Chapter 23
NOELLE
I woke with a start, my mouth dry. I lifted a corner of my sleep mask, and then I peeked between the slats of the blind over the window. The setting sun hovered over a landscape of rolling hills, not mesas, no buttes. We must be close to Hill Country and Austin.
From the sagging mattress above me and the steady breathing, I knew Conor had finally come to bed. I’d waited for him as long as I could keep my eyes open, but the drama—and the sex—of last night finally took their toll, and I drifted off before he made it up here.
My phone lay at the tip of my fingers on the bed. I turned it off earlier when the constant buzzing from text messages kept me awake and anxious.
I shoved my sleep mask to my forehead and turned on my phone. You’d think I’d just activated a vibrator, as the phone buzzed in my hand again and again. I didn’t even have to look at the display to know the sender—Dina.
Earlier in the morning, she hadn’t been too stressed about the hit to Conor’s reputation. Like Ashley, Dina figured Conor would recover quickly. Men always seemed to skate away from the cheater label more smoothly than women did.
But as the morning and the bus ride wore on, Dina began to fret about my role in the scandal. She seemed to be taking cues from people at 92 West.
I brought the phone close to my face and clicked on her latest message, sent a few hours ago.
The truth is, babe, who wants to hire a PR firm when they have to worry about one of the publicists fucking the client?
Well, I certainly wouldn’t.
Switching from text to photos, I accessed the pictures of Ashley and Tomo. When Conor went into the bathroom last night, I grabbed his phone and air dropped the photos to my phone. Now I had them.
My thumb trembled as I swiped through the three pictures, each one more incriminating than the one before it. Who took them and who sent them to Conor? And why? Would answers to those questions make my decision any easier?
I could post the pics anonymously or get someone to do it for me. That would end the hate against Conor but would ramp up the ridicule against Ashley, especially as she tried to leverage the cheating rumor to her benefit—when she knew it wasn’t true.
It would probably get me into more hot water with Dina though. Not only would I be the publicist who enmeshed herself in her own PR campaign, I’d be the publicist who fucked up the most important job she had—redeem Ashley Bennett.
Ashley would end up in an even bigger hole than when she started.
I couldn’t do it, and I couldn’t allow Conor to do it. There had to be a way out...and maybe it started with Ashley herself.
I stretched my arms over my head, or as far as they could reach, and wiggled my toes. I could do this. Play hardball.
Threaten Ashley, my own client, with exposure if she didn’t stop fueling the cheating rumors.
I could salvage this and maybe even start to rehabilitate my own image with 92 West. If I turned this around, I’d stop being a liability to the company and turn into the agent who sold out the most hyped summer tour of the season.
I sent Dina a message:
I can fix this.
The rustling around me indicated that the bus was coming back to life after its slumber through the desert. We had just about three hours until show time, and we hadn’t even hit Austin yet.
If I planned this tour, timing like this would never happen. Performers needed a break, time to refresh. And what about Ji-yoon? Her first tour as a solo, and her management scheduled her for so many interviews and side performances, she didn’t have a chance to bask in her success.
With my phone still in my hand, I checked my Instagram DMs. Still no response from Louise. She had to know I told Conor that she’d changed my number on his phone and knowing that did she really believe he’d let it go?
Would he let those photos of Ashley and Tomo go?
I had to make sure he knew I had another way.
***
The chaos of the past hour drove all thoughts of anonymous pictures and messages from my head, as we pulled into our hotel in Austin.
Jermaine hustled everyone into their rooms where they could prepare however they needed to—a few more winks of sleep, a quick workout at the gym, a soak in the hot tub followed by a dive into the pool, more food, more drink.
More work.
After a few more text exchanges with Dina, Toby, and Orlando, I showered, got rid of my glasses, and dressed up in a pair of wide leg, cream-colored linen pants, topping them with a peach hued bodysuit and finishing with some low-heeled, pointy-toed cowboy boots—for Austin.
I added some gold jewelry and blew out my hair.
Ashley liked pretty, and I needed her to respect me tonight... while I blackmailed her.
Of course, I didn’t mention that particular PR strategy to Dina, Toby, or Orlando in my text messages.
I hadn’t talked to Conor amid the confusion of deboarding the bus. I peeked into his bunk as I gathered my stuff, but he was still sleeping—or pretending to sleep. I texted him at the hotel and knocked on his door once, but he didn’t answer either.
