Page 55

“The last thing I need is to wake up with you. I’ll want you, and then I’ll be unfocused all day.” Alex had laughed at the pouting.

Morgan stretched out weary bones and aching muscles, grinning to herself. There was nothing quite like that ache one felt after a long night of sexual activity. Alex Montgomery knew exactly how to play her body, she thought, reaching between her legs to satisfy that knowing ache that was starting to pulse again. The sound of muffled voices outside got louder, putting her off her stroke, and she was pretty sure that Francine had arrived, which was a real dampener on any attempt to get off quickly.

Growling, she got up and grabbed her robe. When she opened the door, both women stopped talking and turned to her.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asked nervously.

Alex scratched the back of her head before running her palm through her hair, over and down her face, trying to smile. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Francine stalked across the room and slapped a folded newspaper against Morgan’s folded arms. Opening it, she read the headline in bold type across the front page of a national tabloid.

SICK SASHA’S HEART BREAK!

As she began to read, her eyes widened.

British composer and musician Sasha was reportedly seen at her local hospital recently, where sources say she was treated for a suspected heart attack.

“They think you had an actual heart attack?” Morgan almost laughed at the idea as she folded the paper again and handed it back to Francine. Someone at the hospital had to have blabbed, but why?

“Yeah, and now we got a ton of pap downstairs, and Cecil’s going apoplectic thinking she’s going to drop dead on stage. God dammit,” Francine blasted.

“She’s not going to drop dead,” Morgan answered.

“I know that. She knows that, and you know that,” Francine said, turning from one face to the other and pointing with a bony finger, “but this…says different.” Francine waved the paper before tossing it across the room. Its pages separated and fluttered, like albatross wings, landing on the carpet. She turned to Morgan, all steely-eyed and ready to rip someone a new one. “If I find out that Urquhart women is behind this, I’ll—"

“All publicity is good publicity though, right?” Morgan offered hopefully, but that only seemed to incense Francinemore. So, she ducked her head and headed for the mess of paper on the floor. Grabbing each sheet, she tried to put it back together in some semblance of order but gave up and just dumped it all in a pile on the table.

“Not when your promotor is having an aneurism at the idea of having to cancel shows because the backers and insurance companies are having a meltdown about their star potentially dropping dead on stage.” Francine breathed deeply, turning to Morgan and then Alex. “Get dressed, both of you. We need to give them a story.”

Alex held up her hand. “Just wait a minute; let’s all stay calm. What are you suggesting?”

“It’s simple, you go downstairs and the pair of you let the pap know you’re together. Make a statement, give them something else to focus on that shows your need for a doctor wasn’t health-related.”

Shaking her head, Alex said, “I’m not doing that. It’s one thing them putting two and two together and coming up with five, but I’m not making an announcement. If need be, we can tell Cecil that Morgan and I are more than friends and that I was visiting her at work. My heart is perfectly fine.”

Francine considered that idea. “Alright, I guess I can swing that past him and shut down the panic. But what are you going to do to give an impression of something more happening?” Francine asked Alex, completely ignoring the fact that Morgan was in the room. “The quicker we head this off with something else, the easier this health issue will be to brush over.”

“I’ll answer questions during the press meet later.” Alex’s thin lips pressed together, frustrated with the situation. “We’ll arrive at the concert in Gloucester together.” Alex looked at Morgan for agreement. “Do you think you can manage that?”

Morgan shrugged. “It’s the story we decided on, isn’t it?” She couldn’t not agree to it. She’d already accepted the deal and the money, and this was always on the cards, wasn’t it? Now they really were kind of together, so it should be simple enough, shouldn’t it?

“Yes, it is, but I’m not sure any of us thought we’d have to use it. You don’t have—” Alex was saying before Francine jumped in.

“The hell she doesn’t, listen up. We’re paying you a shit ton of money—”

“I’m paying her a shit ton of money,” Alex interrupted and glared at her manager. “I’m paying her to be my doctor. I will not force her into telling the world she’s just my lover, when she’s so much more than that.”

Morgan’s brow raised at the defence of her reputation.

“Alex, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“Alright,” Francine said exuberantly. “Get dressed, something nice, sexy just in case there are photographers.”

“For god’s sake.” Alex cut her eyes at her manager. “This isn’t the 1950s, we’re not pandering to men. Wear whatever you’re comfortable in.”

Morgan stood and examined the clothes hanging in her wardrobe. What did she wear for this? Facing the press, having her photo plastered all over the globe, her name talked about in magazines and on TV wearing last summer’s dress from Next. It could be worse, she supposed.

A sudden thought hit her. She should warn her mum, shouldn’t she? Her family would not be impressed to read about it in the paper. Did they even read papers anymore? It didn’t matter; they needed a heads up.