Conor.
Conor went back on stage to sing his encore song—another Five2Go hit.
I blew out a long breath. At least I didn’t have to listen to the lyrics of No Contact again.
How could he have written a song based on lies?
Did he really believe I didn’t text him?
How was that even possible? Maybe he forgot about my texts in the excitement of the Australia tour and somehow created a new reality where he got to be the nice guy.
I poked my head out of my little nest to make sure the kissing couple had moved on, and then I yanked back the curtain and returned to stage-right.
As I dropped into my chair, Conor approached with a bottle of water in his hand and sweat trickling down the side of his face. “How’d I sound?”
“You were great—as always. You added a second Five2Go song.”
He shrugged off the open button-up shirt and blotted the back of his neck with it, leaving his damp, white tank clinging to his body. “Thought it might...I don’t know, make your job easier.”
“You should be all about making your own job easier. Odyssey was happy with one song. If you don’t feel comfortable doing it, cut the second.” He should stop trying to take care of me. Too little, too late.
“Did I sound uncomfortable doing it? Honestly, it felt good. Maybe because I’m getting pumped up for the possibility of a reunion tour with the lads.”
I nodded. “Happy to hear it, but don’t do any more Five2 songs on my behalf.”
He rolled the water bottle across his forehead. “I talked to Ashley when we got back to the hotel. Turns out she didn’t even go out last night.”
“D-did you ask her about the setup? I saw her at coffee this morning, and she didn’t even seem mad about the pictures.”
“She denied steering us wrong. Wondered aloud to me what she’d get out of it.” Conor scratched the scruff on his chin. “I’m beginning to think the same, as she didn’t look at those pictures and run to the celebrity press outlets about how she was being manipulated into a relationship with me.”
I shifted out of the way as the stage crew moved in to set up the last piece for Ashley’s performance. “I also talked to Shanice, and she said Ashley wasn’t even the one who told her about the get-together. It was Tomo.”
“Tomo, huh?”
Conor’s gaze tracked to the dancers warming up on the other side of the stage.
We both jumped when Ashley squeezed between us and draped her arms over both our shoulders. “Fantastic show tonight. Ji-yoon is a breath of fresh air, and you killed it Conor. That second Five2Go song had all the girlies wetting their panties. My turn!”
She blew past us and sprinted onto the stage in five-inch heels, leaving the scent of her heavy perfume hanging over us.
I clapped and whistled as she took the stage and leaned in to yell in Conor’s ear. “She’s in a good mood tonight.”
He gave me a thumbs up, as he watched the opening number unfold, the dancers circling Ashley as she belted out her biggest hit. Two of the male dancers hoisted her onto their shoulders and carried her across the stage.
Conor shook his head. “Not my thing, but I’m glad she’s happy and thriving. I’m going back to the hotel if that’s okay with you.”
“Congrats on a great show. Onto Phoenix tomorrow.” I waved him off. I didn’t need anyone else taking pictures of us.
The comments about the photos last night poured in all day. The verdict was split just about fifty-fifty between those who believed we were having a lovers’ quarrel and the other side who thought maybe we hated each other or even that I was jealous of Ashley.
Whatever. As long as Ashley and Conor played nice for the paps, we could get through this.
Ashley’s performance ended, the stage went dark, and the roadies started breaking down the set. Another successful show.
Cars waited to take some of us back to the hotel, and Ashley grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my flesh. “Ride back with me in the limo, Noelle.”
“Um, okay, sure.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Let me just touch base with Jermaine, and I’ll meet you at the car.”
I chatted with Jermaine for five minutes about tomorrow’s logistics and then walked toward the secure parking area. As I passed a black Escalade with tinted windows, a door cracked open. “In here, Noelle.”
I stuffed my bag onto the floor of the car and slid onto the smooth leather seat.
Ashley had retreated to the corner of the back seat, clutching her phone in her lap, her face pale beneath her makeup.
I wrinkled my nose. “Are you alright? You nailed that set.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just exhausted.” Her phone dinged, and she stared at it. When she finally swiped her screen to open the text, she fumbled the phone and it fell onto the floor of the car.
“I’ll get it.” I bent forward to retrieve the phone, glancing at the display. Someone had sent Ashley a dark photo, and a text that read, I know about...
Ashley snatched the phone out of my grasp with a trembling hand. “Thanks.”
She turned her face to the window and folded in on herself—a very un-Ashley position.
I got the hint and tipped my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.
That couldn’t have been a picture of me and Conor. Ashley already saw and knew about those. We’d already rehashed the incident last night, and she’d brushed it off.
This was not the same energy. Whatever that picture showed—and whatever the texter knew—rattled Ashley to her core.
And I may have just inherited one more headache.