Was he avoiding me? Had he sent the pictures already?
A dose of adrenaline, which had nothing to do with the energy drink I just downed, shot through my body as I paced to the window, frantically scrolling through my socials.
More posts about Conor the cheat and the long-suffering Ashley. I placed my hand against the cool window and took a deep breath. All good.
Well, not good exactly, but better than people blowing up about Ashley the liar and fake. Marginally better.
I covered my perfectly made-up face and groaned. I had to get us out of this shitshow. Ashley and I had to dream up a better way to spin those pictures of me and Conor—after all, in those pics Conor and I shared a kiss. Ashley and Tomo’s photos showed them doing a lot more than kissing.
Maybe people didn’t know Conor and I had a past...working relationship. We could frame our relationship that way—two old friends reconnecting.
I rode to the show with Jermaine, who didn’t care about the PR surrounding the shows anymore.
Once the ticket sales took off, he left that part to everyone else.
His job was making sure all the players were in place on time and ensuring the concert went smoothly. He had a bigger worry: Ashley’s voice.
“Do you think Ashley can perform the rest of the shows? Is she going to lose her voice completely?” He rubbed his sharp chin. “That actually might be preferable to what’s happening now. Do you have anyone lined up who can replace her?”
“I think she can soldier on. Her fans do most of the heavy lifting, and if the band goes louder on the volume, maybe nobody will notice she’s whispering and talking through half the lyrics.”
“It’s more than half at this point. Conor rescued her, so I’m not sure what the booing was about.”
Jermaine had really tuned out of the online gossip. But his concerns about Ashley’s voice had given me another tool in my repertoire of PR schemes.
Leaning forward, Jermaine gave our driver instructions for our drop-off. When we clambered out of the car, he went his way, and I went mine.
I preferred his. I had to have a talk with Ashley before she went on stage tonight. I didn’t want to ruin her vibe, but we could not have a repeat of last night’s antics. Conor didn’t deserve to get booed.
I dragged a chair to the right wing of the stage to stake out my command post. For most stage setups, this position allowed me to watch the performers, clock who was coming onto the stage, and keep an eye on security—in case we needed them.
As I dropped my bag, my phone buzzed. My muscles tensed when I saw an unknown number. I couldn’t take any more anonymous tipsters, but at least I could talk to this one.
I planted my cowboy boots on the stage and answered. “Yes?”
The slight pause made my pulse tick faster.
“Noelle? It’s Jay.”
I dropped onto my chair in relief. “Hi, Jay. Sorry about that. Your number came across as unknown.”
“No problem, luv. Bad time?”
“Never a bad time for you...especially when you’re returning my call, or at least my Instagram DM. How’d you get my number?”
“IP gave it to me.”
“You talked to Ian?”
“He called me about a reunion tour. I reckoned that’s what your DM was about, too.”
“What did you tell Ian?” I chose my words carefully. Jay was like a feral creature—one wrong move and you could send him bounding back into the woods...or back to his farm.
“Told him I’d think about it, but I wanted to check with you first.”
“You did?” My voice squeaked.
“It started with you, luv. Wouldn’t seem right if it didn’t end with you.”
“Is that your condition?”
“One of them. Haven’t decided yet. You’re doing good with Conor’s tour, yeah?”
I knew Jay didn’t follow social media or the gossip accounts. If he did, he’d know that in no universe was I doing good with this tour.
“It’s selling out.”
“You know that’s not what it’s all about, Noelle. That’s why I want you on our side if we do a reunion.”
My nose stung with tears. That’s all it had become to me, but I didn’t want to admit that to Jay.
“I’ll do what I can. Think about it, Jay. Everyone’s ready.”
“Don’t know if I’m there yet, but it’s good to hear your voice. Take care of our Irish lad.”
“I am. Good to hear from you, JJ.”
I was the only one who got away with calling him JJ, but he’d revoke that privilege in a second if he knew I wasn’t actually taking care of the Irish lad.
But I planned to.
Ji-yoon tripped up the stage, her face flushed. “I thought I was going to be late. I overslept.”
Patting her arm, I said, “You’re fine. Take a deep breath. How did the interviews go today?”
“They were...” Ji-yoon pressed her lips together, and a muscle ticked in her jaw. Then she closed her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “They were fine. Just great.”
She strode onto the stage, her head held high, to talk to the musicians, and I stared after her. Conor needed to have a talk with her—once I cleared up his issues.